Trapped in the Recesses of my Mind

Failure

2012-03-10T09:34:00.000-08:00

Lately I've been wondering if anyone reads my blog. I'm thinking 100% absolutely not. No one reads it. I have two followers (ooh, two followers!) and I'm pretty certain they only "followed" me out of pity or obligation and that they never care to read what I put out. No matter, though. I don't really care. My life isn't all that interesting and I don't tend to write about it anyway. So if anyone likes random snippets of story ideas, then this blog is for you. Otherwise...I guess just tip your hat and carry on.

It's like a pitiful version of Facebook. Everyone posts statuses and expects everybody else to read them, but let's face it people, that just doesn't happen. Facebook is all about the person who's name is in blue bar at the top right corner of the page. It makes people incredibly self-centered. Instead of posting pictures just because you want to, you post pictures and have an expectation in your head that it "needs" to be "liked" within the first half hour of posting it or else it sucks or you're not pretty or whatever comment you're striving for.

Facebook is a big fat life-waster and ego-inflater. And I absolutely despise it's addictive power.

Yeah.

So I thought, what the heck? What if I posted some of my deepest, darkest thoughts on here? Still, no one would read it. Maybe that's what I should do, though. Since no one pays any mind to these blocky, virtual journal postings, it wouldn't make any difference.

Still, though, I won't do that. If I posted that sort of thing, someone may, by chance or destiny, stumble upon the blog and seriously consider whether I belong in the looney bin.

So, adios, I suppose. I'm sure I'll write soon.

Or probably not.

The Stuff of Night Terrors

2012-03-09T15:17:00.001-08:00

Bleed Out My Decay

I didn't know where I was; all I knew was that it wasn't anywhere safe, it was nowhere I wanted to be. Panic choked me, leaving me helpless, as quiet tears streamed down my battered cheeks. I had an impending sense that any second I was going to die.

A scream left me when I looked down at my hands. Blood began to gush from my nail-beds, dying them crimson. It felt like someone had lit the tips of my fingers on fire, burning like some kind of macabre candles.

I couldn't stand and I couldn't speak. I could only scream and whimper.

Blood flowed faster than I thought possible, coating my palms with sticky red and making my cries louder. My skin started cracking like scorched, parched earth and more blood spilled from my pores. I couldn't stop staring as my body slowly died.

---------

Forsaken and Falling

I call out, screaming into the darkness. I stretch my arms forward, grasping nothingness, but wishing for a familiar presence. I know nobody is there, not close, not anywhere; I can sense the vacancy, but my hope runs away with me, and I shout louder, wanting to pierce the never-ending quiet and blackness, to not feel so alone.

I lose my balance and slowly I begin to fall backward, as if the ground just crumbled away beneath my bare feet. There's no stopping this. Bending back, I take a deep breath before the free fall begins.

I don't know where I'm going, racing headfirst through the pitch blackness like a stray bullet, unable to see the bottom of the canyon. Is this where I die? Where I've finally reached my limit and can take no more? What a pitiful death; to lie crumpled at the bottom of a ravine with no one to ever find you, to ever bring you back home. The casket will be closed and empty while my family weeps and my friends wonder.

I clasp my arms tightly about me, wishing one last time for a comforting embrace. Why couldn't my ending be happy? Somehow I knew it never would be. The realization turned my heart into a stone. I always told myself if I was loyal enough, if I loved enough, I'd get my fairy tale life and the career I continuously strove for.

That's why I can't help but write sad endings, I think as I close my eyes against silent tears, the air that rushed about me whipping them away.

Solid ground quickly came up to meet me.

---

I was half asleep when I wrote these. I'm sure it's easy to tell. Anywho, these are the kinds of things I've been dreaming the past few nights. Perhaps that's why I've felt so gosh darn tired lately.

Dream Within a Dream

2012-02-25T11:41:00.000-08:00

I had a dream two nights ago that seemed to be a dream within a dream, you know, like Inception? The timing of the dream is even stranger once you know that I watched Inception just three nights ago.

I slightly digress.

I was sitting on the cold hardwood floor with my back facing the French doors that lead out to the deck on the rear of my house. It was pitch black outside, obviously in the ungodly hours of the morning, and for some reason, I was awake and reading. Well, reading early in the morning isn’t the weird part; why was I positioned in front of the French doors? On such an uncomfortable floor, too.

These thoughts didn’t faze me nor did they make me change my mind and start me up the stairs to curl up on my comfy bed and read there instead. I simply kept flipping, page after page, as the night wore on, but it didn’t get any lighter outside.

Suddenly there was a boisterous knock and I jumped to my feet in surprise. The handle turned, but didn’t open, as the doors were locked. Whatever it was on the other side really wanted to get into the house, but couldn’t. I took a quick peek out the windows and didn’t find anyone (or anything) although it was dark outside and I wasn’t in my right mind, so what could I have really seen anyway? Without any more thought, I scrambled away and up the stairs, shutting my bedroom door loudly, perhaps to make me feel better and give me a sense of barrier against whatever was outside the house.

Then the dream shifted and it was broad daylight, hot beams of sun shooting through the windows above the sink in the kitchen as I entered it. My brother and mother were sitting at the island situated in the center of the kitchen and I went to sit down.

“You know, I had the weirdest dream last night,” I murmured, balling my hands together on the green countertop. I had gotten their attention and they stared at me curiously, willing me to continue. I recounted reading in front of the French doors and the abrupt, frightening knocking. They laughed and my mother said something along the lines of, “That movie must have had lots of influence on you. It’s kind of creepy.”

It faded out, dissolving into my subconscious, as I came to. Instantly I knew this was reality, but I was left with such a strange feeling. Had someone been in my head? Or was it just the thoughts about Inception infiltrating and seizing my brain while I was slumbering? The former wasn’t possible, of course, but I still felt odd and somehow elated at “experiencing” a dream within a dream. Then I pondered; what would the purpose of the man (or thing) attempting to get into my house be? Had I made the house something like a bank vault or prison and stored it with valuable information?

I have no idea. But the only thing I really know is this: Leonardo DiCaprio, if you somehow end up in my head, please don’t sic Mal on me, okay?

Rain is a Love of Mine

2012-02-23T20:40:00.000-08:00

It smells heavenly outside. It’s raining, with little bits of thunder here and there. I just love that deep mossy, damp earth, wet bark smell. It permeates everything with a ghosting caress, like the sky rushed down to meet me and gently kissed me with rain-soaked lips. It pervades my senses and saturates my insides with a delicious purity. As I breathe out, my breath comes as a visible cloud, but the cold doesn’t hurry me back inside, no; there wasn’t any way it could squelch my joy at letting the rain slide over my cheeks for the first time in a long time. This made me smile. What a simple love.

The Girl with a Borrowed Face: An Excerpt

2012-01-09T21:06:00.000-08:00

AJ found herself lying in the grass beside a pair of railroad tracks, the sun setting behind the trees. She was a younger version of herself, much like the memories she had recently relived, but here she was much, much younger. It was peacefully quiet for all but the sound of her brother’s humming and the flutter of nearby bird’s wings. Sitting up slowly, she felt the tugging of familiarity on the edge of the dream - or at least it felt like a dream. It’s pretty vivid, though, she wondered briefly. Perhaps the dream had melted together with a vague memory; she could only guess.

Chambrey came over to her and smiled hugely, goofily. Such a big brother grin, she thought, and his hand came down to haul her out of the grass. The dirt bike they used to share stood loyally by the tree line of the forest they’d run through as children. Those trees were their babysitter and they never failed in giving them the best spots to hide and play.

“C’mon Junior,” Chambrey shouted from the train tracks. He was balancing animatedly on one track, making a show of pretending to almost fall off. It elicited a giggle from AJ. Oh how much she wished he were back so that they could do those things again, like the brother and sister they were. It panged her to remember how carefree and unknowing they had been, how they both had not even the slightest inkling that his life would end so suddenly.

AJ ran over to Chambrey and yanked on his arm, sending him crashing into the grass like a shot down airplane. He began to laugh and she couldn’t stop.

Quickly the dream changed, turning into night and letting loose a flurry of nearly painful raindrops from the dark clouds. She found Chambrey in the same place she’d left him; lying in the grass. She realized though that they were both older - the ages they had been before Chambrey died.

Instantly AJ knew something wasn’t right. Her hair clung to her face like tentacles and she could hear a train’s horn rumbling in the distance.

“Chambrey, we’re too close to the tracks,” she said, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him to his feet so they could wait for the train to pass at a safe distance. But he didn’t let her. He just shook his head and smiled a smile she never remembered him using.

It was twisted and wrong, somehow.

“Let’s track hop,” he yelled, acting as if he’d had a few drinks. The horn sounded closer and AJ’s worry meter spiked.

“Chambrey no, we need to get out of here.”

He simply laughed and jumped up onto a track, feeling it tremble beneath his feet. AJ seized his arm and yanked forcefully, wanting him - no, needing him to get off the tracks.

“What are you doing? Chambrey! Chambrey!”

The train’s light bathed them both in bright yellow and Chambrey shielded his eyes, but his smile didn’t falter. The horn blew strongly again, warning them to get back. Chambrey didn’t heed it.

This is going wrong. This is going terribly, terribly wrong, she thought frantically.

“Chambrey!” she yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth. He cachinnated morbidly as the train neared, the horn going full bore.

“C’mon AJ! It’s fun!”

She shook her head vigorously and her eyes filled with tears as she backed away. Her hands started to shake; she clasped them together tightly in attempt to still them.

“I said come on!” he shouted back at her. Before she knew it, he was at her side, his arms clamped around her shoulders and hauling her toward the tracks. She fought against his grip, but of course she couldn’t break free. He had always been stronger than her.

The horn shattered her eardrums and light melted her eyes when he launched them both in front of the train.

As she cringed for impact, she was in her bed again, Ryan blurring into her vision when she registered his strong hold on her shoulders.

“AJ? AJ, are you okay?” he repeated over and over. Her throat was bound; she couldn’t squeak out even the faintest of sounds no matter how hard she pushed. Ryan continued to shake her shoulders, convinced that she wasn’t fully awake yet and completely expecting some kind of response.

He had shaken her awake a number of times much like that one, usually after a dream or night terror where her thrashing about was enough to break him from his slumber and come to her rescue. She was breathing her thanks that the train was just a nightmare.

Then he was on top of her and his hands were squeezing her neck.

“I’m coming for you. I’ve become you,” he hissed in a low, nasty voice that wasn’t his own. His eyes flooded with crimson and fangs grew from his mouth, a snake tongue flicking out between them. The fingers strangling the breath out of her turned into jagged claws and she felt liquid warmth pool around her neck before her vision began to fail her. Blood coated her throat and she coughed and gasped frenziedly for air, for alleviation.

“I’ve become you, AJ. And I’m coming for you,” the voice snarled again, filling her head like a multiplying virus. It just wouldn’t stop echoing.

The voice abruptly rushed out of her head and was replaced with silence. She felt warm arms around her and she struggled to get out of them, away from them. She kept her eyes closed in fear of seeing the blood and undoubtedly triggering a panic attack while she grasped at her neck, still attempting to get away.

There was no warm blood leaking over her fingers or gaping fresh wounds. Opening her eyes, she realized that the shadow man was cradling her to him. Those were the arms she felt.

The terror of the double nightmare hit her then, consumed her, and there was no way to stop the shuddering sobs once they had begun.

The shadow held her closer and she welcomed the comfort.

------

So this is a chapter from the middle a book I just recently wrote a rough draft for. Like? Dislike? Neutral?

-Vicki

Death

2011-09-29T14:37:00.000-07:00

Devastating black oblivion, and
entire souls stripped from bodies, or
an endlessly open flower garden, and
turns for angelic transformation?
How will it happen?

In darkness, or
never-ending light?

Distressed screams of your brothers, and
enkindled, rotting flesh saturating your senses, or
a peaceful quiet empty place, and
thick rosy aromas filling your head?
How will it happen?

And where is your mind?
Racing with thoughts
and yet
void of anything at all.

How will it happen?

Do You Dare Dream a Dream of Me?

2011-09-12T08:04:00.000-07:00

She stands tall, elegant and graceful in her black leotard at the very center of the floor. Music begins to play and she leaps and tumbles to the violent tempo, the notes seemingly tossing her about, as if in control. The audience in the bleachers doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, it doesn’t make even a sound. Perhaps that’s because they're lifeless dolls, mannequins that only begged to be freed from their inescapably plastic existences.

No one notices as red water slowly fills the room, coming up the girl’s ankles as she splashes through it, uncaring, or perhaps just utterly oblivious.

The desperate cry of a baby booms like thunder through the place and the babe writhes on the lap of a still mannequin. There is no one there to calm it, or shush it, so it continues to wail for the relief that will never come.

The girl pays no mind and flips high into the air before landing on her knees. Her small body falls backwards into the water, now up to her waist, and she lies still for a breath or two. The music fades out like a dream when you awake and she stands, tall and elegant before the motionless audience. The baby continues to scream and fuss.

No one notices.

The girl walks neatly off the blue performance floor and into the bathroom. She stops in front of the giant mirror and leans her elbows onto a counter made of liquid fire. Her skin blisters, cracks, and peels under the heat’s intensity, but she doesn’t cry out in pain even as the fire boils and sloughs the skin and muscle off her, leaving only bone. The water, up to her shoulders now, gives no mollification, no healing.

She sees that her face is crowded with innumerable white heads as she scrutinizes herself in the mirror. She poises two sharp nails by one, pinching it until it pops, revealing the shiny, pearl head of a pinning needle. Undistressed, she pulls the two inch needle from her face and examines it like a foreign object. Blood begins to drip down from the hole it left. Again and again, she pops the needles from her head and lets them fall down into the flaming liquid until not a trace of them remains. She’s weeping blood now.

The water is way beyond her head, but all the same, she walks back out to the performance floor and finds the bleachers empty, all but for the skeleton of a small infant.

Where have they gone, she wonders, as her gaze pulls down to her chest to reveal a gaping crater of missing muscle and skin. Five left ribs are snapped off, leaving splintered edges, and a number of unattached arteries hang down like bloody threads over her stomach.

And where, she wonders, is my heart?

Why Do We Love?

2011-08-22T09:37:00.001-07:00

I looked up at the sky tonight and gazed at the moon through a window of wispy gray clouds; it was just a small break, like a crack in time, and a curious thought hit me. I looked confusedly at the almost-full moon and wondered…

Why do we love?

Why do we throw ourselves out on the table and become five times more transparent just for a single soul? A single soul who we don’t know the thoughts of, who we can't know for sure what their motives are, who we can only rely on their words and actions to tell us the truth.

We just have to trust that what they say is true. Trust is the key to the locket of love. Without trust, love is utterly lost.

So again, why? Why do we pour our beings and thoughts and smiles and laughs into a soul who we can only hope trusts us as much as we trust them? And in turn loves us as much as they say?

For some, the reason varies; others just want companionship and the closeness that intimacy brings; others just want someone to always be paying them attention; and sometimes, someone just wants another kind soul to open up to.

But why do we do, still? We crave it, as humans; nearly all of us do. Kudos to those that God calls to be single for life, because I know I couldn’t do it.

So, we as humans are willing to risk everything, our memories, our feelings and emotions, and even our entire selves just to be loved by that one person in return. We invest ourselves so deeply in one relationship that when that dreaded time sometimes comes when the other pulls the plug, it’s like spiraling downwards from cloud nine as if you were a mere rain drop, a small tear to just be shed and brushed away by cold fingers.

Everything you poured into them was ripped away and you feel like a jagged remainder of what you once were. Your edges are rough and sharp, your emotions and memories shatter you to pieces along with your heart and the mental pain hurts worse than any physical injury.

…why do we risk so much? Perhaps it is because of that tiny little voice in the back of your mind that says, don’t worry, you'll be alright; you're strong, you’re tough, and you will heal with time. It’s okay that sometimes when you fall, you’ve just got to catch yourself, no matter how scraped up your palms get or depths of the gashes in your knees. Then there comes that word again…trust. Trust in yourself, and God, and the people that surround you. Even though you know trusting in anything human is hard because they will always let you down, you continue to anyway because you know you don’t move very fast when you only trust yourself.

Is there really an answer, then? To why we love or why we trust? Not really. Is it just human nature, perhaps? Or a learned behavior? Or maybe something that we all happen to believe?

It’s just life. We love, we trust, we bestow upon each other our faith and hope, even with the preconceived and not entirely unbelievable notion that everything you poured into the individuals may very well have been wasted from the beginning.

Or perhaps, we do all those things because the Father has the grace to do them to us?

A Shower

2011-06-17T22:05:00.000-07:00

So...this is kind of deep, I suppose, in a way. I'm having trouble recalling when exactly I wrote it and why. Or even how I was feeling at that particular moment. Anyway, enjoy. Or ponder. Whichever comes first.

~Vicki

------

You step out of your dust ridden clothes and into the beaming spray of hot water. A sigh of relief and finality emanates from you as you run your hands through your knotted hair. The layer of grime you feel on your skin begins to thin as the water runs down your arms and legs and body, taking with it the dirt of the day. But the dirt isn’t the only thing you’re trying to wash away under the steaming water.

The events of that day are coiling themselves in your hair, or even perhaps of days before and beyond. That sick swirling of thoughts in your head will not cease but only for a moment while feeling the beating pressure of the hot water on your back. Somehow it is a pause button on your life.

The dirt packed under your fingernails is the reminder of bitter memories that won't relent. The dirt caked between your toes won't let you utter the words that leave a bad metallic taste in your mouth. It tastes like pennies.

A scowl overcomes your features as you hastily scrub away the dust clinging to your body and close your eyes at the memories flooding your mind.

Everything always happens too quick, too fast. Regret soon follows. Sadness falls into stride beside it.

And not matter how hard you try, you cannot escape it.

And In One Moment, Love Is Lost

2011-05-31T16:52:00.000-07:00

“I wonder what you’ll take from me today
Sanity or just my breath away, it’s hard to say
Impossible for me to tell, we’re always walking on eggshells
Who you’re going to be from day to day today”

I Don’t think I Love You – Hoobastank

--------

Quietly, so quietly, she slipped on her sandals in the pitch dark foyer. She removed her coat deliberately from the rack by the door and guided her hands through the arms, zipping it up with a slowness a sloth would appreciate.

She took a breath and stepped with the lightness of a ballerina towards the door, reaching out her sweating palm to grasp the handle.

“What are you doing, Anna?” A dark voice came from the sitting room and she nearly froze in the terror that washed over her. She closed her eyes and kept absolutely still.

Footsteps approached her leisurely; she forced herself to keep her eyes shut.

“I asked, what are you doing?” he said again, closer this time, and with a venom that penetrated deep without him even touching her.

She swallowed inaudibly and straightened herself. “Going for a walk.” She avoided his gaze, knowing he was staring at her with those sharp, searching eyes. She hated those eyes.

“A walk, hm? At eleven o’clock at night? After sneaking out of bed and into your shoes, without telling me you were leaving in case something were to happen to you out on this walk at a dangerous time of the night?”

Her gaze locked on the floor. “I should have told you, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you,” she nearly whispered.

“Look at me.” He didn’t say it, but she discerned that he knew the very thing she never wanted him to know. “I said, look at me,” he hissed, gripping her chin harshly and yanking it level with his face. His eyes stabbed through hers, to find the truth that he already knew.

She remained unfeeling beneath his glare.

“What is your destination, Anna? Where are you going?”

Her response was hesitant and she could see that made him angry, his patience burning up with every millisecond that passed.

“There was no destination,” she murmured, attempting to quell the fright rising in her throat. Please, just let me go, she wanted to beg him. Don’t hurt me…just let me go.

“Liar! You were going to see him, weren’t you? Weren’t you?” He shook her as he shouted. She knew his reactions were always ruthless, but she had never seen him as explosive as this.

“No,” she began, but he drew back his hand and slapped her with rage fueled by jealousy and hatred. Her body pitched to the side and she stumbled backwards, throwing out her arms to catch her. “Please, don’t,” she whispered, the urge to cry nearly overwhelming everything in her mind.

“No! You listen to me. You are never to see him again! You are mine, I own you! You're my wife and you will do as I say!” he howled at her, roughly grabbing her wrist to wrench her off the floor. “Stand up!” he screamed. “Stand up and look at me!”

Tears filled her eyes and she willed herself not to let them fall. Her wrist ached under the pressure of his grip, but he didn’t ease up.

“Never are you to go to him again!”

Despite herself and his words, she shook her head. She shook it hard, back and forth, until he launched his palm at her face once more. She caught herself against the wall and made a hasty dash to the front door. He roared and barreled toward her.

“Don’t you dare walk out that door!” His hand snapped out, but all he managed to grip was her earring. Nevertheless, he jerked back inexorably, and her earlobe ripped.

She cried out and cupped her ear as she swung the door open and slammed it shut behind her, running and tripping over the front lawn with a vigor she didn’t know she had.

Anna scrambled over the asphalt and through a neighbor’s yard, turning a corner and throwing herself behind the house. She bolted then, only one thought consuming her mind; she had to get to the only place she felt sanctuary.

Jaren’s arms.

-----------------------------

“Just let me run where I want to run
Just let me love who I want
In a flash a heart is slain
you have to ask in all this pain
Was your heart too soft?
Was your love in vain?”

Love Affair - Copeland

--------

She rapped on the door hard and it opened almost instantly. Without thinking, she crashed into him and buried her face in his shoulder, the tears already beginning to crawl over her cheeks. It took less than a second for his arms to reach around her and hug her close to him.

“Jaren, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” she sobbed, clamping her arms tighter around his neck.

“Shh, darling, what's wrong?” He stroked her head and smoothed down her hair before pausing. “My God...what happened to your ear?”

She choked on a sob. “H-he hit me, Jaren, and he ripped my earring out and he knows. Jaren, he knows,” she wailed uncontrollably, futilely trying to keep her crying in hand.

“Oh honey,” he cooed.

Jaren cradled her against his chest and between her whimpers, Anna was telling herself this was all a nightmare, that she would wake up and it would all go away. But she knew wishing it all to disappear was hopeless. She cried harder.

“He's mad, Jaren. He's so mad. I don't know what he'll do. I'm so scared,” she cried softly into his shirt.

“It’s okay honey, it’s alright. Everything will be alright. We can run away, far away to a place he won't even think to look,” he reassured her smoothly, bringing up her face to smile at her. Gently, he kissed the tip of her nose and banished a few tears with the pads of his thumbs. “I love you too much to leave you.”

Her reply was shoving her face into the dip between his shoulder and neck and whimpering, “I love you too, so much.” Anna wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, craving his warmth, his touch, his tender familiarity.

“Anna, we must hurry. Time is not for us. I’ll quickly gather a few of my things and then we will vanish into the night.” He smiled and held her face between his rough hands. “Soon love, very soon we will be free from all this.”

Suddenly the door burst open and an angry roar followed the slam.

-----------------------------

“If I were to die this very moment
I wouldn’t fear
For I’ve never known completeness like being here
Wrapped in the warmth of you
Loving every breath of you”

Gorecki – Lamb

--------

“Get away from her!”

Anna spun around and in seconds, Mark had the barrel of a gun pointed in Jaren's face.

“Mark, no!” She made to shield Jaren, but Mark gripped her arm and tore her from him, clamping a claiming and unyielding arm around her waist at his side. Anna squirmed desperately, screaming and crying, trying to pry herself loose, but to no avail. “Mark, please, don't do this!” Mark dug his fingers deep into her side and she whimpered against the pain.

“Mark, let's talk about this,” Jaren murmured calmly, holding up his hands in surrender.

“You will never touch her again.” Mark's voice was a low growl as he glared daggers at Jaren. “There really isn't anything else to be said.”

“Jaren I love you, I'm sorry,” Anna cried softly.

“Shut up!” Mark spat down at Anna, making her cower in his grasp.

“I don't think that's necessary,” Jaren murmured defensively, taking a step forward.

“It doesn't matter what you think!” Mark pulled the trigger.

Jaren crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

Anna screamed. She screamed so loud and so violent that her throat seared dry. Tears flew from her eyes as she struggled in desperation against Mark's relentless hold.

“You killed him!” she wailed. Mark began to drag her back through the front door, but she fought for her release. She knew it was dangerous to disobey Mark. She knew it. But right now, she didn't give a damn.

“Jaren!” Her body reacted before she could think. She balled up her fist and socked Mark right in the crotch. He curled in on himself with a howl, his arm loosening. Anna dropped to the ground roughly on her hands and knees and scrambled forward to lean over Jaren. “Jaren,” she choked. “Honey I'm sorry.”

He half smiled up at her, his eyes dreamy and distant. Shakily she knotted her fingers in his and held their clasped hands to her chest. Her bottom lip quivered uncontrollably, as if it were vibrating.

“I love you,” Jaren murmured, dazed. Anna touched her fingers to the gaping hole in his chest, oozing crimson what could only be blood. She bit her lip and clamped her eyes shut against the oncoming tears. “I love you,” Jaren whispered, softer this time.

Mark’s arms came around her waist then, heaving her up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Anna’s fingers were pulled from Jaren’s, but she kept her arm reached out to him in a feeble attempt to hold on somehow.

“Goodbye,” she whispered brokenly, fighting the constricting choke of her throat.

“Goodbye,” Jaren’s breath came out like a slowly deflating tire until he could breathe no more.

-----------------------------

“I’m reaching for this life within me
How can one man stop his ending?
I thought of just your face
Relaxed and floated into space…”

Into The Ocean – Blue October

Lazy Afternoon

2011-03-27T18:07:00.000-07:00

He lounged back against the arm of the lazy swinging bench, his arms wrapped around the waist of a tall woman. She had slid down in his loose grasp, her head now resting softly on his stomach and her toes nearly falling over the other side of the bench. The boy pulled his knees up, creating a fence on the unsecured side of her torso to prevent her from accidentally rolling off the swing.

She rested her forearm along his thigh and tousled the frayed ends of the worn knees in his jeans with her fingertips. “These jeans are getting old,” she murmured as the wind danced through the leaves above them. Tipping her head back, she stopped when she could see his face.

“So are you,” he replied, smiling down at her. She grinned and let her head fall forward.

“Yeah, but you don’t believe that, do you?”

“Mmm, no.” He kissed the top of her head and she hummed.

The chains supporting the bench creaked and groaned with every swing back and forth, but it was rhythmic and somehow calming instead of irritating. A few blossomed flowers drifted down from the trees, the wind having shaken them loose, and they graced the boy’s black hair. He absently brushed one off, but grabbed the other and held it down in front of her face.

“For you,” he said, and he knew that smile was spreading even before he heard her giggle. She put the flower to her nose and breathed in, murmuring something about it smelling beautiful before reaching back to tuck it into her hair. “Let me.” The boy took it from her and brushed back a few locks of striking auburn hair behind her ear, placing the flower just above the curve. He grinned.

“Can I tell you something?” He whispered, grabbing her hands in his and crossing them over her stomach.

“Mhm,” she hummed in drowsy reply, settling herself into a comfortable position prime for sleep.

“Your ears are pretty,” he whispered, his lips near her ear.

She twisted her head to glance at him, her expression strange and disbelieving.

“What?” He asked, the smile continuing to grace his lips.

“My ears are pretty?”

“That what I just said isn't it?”

“Yeah, but…no one’s ever told me that before.” She turned back around and relaxed against him.

He couldn’t stop grinning to save his life. “Well I am honored to be the first one to do so.” Being silly, he kissed her ear and she laughed, pulling up her shoulders in attempt to shy away.

“You're silly, you know that?” She continued to giggle as he hugged his arms tighter around her.

“Yes, and I love you, you know that?”

Her gaze traveled down to the intertwined fingers of their left hands and the rings glimmered dazzlingly in the sunlight filtering through the leaves. “Yes,” she replied dreamily. “Yes, I do.”

She twisted around in his arms, smiled, and kissed him.

In a Million Years

2011-02-18T07:21:00.000-08:00

Never in a million years did I think that one day, I’d be 16, in a foreign country and cooking dinner by myself for 10 people while nannying 6 children who I can't fluently speak with.

I guess a million years has passed, then.

There are a few other things that God has taught and showed me during my stay in Peru, too. They are countless, but these are just a few that jump to mind:

One of the more prominent realizations that He's given me is that I need to cherish friends and family. I need to appreciate my family with every passing day and be extremely grateful that I have such a whole one. He made me realize that I am much luckier than I had thought to have a dad and a mom, to have aunts and uncles, cousins and grandparents that I love and love me in return. Living in Peru has showed me the brokenness that many families have; the dissonance and hate between family members and how much that taxes the entire family. I despise how often I hear about fatherless or divorced families and it hurts my heart to know that so much of that goes on in the world.

God has made it clear that He has given me the family that I have for a reason. And for that, I am so lucky.

God has given me the friendships that I have for specific reasons, too. To put it simply, I am thankful for the caring, supportive friends that I have the privilege to know. And even though time may pass and those friendships may become more distant, I know I will hold onto and never forget the memories that have been shared. I've learned that God puts certain people in your life at certain times for a purpose and that once they fulfill that purpose, they may melt away into the shadows of your mind and although you may not talk to them as often as you once did, those memories will be ever present.

God has tried my patience and dug deep into my emotions, stirring up things I never thought I would feel so strongly about. By seeing the poverty all around me every day; the dirty little faces of children and bowed backs of hard working mothers, He has sparked something within me. Humility. Thankfulness. Open eyes. Trust. Faith. Love. Acceptance.

This time in Peru has rocked my whole world and entire way of thinking. It has been a trial in itself and even though at times I felt like there was never going to be an end in sight or I couldn’t push through, He took my hand and opened my eyes to the side I wasn’t seeing every time.

He's taught me through trials what it really means to hold onto the phrase, “the dark always comes before the light.” There is no doubt in my mind now that although weeping may come at night, joy comes with the morning. (Psalm 30:5) Because of that, I smile.

Now, I'm just awaiting that sunrise.

-----

Thank you for your love and prayers and support. <3 I couldn't have done it without you.

~Vicki

Sunrise, or Lack Thereof

2011-02-02T10:36:00.000-08:00

It's 5:39 AM. I haven't slept all night.

Not only haven't I slept, but I find myself in the curious position of sitting cross legged on the roof.

As the blanket of darkness begins to lift, the neighbor’s dogs spot me and their robber-sensors go haywire; but the strange thing is that only one voices his opinion about a mysterious shadowed figure climbing onto the roof at five in the morning.

Three roosters crow in what could only be coincidental succession.

I begin to see everything clearer and at first think that perhaps my eyes adjusted to the darkness surrounding me. But then, when I gaze back up at the cloud congested sky, I see that the cracks between them have grown lighter. From that moment on, the spaces between the clouds continue to lighten every second that passes by.

The dog continues make a fuss until Rosa wanders out to the back of her property to see why the heck her dog is barking so persistently. She finally sees me on the roof and her steps turn slow, I watch, staying still, as she pulls something from her pocket. I assume a cell phone and instantly throw up my hand in a friendly greeting. I sit up straighter; she realizes it's me and waves back.

The foothills begin to materialize all around, shaking the mist and fog free from their sands. The blatant odor of fish and salty beach begins to fade, melting away with the night. A faint light covers everything now, in preparation for the sun to arrive.

The constant hum of the Pan-American highway does not cease.

Birds chirrup from left and right, in front and behind, above and below. Some zip past, anxious to begin the day, while others stay safely tucked in their nests, uncertain of what the day will bring.

The orange street lamps begin turning off in a wave, street by street.

The hole in the clouds catches a few rays of morning sunlight, changing the faded blue to a light peach. I become sad once I realize that I won’t be able to see the sun climb over the mountains.

The air is still, but the morning chill still hangs there, motionless. The Peruvian flag does not twitch and the leaves of the trees do not rustle.

The last of the street lamps die out.

I can feel the fabric of my jacket absorbing the morning dampness.

I pick myself up with dirty hands and a dusty rear, my hope shattered and disappointment evident. I hop down off the roof of the patio and slip underneath it, jumping down onto a bucket, out of sight of everyone and everything but myself.

I slap my hands together to rid myself of the grime and murmur unheard apologies to Rosa.

That darn dog is still barking at me.

Grab What Matters Most & Don't Forget to Hold it Dear

2010-11-23T06:54:00.000-08:00

“Okay,” she began, putting her hands palms out towards the floor. “If this house caught on fire and you only had a few seconds to think and grab for something near you, what would you take?” She looked at him and waited patiently for his answer. His eyebrow quirked and he glanced back at her. “If this house caught on fire…?” He echoed as if he hadn’t heard correctly.

“You’re silly, you know that?” He asked back at her. She put her hands on her hips in reply while simultaneously trying to keep a smile from giving away her amusement. He rolled his eyes playfully and turned to scan the room for objects that he might consider sprinting out of the burning building with. If that were to ever happen, of course.

He pondered, his eyes lingering for a period of time on each object before moving on to the next. “I dunno…if I had to risk a few seconds that could possibly cost me my life to grab something and run, I don’t really see anything here that’s that important to me…”

“C’mon hon, you can think of something. This is all for play anyway. You don’t have to try too hard. Think of something you love and couldn’t live without.” She prodded gently.

A bright, figurative light bulb binged on atop his head and he smiled at the sudden genius.

“Well, there is one thing that I’d risk my life for…” He spun around and swiftly pulled Violet off her feet and into his arms bridal style. Surprise graced her face, but only for a moment once she realized what had happened. “Oh no, honey, the house is burning down! Grab what you can and run!” He yelled while she giggled, looping her arms around his neck. He ran to the two doorways screaming in a whisper and saying, “Ahhhhh! This exit’s blocked! That exit’s blocked! Honey, honey what are we gonna do?”

She smiled up at him that smile that she gives when he’s being silly but it’s still entertaining to her all the same. “We’ll just be trapped in here. We’ll burn to death and die in each other’s arms.” She had taken on a melodramatic tone for effect. She even had the back of her hand on her forehead.

Walking over to the couch, he gently lay down and shifted her on top of him until she was laying her head on his chest. “In each other’s arms…” He repeated quietly, squeezing his own tight around her body. He looked deep into her eyes and smiled crookedly.

“That’s got to be the best way to die.”

-----------

Some fun fluff for you. Yay for fluffy fluffiness~!

Until next time,
~Vicki

Three Seater

2010-11-13T22:02:00.000-08:00

Three seats. Three strangers. Only two sit down.
There's always that instance on a public bus or trolley where there is a spot on a three seater bench open, but it's always in the middle because no one ever wants to sit next to a stranger. So, you, as you enter the bus, choose to stand instead. You'd much rather stand than sit next to some strange person you don't know. And the beautiful thing is, they can't make you sit down if you don't want to.

...and in this instance, a man just sat next to me, in the middle of the three seater.
Go figure.

---------

Written from the rightmost seat of a three seater bench on the trolley in UVA.

Much love,
~Viiiiiiiiiicki

Sunrising

2010-11-13T21:55:00.000-08:00

"Samantha! Pssst...Sam!" Samantha sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. She glanced at the clock. "What the heck...who's here at 5:15 in the morning? It's still dark outside..." She grumbled sleepily, tossing her legs out of bed and meandering towards her bedroom door. "No Sam, over here." Three taps on the window spun her around and she found Lyric perched outside it. He waved and smiled.

She bumped the corner of her dresser on the way there but otherwise made it to the window without any other injuries. She shoved it open, the old cracked paint working against her. "Lyric, what are you doing here at this time of morning?" She whispered, nearly hissing as she motioned for him to hop through and into her room. He shook his head, that crooked smile still gracing his lips. "Come with me." His arms extended toward her. "Why now? Can't it wait?" He shook his head and twisted to look off into the distance. He was being utterly mysterious, she thought. "Please, come."
His hands beckoned.

Sam hesitated, debating and wondering simultaneously. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. Finally, when it looked like Lyric was getting anxious and possibly a bit nervous, she nodded her head. His smile reignited. "Let's go."

She went with him out onto the roof and he told her to be as quiet as possible. "Where are we going?" She asked, but he only shook his head and put a finger to his lips. "Later. Now hurry; time is of the essence." She almost couldn't take his mysteriousness and I'm-not-going-to-tell-you-anything attitude, but she let him lead her. She reasoned that he must have a motive for keeping silent about pretty much everything.

They slid down off the roof soundlessly, to Sam's delight. Lyric jumped on his motor bike and Sam wrapped her arms around his waist as she slipped on behind him. "Hold on tight." He grinned and revved the engine. With that, they were zooming down the street.

Sam saw that the night was just barely beginning to melt away when they reached the base of a small foothill. Her hair whipped wildly about her face and she continuously squinted her eyes against the rushing air. Lyric took a short road that twisted and wound up the hill, kicking up dust in his wake.

Lyric pulled off on a small, flat parking area that overlooked the city, silencing the purring bike. He turned to her with a twinkle in his eyes and his smile reflected it. "I want to show you something my Father made." Lyric grabbed her hand in his; it was still warm from the bike handle. He led her over to a plaid blanket beneath a giant tree; it's bowed branches gave it an old, weathered and wise appearance. If it could transform into a human, Sam decided, it would take the form of an old man, shoulders hunched and face owlish and twisted.

They lay down on the blanket, wiggling together on their stomachs until they were shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip. "Had I known we were going this far I might’ve put something on a little more covering and public." Sam murmured, trying to pull down the long sleeves of her night shirt to cover her hands. Lyric sat up momentarily and slipped out of his jacket, draping it over her shoulders. She felt his heat radiate around her as well as his musky scent. She nuzzled her nose into the neck of the jacket and breathed in deeply. "Thank you." She pulled it tight around herself and gazed up at him.

"Oh, look." He breathed as he laid back down, pointing to the horizon. "What?" Sam asked, following the direction of his finger. "Watch." He grinned and stared at the undulating tops of the opposite foothills. Light was leaking over them, illuminating the dark sky in beautiful hues of blue, pink and orange.

In mere minutes, the sun popped out from behind the mountains and spread its beam everywhere across the sand and dirt like someone opening their arms for an embrace. Sam couldn't find any other words for it than "wow" and "so amazing." The hues continued to vary and gradient out from the rim of the sun, changing every few minutes. There were no clouds dotting the sky that morning and it made everything seem so much clearer.

"This is so beautiful. I've never watched a sunrise in my life, much less with someone I care a lot for." Sam beamed, showing teeth in her genuine smile. "But...your Father made this?" An eyebrow rose as she glanced over at him in obvious disbelief. His grin never faltered.

"Yeah, God made this."

Make-up

2010-11-07T10:28:00.000-08:00

I don't like makeup. When someone puts it on, it's like they're trying to fix something that's wrong with them. It's like saying "God, I'm not exactly happy with the way you made my face, so I'm going to make it ‘better.’" I don't care about the reasons that people come up with; "I'm enhancing my eyes...I'm putting some color in my face...I'm taking the focus off my nose..." Makeup is a disgrace. Do you not realize you're putting on a mask of man-made, synthetic gunk to disfigure the face God gave you? I don't understand the motives and the justifications behind this.

Makeup does not fix anything.

You claim "it makes me prettier." Prettier? Now you're comparing yourself with other girls and judging your facial structure next to theirs.

Now you're looking at yourself in the mirror. Now you're not good enough. Now you're not pretty enough. Now you're not thin enough.
Now you're caught in the trap of vanity and lies.

Stop! For God's sake...for your sake, stop!

Look at your face. Its curves and lines and colors are all unique. How can you even begin to compare yourself to the faces of other women when your faces aren't even remotely the same? You can't.

You are beautiful. Look into the eyes reflected in that mirror and say "I am beautiful." Why? Because you are! Stop lying to yourself and stop putting yourself down. It will only make you feel more miserable and unsatisfied with life.
So what if you don't have small thighs and a skinny waist, so what if you don't have "full" chest and tan skin. No one in their right mind cares about that more than the person you are, the personality that you have. Wake up and start telling yourself the truth!

No one deserves to be miserable. No one deserves to feel bad about their image.

Tell yourself that you are beautiful. Every chance you get, tell your friends that they are beautiful. Tell anyone anytime you get the chance with a smile. Help them realize the truth.

You are beautiful.

I live in a place...

2010-10-24T17:35:00.000-07:00

I live in a place where summer meant Christmas time, where Christmas day is spent playing in the waves and soaking up the sun while sand gets stuck in places it shouldn’t ever be in. I live in a place where rain floats down from the sky like snow and is never in large quantities. I live in a place where it is perfectly normal to see 7 year old girls holding and taking care of their baby brothers and sisters while their Momma is out working. I live in a place where they speak a language I don’t completely understand. I live in a place where I have foothills bordering on mountains in my backyard. I live in a place where if you step outside in flip-flops and stray from the sidewalk, your toes would be buried in sand. I live in the place where it is a rare sight to see a tree taller than me.

I live in a place where close friends are few and acquaintances are plenty. I live in a place where poverty has an iron hold, where the line between rich and poor is extremely distinct. I live in a place where squatting on abandoned property and saying you live in a mat hut the size of a small shed isn’t unusual.

I live in a place where belching is considered downright rude. I live in a place where the darker skinned you are, the more mean looks you get. I live in a place where when I go into the streets or cities, wolf-whistles and curious looks are all I receive from the locals. I live in a place where white people are glorified and all are considered rich. I live in a place where air conditioning and heating are nearly unheard of and only used in large buildings like grocery stores. I live in a place where the government is corrupt. I live in a place where children run around barefoot, in danger of stepping on broken glass and nails because their family can't afford shoes. I live in a place where dogs are not pets, but guards, and are beat and starved. I live in a place where seeing a cat is practically good luck.

I live in Peru.

--------

Hope you liked. It's a bit rough yet, but it's a glimpse into what I experience down here.

~Vicki

Lack of Posts.

2010-10-07T18:40:00.000-07:00

Yeah, sorry.
Busy.

Although I'll give you something to chew on. It's my writing, but the idea is NOT mine. I just chose the scene of a movie and wrote what happened as a prompt idea that I had. Take a 5-10 minute scene (could be more or less; it's a matter of preference) from a favorite movie that you can readily pause and play, since you'll be doing a LOT of that. Write out the scene using as many details as you can without being over-descriptive and dragging the scene out. The only rules are keep the dialogue intact and don't fudge things too much. Try to get everything into the writing. This is a good thing to do when you've got writer's block and can't think of an idea. Get your artistic juices flowing by drawing from someone else's idea. Or you can do it for fun. I thought it was fun.
Anyway, here it is.
One of my favorite scenes from "Inception."
Enjoi.

------------------------------

Pristine white rose in hand, Don made his way down the carpeted hallway of the hotel, reading the card he wrote attached to the long-stemmed flower. Slipping the keycard into the door of their suite, he opened it with a whoosh and immediately halted his steps.

The room was trashed.

His eyes scanned all around; lamps shoved to the ground with broken light bulbs scattered on the floor, chairs toppled and torn cushions lay on the off-white carpet like it was a battlefield. He slowly closed the door and realized that the only thing he didn’t see was Mal.

Striding forward slowly, he became wary. His eyes darted around shortly before he heard a snap from underfoot. Glancing downwards, he found that he had stepped right on the neck of a slim wine glass. What he saw next, however, made his heart beat faster.

Mal’s top was on the carpet right next to the glass.

He bent down and picked it up, examining it before slipping it into his pocket and walking forward again. The window was open as far as it would go, looking like monstrous jaws instead of a thing made of wood and glass. The white curtains billowed in the air swirling through it.

He stepped closer, almost afraid of what he’d find.

He leaned down to get a better look outside as he put his hand on the sill. He found Mal sitting on the window ledge of the room parallel to the one he was standing in. She was facing the street.

She had been expecting him.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” He asked, showing no fear in his voice; merely curiosity. “Join me.” Mal replied sweetly. “Just…just step back inside, alright? Just step back inside. Now come on.” His left arm began making a movement akin to the “come here” and “inside” gesticulations.

“No.” Defiance was clear in her tone. “I’m going to jump and you’re coming with me.” It wasn’t a request; it was an order.

“No I'm not. N-now you listen to me: if you jump, you're not gonna wake up, remember? You're gonna die. Now just- just step back inside. Come on; step back inside so we can talk about this.” The level of fear was building rapidly in his heart. She was beginning to terrify him. She was serious.

“We’ve talked enough.” She pointed her foot over the street and let her tall high-heel slip off and plummet to the zooming cars below. He watched it fall, registering how incredibly set on this she was before pinning his eyes to her. “Mal-”

“Come out onto the ledge or I’ll jump right now.”

“Okay.” He said, his eyebrows rising, attempting to stay calm and keep her from jumping. He kept his eyes glued to her as he hoisted himself up to the sill and over the edge until he was sitting as a mirror image of Mal.

“We’re gonna talk about this…right?”

She ignored him. “I’m asking you to take a leap of faith.”

His brows furrowed and arched upwards. “No, honey.” He shook his head slowly. “No, I can't. You know I can't do that.” He continued to watch closely. “Take a second and think about our children. Think about James. Think about Phillipa now.”

She continued to ignore him as if he hadn’t said a word. “If I go without you they’ll take them away anyway."

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion now. “What does that mean?”

She looked him dead in the eye. “I filed a letter with our attorney explaining how I’m fearful for my safety…” His heart beat faster and a sick feeling twisted a tight knot in his gut. His head snapped around to glance at the door to the suite. Mal continued. “How you threatened to kill me.”

He slowly turned his head back around, an expression of confusion and disbelief taking over his features. “Why did you do this?” He begged her.

Yet again, she evaded his question. “I love you, Don.”

“Why did you- Why- Why would you do this to me-?” He started to get frantic.

“I’ll free you from the guilt of choosing to leave them. We’re going home, to our real children!” She insisted, so firm on this lie that he began to think he wouldn’t be able to stop her from pursuing it.

“No no no no, Mal, you listen to me, alright. Mal! Look at me! Please-” She had closed her eyes, clearly ignoring what he was saying.

“You’re waiting for a train…”

“Mal! Goddamnit don’t do this!”

“A train that will take you far away…”

“James and Phillipa are waiting for us-!”

“You know where you hope this train will take you…”

“They’re waiting for us!”

“You can't know for sure.”

“Mal! Look at me!”

“But it doesn’t matter…”

“Mal, Godamnit!”

“Because you’ll be together.”

“Mal, listen to me! Sweetheart!”

She gently pushed herself up to her feet.

“Look at me!”

With her eyes still closed, she stepped over the edge.

“Mal, no! Jesus Christ!” His voice broke as he death-gripped the window frame.

Mal was gone.

So you're cold, huh?

2010-09-05T11:57:00.000-07:00

Would you please stop complaining? I'm sick and tired of reading about what you "need," what you "don't have," and what you're taking advantage of.

Cold? Put on another layer, because I know you own at least one more piece of clothing. Broke? Get a job and quit your whining. Hungry? Go to your pantry, pull out something and shut up about how you "don't have anything to eat," because I guarantee that you have at least something that's of edible substance around your house.

It disgusts me how much North Americans take advantage of. I say hello to people daily, look into their eyes and know for a fact that they own hardly anything to their name. Next time you go to take a shower, tuck yourself into your warm bed, and are sheltered from the thunder and rain pounding on your window; you better thank God for all that you've got because you are privileged.

It sucks how crazy different our perspectives are. Things are so simple and normal to us that are the complete opposite to others. Complex. You have running water; some people don't know that can even exist within their houses. You can make a sandwich whenever you like; they don't own a fridge and have to scrounge up enough money from their beaten wallet to put a loaf of bread on the table to feed their children.

Next time you don't finish a meal, take it home or save it for later. Next time you're about to say "I'm starving," look up the word starving in the dictionary and then tell me if you are.
Starving; 1) to die or perish from lack of food or nourishment, 2) to be in the process of perishing or suffering severely from hunger, 3) to suffer from extreme poverty and need.

Next time you say you "need" something, think about it. If you won't die without it, you don't. Need. It.

In the next instance you find yourself in your air-conditioned, food-abundanced home all showered, fully clothed and content, be thankful. Be thankful that you've got what you have and never, ever take advantage of it.

Thank you.

Young Writers Assignment...

2010-09-02T18:35:00.000-07:00

...that tore me up. But in a good way. Unexpected tears surged to my eyes and I had to practically run out of the classroom we were writing in to cry, sobbing into my knees around the corner. It was a good, cleansing cry, though. Really.

----------------

Hey Grandpa,

I miss you.
It's been almost a year since you left us, but I hope that you are doing well. I hope you got to see Grandma and Shadow again because I'm sure they missed you as much as we do. I still can't believe how surprising your death was - it was just so sudden. I'm glad you went peacefully though, and with a smile on your face like nothing that the managers of the funeral home had ever seen before. You were always grinning when you were alive and I appreciate that so much. I wish I would've told you while you were here just how much you meant to me, because now it's too late. I hope there are palm trees and hammocks and sun in heaven like there are in Florida where you'd go for Christmas every year. I know you trekked down there all the way from Michigan for the winter because avoiding the cold and replacing it with warmth was worth the long journey.
I know we never really had many deep, meaningful conversations and now I'm regretting that. So much. Because now you're somewhere I can't bring you back.

I love you.
~Vicki

Orphanage; August 2010

2010-08-26T05:46:00.000-07:00

Don't Wait Up For Me

2010-08-26T05:12:00.000-07:00

Her chest slowly rises and falls, tucked underneath a thick quilt and sheets with her eyelids heavy in sleep. A lamp illuminates the room in a soft yellow glow from the nightstand, sitting flush with the bed. A novel is perched on her abdomen, open but face down; her fingers loosely grasped the edges.

Carpet-muffled footsteps enter slowly through the shadowed doorway. He steps into the light and his ring glimmers subtly as he advances to her bedside. He smiles sadly, crow’s feet branching from the corners of his eyes as he delicately pulls the book from her hands, closes it and sets it quietly on the table. It was sweet of her to try and wait up for him, he thought, but tonight it was better that she hadn't been able to stay awake.

He gazes at her face and sighs melancholically. Ghosting a hand lightly over her cheek, he bends down and kisses her forehead tenderly. He whispers that he's sorry he has to leave, but it's for the best; that he'll miss her so much and that he loves her and will continue to no matter how much distance is between them. His eyes linger on her eyelashes, cheeks, and lips; every inch of her face before he tears his gaze away and turns the bedside lamp off with a click. He walks out the door and pauses momentarily at the frame of it, his hand resting on the faded wood as he contemplates again what he's about to do.

He looks back at her shadowed figure. She rolls over, mumbling something before falling still again.

He sighs, his shoulders sagging forward. He has to force himself to turn away before he can pick up the bag he packed and walk out the door.

Closing it behind him silently, he disappears into the night.

Scissors

2010-08-09T21:54:00.000-07:00

He slid a thin, rolled white cylinder out of his pocket and flicked his thumb over the lighter. It ficked metallically before a flame ignited, dancing red and orange in the reflection of his aviators. She scowled and crossed her arms, turning away from him.

He took a long drag, his chest rising slowly before exhaling wispy gray smoke through his nose and mouth in almost what seemed like a long sigh of relief. Holding the lit cigarette between his pointer- and middle fingers, he tipped his head in her direction and quirked an eyebrow. She couldn’t tell where his gaze was through the shields of the lenses concealing his eyes, but she knew he was looking at her. She could feel it.

“What? Something bothering you?” He asked smoothly, inhaling through the red-tipped tube again. He expelled the smoke into the air and it dissipated in the cool night breeze. “Yes. Something’s bothering me.” She huffed and wrapped the jacket tighter around her torso, shoving her hands into the deep pockets.

“Care to elaborate?” His tone was calm, languid even. She envied him for it. But it only irritated her more.

“Care to guess?” She retorted sharply. She kept her gaze low and away from his face, away from his entire body. She heard him take another slow drag.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He prodded gently, setting a hand on her shoulder to turn her to look at him. To anyone else who’d do that, she’d shrug off their hand, smack it away, or bite it. But he was different. She let him touch her, even though the effort to not do anything made her grind her teeth together.

She looked up at him and was disoriented when she found his soft blue-green eyes instead of those mirrored lenses peering at her. Blinking, surprised, she looked away for a second before grasping her bearings. She had almost forgotten why she was frustrated with him when he sucked in more of that sick, noxious tobacco. Her anger kicked back in full force.

She glared at him.

“Why do you smoke those things? You know it’ll kill you. You know I hate the smell and your addiction. Why don’t you stop?” She crossed her arms and looked up at him sternly.

He looked at her, blinked, and looked up into the sky thoughtfully. He took another drag and respired the smoke straight up to the stars. Sliding a hand into his black skinny-jeaned pocket, he sighed leisurely like he had all the time in the world to answer her.

“You don’t understand this addiction.” He whispered to the air. Taking in another mouthful of tobacco fumes, he exhaled them through his nose before continuing. “It’s got me on a leash, on a chain that takes a lot of strength to break free from. I could do it if I really had the motive to…but it makes me feel too good to give up.” Here, he turned to her and gazed into her eyes. “I know you don’t like it. I know you hate it and I’m sorry. I want to be able to stop, but…I can’t. Maybe one day I’ll summon up enough courage to finally quit.” He turned away from her and lodged the cigarette cozily between his thin lips. He put his other hand in his pocket, his posture slouching even worse as he leaned back against the railing.

I’ll give you motive to quit…

She rummaged around in her own pockets for something, a certain thing an idea had just sparked. Her fingers rubbed against the cold metal and plastic and she grasped it in her palm. Swiftly pulling it out of concealment, she snipped once, chopping off the end of his cigarette. He blinked down, confused, and extracted the stub that was left of the cig from between his lips.

“What did you-?” He stared at her incredulously. His eyebrow quirked to a great height and she almost laughed in dark satisfaction. “How did you-?” Disbelief crossed over his lips.

Smirking, she slipped the blades back into her pocket and turned to walk away, but paused to look back over her shoulder as if she had suddenly remembered something. “You better quit soon or I’ll keep doing that.”

She sauntered away, leaving him to stare after her, perplexed.

She continued to smirk.

Food for Thought

2010-08-08T21:32:00.000-07:00

I'm still not sure what inspired all this to come together, but here it is. It's sort of titled "Peace," but that's just the prototype name.
Think what you want. I'm still not sure what I think of it, myself.

Love,
Vicki

---------------

Pavement melts into brick
red swallowing the streets
smelling of must and vanilla and old vintage clothing kept in the closet too long.

Prices tag cloth and skin
How much are you worth
it sickens me the heights these numbers take.

You, with your closed emotions
I want openness, you want to leave
Don’t leave, don’t disappear without words
Say something, say something
Whisper me the secrets of the earth

I just want peace.

Playlist Rules

2010-07-22T07:56:00.000-07:00

*This post is mainly comedic with hints of truth; I'm exaggerating a lot so don't take it seriously. Supposed to be for entertainment purposes.*

Playlist Rules. You play by them or die. Or receive a dagger glare.
Same thing.

I’ve found that I have unspoken rules when it comes to listening to my music library through speakers. When I take the headphones off, it goes into effect.

1. If I’m playing my music, I can sing/hum along all I want. But you can't. So don’t.

2. You may ask me politely if you can play your own music. I’ll comply and pause mine and let you play yours. I won’t bite your head off. I’m not that mean.

3. You may ask me to play a different genre/speed of music. I shall acquiesce with your request. I’ve got an unreasonable amount of music for your selection conveniences.

4. I may or may not play my music up to absurdly high volumes; if I do, you deal with it.(1) I won’t blast my music if you’ve got your earbuds in. That’s just common respect.

5. Playing your music overtop of mine is downright unacceptable. Refer back to #2.

That's all I can think of now; if I think up any later, I'll update this.

I hope this entertained you. (: That's what it was meant for.

Love!
~Vicki

P.S.: It's the last day of YWW! Nooooooo! This is going to be a terribly tragedy. Spare me the agony and kill me now!

Err, wait...don't do that.
Please.

------------
1 - If you’re taking a nap or want some quiet, I pop in my earbuds.

Schedule: Unwrapped

2010-07-18T08:20:00.000-07:00

So like I promised, I'm going to write a short summary to each time/activity so you can get a better glimpse into my day.
Here goes.

7:00 WAKE UP you lazy bum! (This one is self explanatory; gotta get my butt outta bed.)

7:30-8:30 Breakfast in O'Hill (My suite and I walk across the lawn to the cafeteria, AKA O'Hill [Observatory Hill] dining hall. It is good food compared to regular school cafeteria food, but to any other meals it's just plain alright. But that's to be expected.)

8:45-10:15 Morning Workshop Lab (We all split up into our separate genres and I hang with my Creative Nonfiction peeps. We work with our two TA's [teacher assistants] and do some exercises that help stretch us and better us in our writing and free writes. There's generally an activity/prompt that we work the whole class around.)

10:15-10:30 Break (15 minutes to breathe before something else starts up. This break is greatly appreciated.)

10:30-11:30 Writing Time (We sit and either pull out our pencils and notebooks or laptops and fingers and just plain write. Write write write, whatever comes to mind, something you need to work on for workshop. Just as long as you're writing. This is probably one of my favorite times out of the whole day.)

11:30-12:40 Lunch; Independent Writing Time (Again we make the short [but hot] trek across the lawn to O'Hill dining hall and indulge in its lovely lunches. If we get done early, we can go back to our suites and write some more as we wait for the next activity to roll around.)

12:45 Leave for Workshops (At around 12:35, we split into genres again on the lawn just out front of Tuttle [the house of dorms that we live in] and then leave on our journey to the Hall where we have our intensive afternoon workshops. It's long and hot the majority of the time, but it's worth it when you get to the doors of the Hall and air conditioning almost blasts you away.)

1-3:30 The Intensive Afternoon Workshop (This is my favorite part of the day. Our main Teacher (Julia McGill) shows up and bends and molds us even more by throwing prompts at us and challenging our writings in many different ways. For instance, I wrote an art critique in the format I would normally, kind of like an organized essay. We "workshopped" it [this means we went into small groups and read it out loud and got feedback on it, what we should change, what we should definitely keep, etc.] and Julia challenged me to put it in poem form, just to do something different. Now, I'm no poet and it's not one of my strengths, so at first I was like okay, I might try it, vaguely thinking about it. But then I actually did it and she liked it. We workshopped this poem and she wanted a printed copy to use as a model for how much different your piece can come out from what you originally planned. It was pretty awesome.
I also really like my Creative Nonfiction family. I'm so chill and used to them now, so I don't have to worry about if I cry in class because of what I wrote or write something that sounds incredibly stupid. They understand what's going on in my head and it's so cool (: )

3:30-4:15 Break (Another breather before the next activity. This break is also very nice.)

4:15-5:30 Electives (The day before, we sign up for electives which are afternoon activities ranging from Beardology to Ultimate Frisbee. They're pretty neat and I try to do them every chance I get, but sometimes I just need plain ol' writing time, which is also an option in place of an elective.)

5:30-7:00 Dinner; Independent Writing Time (When 5:30 rolls around, we know it's time to trudge back over to O'Hill for din din [or yum yums, as Erika Lewis, one of the head counselor people here likes to call it.] After la cena, we chill in our suites for a little bit before the next activity.)

7:00-9:00 Cultural/Social Events; Student Staff Meetings (Poetry slams, faculty and staff readings, student readings, plays, you name it. And at times, important announcements.)

9:00-9:45 Personal time for writing projects, etc. (Quiet time [generally] to work on something you need to get done for workshop or just time to roll around other ideas in your head; this time is dedicated to anything writing.)

9:45-10:45 Suite Time ("SUIIIIITE TIIIIIIME" as the suite next to us likes to yell. Our 120s suite gathers out in the main area on the couches and floor and hang out. Sometimes we play Apples to Apples, sometimes we watch "Freaks and Geeks," we talk about how our day/week has been, etc. This time is dedicated to suites doing things together with their suites.

10:45 Get ready for bed (Suite time is over and it's really time to wind down and think about sleeping.)

11:00 Over head light must be out (We don't necessarily have to be asleep when 11 rolls around, we just need the room's main light to be shut off. Sometimes I'll take showers at this time or continue on my writing projects until I'm tired and need to go to bed. Although sometimes when I'm in bed and preparing to go sleep, someone starts talking to me about...random things :P )

Whew! So that wasn't as bad as I thought it was gonna be. But anyway, enjoy! It is a packed day and I'm glad again that the weekend is here to let me relax a little bit. Last weekend, by the end of Sunday I was refreshed and ready to get back to it, so I hope it'll be the same after this weekend.
Gah! Only 5 more days left! What?! That is insane. I can't believe the 2nd week is already over. I'm really really glad I didn't do first session, because I was fully adapted to everything here by the time this past Friday rolled around.

Thanks friends and family for your support and encouragement (:
And thank you so much Mom and Dad, for backing me up in this decision. I'm not tired of writing yet, I'm actually enjoying just how much we're writing, which is constantly. I'm so eager and excited to finish out this next week with a bang. (:

Love out to you all, and I'll even add a cyber hug just for you!

~Vicki

Illness

2010-07-15T07:40:00.000-07:00

Air conditioning. A cricket chirps for a mate in the distance. Cotton blankets and polyester sheets rustle in the dark. A sigh emanates from them.

An insomniatic figure rises as a slim shadow from the twin bed. She’s thin as death himself and pale as the horse he rides.

Ebony coats her walls with darkness.

The darkness is unfriendly.

Luna isn’t out tonight, clothed in her silver dress.

She hobbles over to the wall, leaning her frail arm against it for support.
She shouldn’t be out of bed.

Flicking the switch, lights blaze to life and she shields her sunken eyes from them in envy.

If only it were that easy to live.

The orange and white bottles of pills taunt and jeer at her from the small bathroom countertop.

Her legs begin to wobble. She’s already stood up for too long.

Stumbling, she barely makes it over to her bed before collapsing onto it. She heaves a sigh, panting lightly and beginning to feel her head swim like it was lost in the ocean.

Drowning.

The doctor always told her to act positive, to think optimistically. He would always straighten his glasses and smile reassuringly at her.
And she would always scowl and turn away from him.

How wrong he was. “Think optimistic,” she would mock once he had finally stepped out of her room. “Fat lot of good that does.”

She had tried. She’d thought optimistically, acted positive. She’d smiled.

But not anymore.

Not now that there was a price on her head, a price in time.

Steadily she got cheaper every day.

-------------
I'm not sure if "insomiatic" is technically a word, but oh well. I like it.

Ciao!
~Vicki

The Odd Instance of Music Selection

2010-07-15T07:36:00.000-07:00

Music. I depend on music. Too much.

What I listen to tells my mood or the thoughts swirling, either languidly or madly in my head. Sometimes it’s something I've gotten hung up on, whether it’s a scenario for writing I'm batting around or a personal happening.

Occasionally music pushes and pulls me in and out of moods. Breaking Benjamin can throw me into an extremely pensive mood, and not at all in a happy way. Adam Gontier’s(1) rough voice can either reassure me or show me just how screwed up the world and the people in it are. Aaron Marsh’s(2) light, airy tones tug me by the hand into an instance of (at times) melancholic remembrance. Apocalyptica puts me in a concentrated trance and George Winston and Eluvium calm me down.

The list goes on and on.

Recently I’ve found myself in the odd situation of being completely clueless as to what I want to listen to. I have 18 GBs worth of music stored on my computer and can't manage to figure out what the heck I want to listen to. You can imagine that this is somewhat frustrating.

Sad, no?

It’s a strange thing. Normally I have a certain artist or song or even collection of songs that I’m utterly obsessed with and will listen to over and over. But not now. For some peculiar reason, my brain won't let me get obsessed with anything. Sure, I’ll listen to whatever pops up on shuffle, but nothing is currently my favorite.

It’s simply maddening.

------------
I wrote this while at Young Writers one day, randomly thinking. Which I do a lot. Enjoy! It's rough, of course.

Love!
~Vicki

------------
(1)Three Days Grace lead singer.
(2)Copeland lead singer.

Week One = Over. Success?

2010-07-12T17:50:00.000-07:00

Heck yes!
It was nice to sleep in a little bit this morning after this jam-packed week, as it is a glorious Saturday. I know I didn't elaborate much on it in the other blog I posted, but the daily schedule for Monday-Friday is full of stuff. We're constantly doing something, whether it's walking to our next class, listening to our instructor or writing.
Here's my daily schedule:
7:00 WAKE UP you lazy bum!
7:30-8:30 Desayuno(1) in O'Hill
8:45-10:15 Morning Workshop Lab
10:15-10:30 Break
10:30-11:30 Writing Time
11:30-12:40 Lunch; Independent Writing Time

12:45 Leave for Workshops
1-3:30 The Intensive Afternoon Workshop
3:30-4:15 Break
4:15-5:30 Electives
5:30-7:00 Dinner; Independent Writing Time

7:00-9:00 Cultural/Social Events; Student Staff Meetings
9:00-9:45 Personal time for writing projects, etc.
9:45-10:45 Suite Time
10:45 Get ready for bed
11:00 Over head light must be out
FIN.

Whew, that's a lot.
On a later date, for the sake of the frequency of blog posts, I will elaborate on each of the times.

-----
1 - breakfast, people, breakfast.

Thanks for reading!
Love!
~Vicki

Young Writers!

2010-07-06T20:56:00.000-07:00

Hey-hello!

Okay, so I've made it to the Young Writers Workshop! Woo-hoo! It's only the end of full day 2 and it seriously feels like I've been here for a week already. In a good way, though; there has been so, so much packed into these past couple of days. It keeps me busy and productive, but even though it's a lot of things to hold me occupied and my brain constantly thinking, it's not work. Writing and getting to know other writers is fun to me and quite enjoyable.

Jumping into random mode here, I am currently (and literally just got hooked on this thing I stumbled upon on youtube.) Oh youtube, how you waste away my life with inescapably captivating videos.
My mind doesn't seem to mind(1) even while I cover my mouth gingerly with my cupped hand to repress a yawn in the wee hours of the morning as I sit and continue to watch videos endlessly.
Anywho, my latest and greatest obsession is actually a collection of videos by MysteryGuitarMan on youtube. Here are my two favorites so far:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lhiP4cNgHxs (Root beer Mozart)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EQXA7ErL708 (Guitar: Bumble (Flight of the Bumblebee)
The videos above are songs in stop motion guitar and root beer bottles. They are really cool - go check out his whole channel.

Alright guys, it's late and I need my sleep, as much as it doesn't seem like I care about it.
Type to you later!
Goodnight,

~Vicki

----------

1 - Ha! That was funny. ...wasn't it? Kind of? Sort of?
...okay so maybe not. Sorry.

Air-travel Syndrome

2010-07-05T18:33:00.001-07:00

As I gaze around at the faces of the people waiting to board my same flight, I see and hear a wide range of emotions. The majority of these faces, however, show me the same expression: boredom, mild exhaustion and semi-irritation all rolled into a wonderful ball I call air-travel syndrome.

Some people have taken the chance and haphazardly folded up their jackets to tuck under their heads and take a quick nap as they wait, but others pop in their earbuds or whip out a book to pass the time as they momentarily cut themselves off from the outside world and fall into their own.

As an apt people-watcher, I observe the things that strangers do. I interpret actions, read expressions, and try to decipher emotions from the signs they outwardly send. Sometimes it's easy to tell that the girl sitting across from me is talking to her significant other by the way she twirls thin strands of hair around her finger, or how she smiles as she talks to him for countless minutes. Other times it's hard to tell by the overall expressionless faces; curveless mouths and subtle changes in the distance from the eyebrows to the eyelids make these people difficult to figure out.

Then the plane begins to board and this announcement over the intercom makes people come alive. Sleeping teens rise from their makeshift bench-beds and young boys pack up and put away their electronic games. Everyone is suddenly awake and alert; ready.

Ready to get to their desired destination.

Travels

2010-06-29T00:35:00.001-07:00

Heya,

Okay, so I made it to my destination in one piece with all bags of luggage in tact and together. Breathing a sigh of relief at...3:35 AM, I shall fall asleep, hopefully for a good few hours. Summer vacation has officially started.

Goodnight world,
Peru, it's weird to say but...I kinda miss you already.

Love!
~Vicki

Summer

2010-06-23T20:39:00.000-07:00

Hey guys,

So I just really realized that I'm going back to the United States for 7 weeks in less than five days. Whoa. Wow. Goodness. I am excited, but I feel like it's come up almost too fast on me. I really just started taking root here in Peru and actually liking it (took a good year and a half, but hey! Better late than never, right?) Sigh, but anyway, I'm super excited for the Young Writers Workshop in July. Three whole weeks of writing intensive studies with published and professional writers. You betcha I'm thrilled. During those three weeks there will be zip blog posts from me, because I'm assuming I won't get internet. I'm only allowed to receive letters in the mail and 5 minute phone calls.

On a different note...I'm on a Snow Patrol kick now. Chasing Cars and Open Your Eyes are constantly driving people around me mad because of how often I play them through my speakers. I really like the whole album "Eyes Open," but those are just my two favorite songs.

Anyway...it's late. I really should be in bed. Like, now. Not because I have curfew, but because I need my sleep. And I like to get up early, buuuuuuut...I've failed miserably at that lately.

Have a blessed day/night, or whatever it is wherever you are! (:
~Vicki

Comfort Zone

2010-06-20T16:22:00.000-07:00

Hey-hello,

Okay, this is still incredibly rough so don't start cramming critiques down my throat yet...please. That sounds really painful. Anyway, this is about Comfort Zones, and here in Peru, I see people deal with this irritating hold-you-back-more-than-anything bubble daily. So, I decided to think over the idea of a Comfort Zone with Jesus thrown in the mix, and viola! This is what transpired. Hope you enjoy!

~Vicki

--------------

She blinked her eyes curiously at the room she was standing in; every surface bleached a bright white. She couldn’t tell where the walls ended and the ceiling began or the floors touched the corners of the walls or even how far the room went. The source of intense light was nowhere to be seen. Looking down at her yellow chuck-taylored feet she observed that she was standing in the middle of a thick black ring.

“Confused?”

Spinning to her left, she was startled to find another person in the room with her, standing outside of her circle. He was a good height, not too tall but not short. Long brown hair was draped neatly down to his shoulders with a beard running the length of his jaw and around his smiling lips. There was a white cloth wrapped around his body that hung down to his bare feet fastened by a rope encircling his waist.

She nodded slowly, taking in his sudden appearance before her and still recovering from the shock of it. “Curious too.” He stated, beginning to walk around the outside of the circle with his hands folded in front of him. “What does this mean, Lord?” She asked him, feeling a tad overwhelmed but at the same time foolish. He grinned, stopping in front of her. “This,” He gestured to the ring she was standing in. “Is your comfort zone.”

She thought for a moment.

“My comfort zone?” She echoed, cocking her head to the side in question. He nodded and stepped close to the ring, his bare feet leaving no evidence on the floor as to where he had been previously. “I’ve come to help you with it.”

She had no clue what he meant by that.

“Erm, Lord, I’m sorry, but I don’t follow what you’re saying.”

He chuckled lightly and clapped his hands together. “You will soon enough.”

He took a few more steps around the circle and she wondered why he wouldn’t step over the black curve. She decided to timidly voice her thoughts. “Jesus…if I may call you that...” He nodded in response and motioned for her to continue. “Why won't you step over the ring? I mean, you don’t have to, I’m just wondering-” He stopped her with a gentle hand held in the air.

“I know – you're curious. I was patiently waiting for you to ask me that exact question, Samantha.” She was startled by the fact that he knew her name, then felt like an idiot for even thinking he didn’t.

He is Jesus, after all.

“I cannot step into this circle or make it disappear; only you can walk over the line. It is your decision and your decision only whether you push yourself to cross the line.”

She processed this, turning it over in her head.

“So,” She began, choosing her words carefully. “The only way for me to really find you is if…I step over the line? Er, out of my comfort zone?” He nodded, a friendly smile still upon his lips.

She stood, smack dab in the middle of the unfilled circle, thinking. “But…I know getting out of my comfort zone isn’t as easy as stepping over a line.” She thought aloud, curious for what he would say next.

“Aha, you're a smart girl Samantha; you are correct. In getting out of your comfort bubble you turn over all control to me and depend on me. You take your hands off the wheel and let me take control; you surrender it so that I can do things through you.”
Her heart sank. She was a control freak by nature, an avid planner and task manager. Not to mention she had a bad case of OCD. “Lord…how can I do all that? It sounds so difficult. I don’t know if I can.” A frown furrowed her brow and bent her lips down at the corners.

“With faith the size of a mustard seed, you can do it, Sam.” He spoke gently to her, his voice tender.

She closed her eyes and thought long and hard, pondering and pouring over what she should do and how in the world she would do it. Philippians 4:13 says “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me...” and Isaiah 43:5 says “Do not be afraid, for I am with you…” Proverbs 3:5-6 says “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight.” So, if I just trust in Him, I’ll be okay…

“What is your decision?” He asked, like he knew she had finished her thoughts.

She smiled as he reached out his hand, already knowing the answer she had in her mind. “Come, child. You have much to learn and I am eager to teach you.”

Walking to the edge of the circle, she picked up one foot and placed it on the other side, half expecting a great display of fireworks to begin shooting off around her. She began to feel an air of childishness surround her as she stepped out of her confining comfort bubble, but it was a good feeling, one somewhat humbling.

Her hand touched his.

The room was empty.

In Over Your Head

2010-06-18T14:22:00.000-07:00

The two bikini clad girls giggled as they hopped down the carpeted stairs, beach towels and goggles clutched in their fingers. “Daddy, we’re gonna go swim in the lake, okay?” Susie called, swinging herself around the banister at the bottom of the staircase. Violet and Susie walked past the living room doorway, Susie’s Dad sitting comfortably in a recliner, newspaper in hand. “Be careful, you two.” He ordered despite the hint of a smile on his face. He knew they were both excellent swimmers, but as a parent, he was obligated to say it. “Aiden, why don’t you go read out on the dock so you can keep an eye on them.” He hooked a thumb in the direction of the screen door that lead out to the short backyard, sloping subtly down to the rocky shore of the lake.

Aiden groaned, but a stern look from his father made him get off the couch and slump towards the door after the girls. “Why, Dad, they know how to swim well enough.” He grumbled, not expecting a response. He knew arguing was useless.

Violet and Susie had already laid out their towels under the sun, slipping off their colorful flip flops and testing the water with their big toes. “Oooh, it’s a bit chilly today!” Susie exclaimed, shivering for effect. Violet rolled her eyes, smiling. “Psh, it is not! You’re just a big wuss.” Susie crossed her arms, a challenging grin creeping across her lips. “Oh yeah? I dare you to jump in first, then, Miss The-water-isn’t-cold.”

“Fine, I will.” Violet accepted her dare, slowly sliding her arms out of the cover-up sundress she was wearing. The firey hues contrasted with the deep blues and greens of her suit, the pair covering all colors of the rainbow. She took her time tying up her long black hair into a tight ponytail atop her head, laughing when Susie began to tap her foot against the dark wood of the dock. “You're stalling!” She accused, lunging forward.

Violet evaded her attack by jumping sideways, hoping that Susie lost her balance and tumbled into the water, but she wasn’t that fortunate. They mirrored each other, standing at the edge of the dock facing the shadowy water, waiting with mischievous smiles for the other to strike first.

Out of the corner of her eye, Violet saw Aiden approaching them, ambling over to the bench on the dock with a thick book clutched in his hand. Curiosity flitted shortly across his face when he took in the girls’ stances, but soon left, his expression turning unreadable. “I’m surprised you two aren’t already racing each other across the lake.” He commented, his heavy footfalls thumping hollowly on the surface of the wooden platform.

“Yeah, well, we’re trying to settle something first. It’s none of your business anyway. Butt out.” Susie retorted meanly, just the way a little sister might. He just shrugged, uninterested, and made his way over to the cushioned bench.

Violet’s gaze had shifted from Susie over to Aiden and Susie used this distraction to her advantage. She pounced forwards, arms stretched out in front; the perfect position to push someone. Violet was lucky to have her quick reflexes, and, to Susie’s dismay, dodged at the last second. “You can't catch me!” She yelled giddily, leaping to the other side of the dock around Susie.

Susie growled, despite the smile on her face, and threw herself at Violet again. She missed, for the third time. Violet stuck her tongue out, mocking Susie and laughing at her expression of frustration. “That’s it!” Susie declared, pointing a long nailed finger at Violet. “You're going into this lake!”

Susie and Violet both screamed simultaneously, falling into the water with confused expressions bending their brows. Susie hadn’t pushed Violet and Violet hadn’t even touched Susie. When they surfaced, Violet knew exactly who did it.

“AIDEN!” Susie shrieked, making a flock of crows in a nearby evergreen caw and fly away. He looked over the top of his book, lounging on the bench like he’d been there the whole time. His eyebrows rose at her. “What?” He asked innocently, a smile threatening to break out. His lips quirked at the corners as he tried to hold it back.

“You pushed us in! I know it was you! Don’t play dumb with me!” She fumed, climbing up the rust incrusted ladder screwed to the platform to stick a wet finger in his face. “Hey, water is a book’s enemy.” He said, slapping it closed and holding it away from her dripping body. Violet had to laugh at the absurdity of his expression against Susie’s fury, how it seemed to glance off of him.

She regretted it instantly when Susie rounded on her, turning all her anger towards her and piercing holes in her face with the intensity of her stare. Violet held her hands up in surrender. “Hey, calm down, Suz. He just pushed us in. We wanted to go swimming after all, don’t get all fired up about it.”

It only took one step and a good shove and Violet was in the chilly water once again.
Susie yelled, frustrated, hands balled into fists at her sides. “I cannot believe you!” She huffed, turning her back to him. Violet surfaced, taking in air and wiping wet strands back from her face. “C'mon Suz, ignore him. Let’s race.” She suggested, gesturing with her arm for Susie to get back into the water. Reluctantly she slipped back in, disturbing the liquid with her body.

The water rippled restlessly around them as they swam between the parallel shores. The second time they got to the other side they stopped for a rest and stretched out on a floating platform, letting the sun dry their dripping skin.

“Don’t mind Aiden,” Violet murmured, knowing Susie was still thinking about what happened earlier. “He’s just being your big brother. He aims to make you mad and enjoys your anger and frustration. You remember him smiling up at you, right? He didn’t care; he was happy that he made you mad. He thrives off of that.” Suz just made a grunting noise indicating that she had been listening.

“But you don’t have any older siblings who’re like him. He’s a big idiot.” Susie sighed heavily, rolling over onto her elbow to face Violet more directly. “Do you really think that’s what he wants when he makes me mad?” She pondered aloud, her eyes darting all around in her head in thought.

Violet nodded and closed her eyes, reveling in the warm blanket the suns beams cast down on her. Susie hummed in thought, rolling onto her back and copying Violet. Violet turned her head to the side and watched Aiden flip pages on the opposite dock. His dusky brown hair was short and messy; it hung down low enough to cover some of his forehead but not shadow his blue eyes. The black shirt he wore hung loosely on his frame, but pulled tight in just the right places and his jeans were dark-wash, faded and gray. There was a hole at the left knee, the darkened edges fraying into white.

“Earth to Vi.” Susie jabbed at her shoulder and Violet blinked over at her. “What’re you staring at?” She demanded, her eyes following the trail of where Violet’s had just been. Her lips curved into an excited O and Violet braced herself for what she was about to say.

She gasped dramatically for starters. “You like him!” She half yelled half whispered. Violet rolled her eyes and groaned, turning away from Susie. She squealed. “I should’ve thought of that before! Ooooh, you would look so cute together! And then, if you get married, you’ll be, like, legally my sister!” She leapt up to her feet and grabbed Violet’s hand, tugging her none-too-gently onto her own.

“We must tell him the great news!” Susie smiled gleefully. “Hey-!” She started, waving her arm in a huge arc to get Aiden’s attention. Violet slapped a hand over her mouth and jumped off the platform, plunging them both into the lake. “Are you nuts?!” Violet hissed once their heads were above water. “We don’t even know if he likes me back!” “Well then, let’s find out!” Suz replied simply, oblivious to Violet’s anxiety.

“No, Suz wait! Please, let’s talk about this! I don’t know what he’s even like!” She begged, swimming alongside Susie. She giggled in response. “He’s smart, he reads a lot, he’s not a pervert, and he loves taking walks, he’s perfect for you!” Violet groaned, knowing at this point that Susie wouldn’t stop. Nothing Violet could say would prevent Suz from marching up to Aiden and telling him she likes him.
“Please, Susie. What if he rejects me? It’ll be your fault, you know.” She pleaded again feebly, without any real intention to win the debate. Susie just snorted, amused. “He won't; you're too pretty to turn down.” Violet was so surprised by that comment that she stopped in mid-kick.

Quickly regaining herself, she paddled up next to Susie. They were halfway to the dock; maybe if she pretended to drown, but acted real enough, Susie would totally forget about this whole thing? That might work, she thought. Violet could, at times, be a great actress.

Before she could begin her act, however, Susie was pulled under.

Something appeared to grab her ankles and yank her underneath the water; it closed in rapidly over her disappearing head. “OhmyGod - Susie!” Violet shrieked in shock and horror, taking a deep breath before diving down into the murky water. To her frustration, she could only see a foot or two in front of her face through the shadowy green lake.

She rushed to the surface, gulping in air before throwing herself back into the depths of the lake. She quickly glimpsed the dock before she went under and saw that Aiden had stood up from his seat, looking out towards Violet. She scissored her legs as fast as she could, propelling herself downwards with her arms. Squinting her eyes open, her cheeks bubbled and she knew she was running out of air quickly.

“Damn it!” She cursed loudly when she got back above water, treading it and huffing. She felt light headed and knew, with a sinking heart, that she wouldn’t be able to go under again for a few minutes at least. And at that point, it would be too late.
Aiden dove in, swimming swiftly over to her. “Where’s Susie?” He asked in a hurried tone, bordering the edge of worry. Violet shook her head, eyes squeezed closed. Tears burned behind her lids, threatening to push past the barrier when she thought of Susie’s scared face being suffocated by water.

Aiden dove under, leaving Violet to tread alone on the surface. His body faded with every kick he took, searching for any sign of Susie until she couldn’t see his feet through the dull, mucky water.

He returned a minute or so later, shaking his own head in despair. Tears filled her eyes at the action, making his sister’s death true. This was reality.

She desperately wanted to reject reality.

“S-Susie…” She mumbled between pants, trying to regain her breath. Tears burned hotly in her eyes in great contrast to the chilly water she treaded.

“We need to get back to shore. Something pulled her down and I’m sure it won’t mind two more humans, whatever it was.” He told her as he grabbed her upper arm to help steer her in the right direction.

Just as he let go, she shot under the water with a gasp. Aiden submerged as quickly as he could, pumping his legs and arms against the water. He ground his teeth together, squinting his eyes as they darted around, determined not to lose her. Her pale hand waved in front of him and he grabbed at it frantically, clutching it with an iron grip and tugging without restraint. She came up toward him but the thing that had her ankles yanked her down deeper.

Her floating face looked lifeless already, eyes closed and lips parted, but he was resolute on keeping her alive. He already lost his sister and he wouldn’t let anyone else die, not when it was in his power to save them.

He gripped her limp wrist firmly in both of his hands and heaved with all the strength that he could, her body coming towards him again. He pulled back his leg and threw it forward into the thing that was trying to drown her, his foot connecting effectively. Her ankles slipped out of its loosened grasp and he hauled her to the surface, his oxygen level depleting dangerously fast.

He wove his arm underneath hers across the top of her stomach, her back on his front, and he crushed her body to his to keep her lolling head above the water. He felt exhaustion settle in his limbs, but he wouldn’t stop until he got to the dock. That thing was pissed and he knew, in his state, they would both go down without a trace if it came back for them.

As he neared the wooden platform he hurled her up onto it before climbing out via the ladder and stumbling over his weary feet. He fell to his knees, his energy spent and chest heaving. Air in his lungs never felt so good.

His eyelids were suddenly like lead, but he held them open against his will. Before he could let torpor take him over the edge of sleep he had to make sure that Violet was still alive and breathing. He put two fingers to her jugular and felt a subtle pulse. That was all he needed.

Putting his ear by her mouth, he noticed she wasn’t breathing. “CPR.” He rasped, leaning over her body to press his hands on her heart. He pushed again and again, stopping to put his mouth to hers and clamp her nose shut. Pumping his hands against her chest again several more times, he began to lose hope. He pressed his mouth to hers and blew air into it, hoping her lungs would take it in.

A gurgling noise came from deep in her throat before she rolled over and spewed lake water onto the wooden boards. Coughing and gasping, she struggled for air. Aiden held a shaking hand to the small of her back to help support her as relief washed over him. He heard rapid footfalls behind him, his Dad’s low voice following shortly after. “What the hell happened? Where’s Susie?!” He asked, but neither of them was in a fit state to answer him no matter how much he pleaded for a reply.

Aiden’s eyelids suddenly slid closed and he fell on his side in an uncomfortable position, his arms out at odd angles from his body. Violet fell back and tried to regain her breath, looking up at the blurry trees lining the lake. “I’m sorry.” She whispered, feeling like she had just run a marathon and then drank way too much water.

“I’m sorry...”

Accident

2010-06-16T18:52:00.000-07:00

I can't sleep. Tossing and turning, clamping my eyes shut only for them to flutter open sleeplessly again. I bury my tearstained face into the worn, tear blotted pillow beneath me, trying desperately to quiet the shrill sobs scratching at my throat. The pitch black darkness of my room suffocates me, but I don’t have the strength to pull myself up and flip on the light switch. The silence surrounds me; it scares me to death only because it screams the truth: I am alone. As I lay here in a feebly tangled heap of blankets and body parts, unable to sleep and crying like a despairing insomniac, I can't help but wonder. I can't help but wonder what it would feel like to die.

Do we get swept away under the relentlessly crushing black oblivion, our bodies melting away from our souls which begin flitting around mindlessly like faeries trapped in little glowing orbs? Or do our entire beings; mind, body, soul, get erased from the system called life, deleted like broken computer programs? Or, even, do we get copied and the duplicate of ourselves is like a ghostly reflection and we all transfer to a kind of waiting room where we anticipate our turn for being judged by God? No one knows for sure what happens after our hearts stop beating.

I wish he could come back and tell me so I know. I wish he could just come back. Fresh tears spilled from my eyes as I pathetically bit my lip against the cascading waterfall. Why couldn’t that red truck have been more careful?

The whole scene played out perfectly in my head again, as it had so many times before.

I shivered, rapidly rubbing my gloved hands up and down my arms to try and ward off the cold. Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I breathed out a visibly translucent sigh of air. “Where is he? If he doesn’t get here soon he’ll be late for his meeting.” I whispered to the night air, a lazy gust of wind brushing past me, sending unwelcome chills up my spine. I hurriedly slid back the fuzzy sleeve of my coat to check my watch. I sighed again. “What’s taking him so long? He’s already ten minutes late. Maybe I should call him…” I voiced my thoughts to the icy air.

“I’ll call him." I concluded, reaching my hand into my purse to rummage around for my phone. Breathing on my frozen extremity to warm up my fingers, I poked out his number on the lit keypad. Holding it to my ear, I waited while listening to the rings. Once, twice, three times... "Hey babe, sorry I'm late. I'll be there in a few minutes." I smiled; it sounded like he had been expecting my call. "Alright honey. Drive safe; I hear there's patches of ice everywhere on the road. See you soon, love you!" I replied quickly, wanting him to focus on driving. "Love you too, see you soon." The line cut out.

I flipped the phone shut with a snap and slid it back into my purse. I quickly rubbed my hands together and breathed on them to defrost my poor, stiffly frozen fingers. I stood there like this for only a few more minutes as the wind bit at my ears and nose.

A smile broke out between my rosy cheeks as I saw his car shoot around the bend. I felt the wind from a red truck that had just sped past lightly push against me and I watched it zoom in the opposite direction that Lyric was going in.

What I saw next will always be burned into the backs of my eyelids; a memory I will never be able to forget even if I wanted so desperately to.

Then a sound met my ears. It was not a pleasant sound. I gasped as I watched the wheels of the red truck spin, sliding and unable to stop as it hit a deadly patch of black ice. The sound of squealing tires filled my ears as I screamed "No!" As much as I felt the urge to run, to do something, I couldn't; I was utterly rooted to the spot, only able to look on and watch what happened next.

Lyrics car swerved as wide as it could, tires screeching in protest to the huge arc, trying desperately to dodge the spinning and out-of-control truck, but unfortunately it wasn't enough.

The two cars collided with each other in a flash of silver and red; a horrible crunching boom rang through the trees and off the mountains. The silver car was launched sideways by the red truck, briefly hanging in the air before smashing to the pavement on its top, rolling and spinning in a ceaselessly dangerous tumble. Awful scraping noises shrieked from the silver car as it finally skidded to a halt. The red truck had only spun a few 360’s before smashing front first into a tree 20 feet from the silver car.

Then the road was ringing with a haunting silence.

I stood there, speechless and utterly terrified. I couldn't feel my feet or make them move; I stood rooted to the spot, trembling. I managed to get a hold of myself enough to shove my hand into my purse and shakily rip out my phone. It fell from my quivering hand and onto the frozen ground; I swore loudly. Crouching quickly to pick it up, I jabbed my numb finger at the numbers 9-1-1, hurriedly putting it to my ear.

I was finally able to move my feet, surging forwards and losing my balance. I fell face first, catching myself on my free hand, cursing loudly again as I scrambled up to my quaking feet. I ran to the silver car, the shrill ringing of the phone intruding into my ear. My heart pounded against my ribs, fluttering like a winged thing trapped in a cage. My mind raced with dark, terrifying possibilities.

What if...he was dead?

"Hello, 9-1-1, what is the emergency?" A calm, business toned lady asked me, making me jump at the sudden voice. "Um, there's been a cr-crash. P-please send help immediately. T-two people inside damaged v-vehicles." I replied shakily, tears filling my eyes. "What is you location?" The business tone asked me again. I spun towards the stop sign and read our whereabouts to her, stammering and trembling as I spoke. "Help is on the way." The lady replied. I snapped the phone shut and shoved it back into my purse. I threw myself to the ground by the driver’s side window of the silver car, crouching on shards of glass and twisted metal. They cut sharply into my skin, making it cry crimson tears, but I didn't care.

"L-lyric?" I whispered hoarsely, hesitantly looking through the window. I cleared my throat roughly. "Lyric? Are you a-alright?" I asked again, this time louder. I reached my trembling hand up, poising it just over the window. I drew in a shaky breath and knocked. I heard an odd, gurgling and moaning noise come from inside the car. "Lyric? Hello?" I yelled louder through the window. The moaning sound greeted my ears again, but this time it was stronger.

I sprang up onto my feet with more grace than I thought I had, given the current circumstances, and tried yanking open the driver’s side door. To my luck, it was unlocked. I tore it open, falling to my knees to examine the damage and see how badly Lyric was hurt. I gasped, sharply sucking in a gust of air and put my hands to my face. “Oh my God.”

He was suspended upside down by his seatbelt, head almost touching the roof of the car. Blood was gushing from a wound on his head where it hit the windshield and a crimson waterfall was spilling from his mouth. His arm dangled, bloody and shirt ripped, over his head. It was more than likely broken from the impact of the red truck on the driver’s side. His whole dress shirt was dyed a sick scarlet color; you would’ve never known it had been white. Tears filled my eyes and spilled over as they scanned his broken and bloodied form. “Lyric, baby…” I whispered, reaching my arms out to him. His eyes slowly looked over at me and he made that dark, moaning sound again. I finally realized that the gurgling noise was because his mouth was full of blood when he tried speaking.

“What do I do? What do I do?” I jumped up, asking myself quickly, eyes wide and full of disbelief as I ran my hands through my disheveled locks. I heard sirens in the distance and prayed that they got here quickly. “Help is on the way, honey, just hold on.” I whimpered, collapsing to my knees again by his head as tears streamed relentlessly down my cheeks. I sobbed pathetically by Lyric’s helplessly trapped body. If I tried moving him it would only hurt him more, so I had to wait for the paramedics to get here. I hated feeling so…so useless. My love was injured and in pain and all I could do was watch and wait.

Useless.

The sirens shrieked their shrill cries as the ambulances approached, breaking through the frozen air surrounding the scene of the crash. All I could do when they stopped quickly near both vehicles was scoot back on shards of glass and watch with a tear-blurred gaze as they pulled Lyric’s body from the car with such precision and skill that no one other than a practiced paramedic could have achieved. One of the blue clad women walked over to me and kneeled by my pathetic form, asking me if I could tell them about what happened. I just broke down in sobs, feeling my throat going sore as they ripped from my lungs.

It had all happened so fast. Too fast.

His heart was still beating when they got him to the hospital and that was a very good sign. He had lost a lot of blood though, and that wasn’t the best of news. “He’s got a strong heart.” A doctor had told me while we were speed-walking down the white, overly clean hallways of the hospital that always smelled strongly of bleach. “If we can get him patched up quick enough, I’m sure he’ll be fine.” He had smiled at me, a reassuring smile that I’d imagined he gave to every other distraught relative of an injured loved one in the hospital. Although his words had been somewhat reassuring at the time, since I was no doctor I couldn’t verify whether he was sugar-coating it or telling me the cold hard truth, so I believed him.

He was wrong.

Lyric died in the hospital shortly after he got there. They underestimated how much blood he had lost and weren’t quick enough with patching him up. I didn’t even get to say goodbye or see him one last time while he was alive.

He was gone from me. Violently ripped away in a flash. Now all I’m left with is the pile of broken pieces that were once my heart cutting sharply into my hands and a lap full of cold tears.

What could be worse?

Multiply

2010-06-15T17:30:00.000-07:00

Ever wonder how Jesus multiplied the loaves of bread and fish to feed over 4,000 people? I know I have. But, have you also ever wondered if God does that still today? Albeit maybe not giving someone the ability to feed thousands from small loaves of bread, God can still do things like that. For instance, this past Sunday I dug around in my purse for all the soles (money in coins) I had to slip into the tithe bucket that was being passed around at church. (I only had around 3 or 4 soles left.) Finding the last of it, I threw it into the bucket without thinking whether I'd want it or need it in days to come. This action left me without any money for the rest of the month, as I only get my allowance at the beginning of every month. This didn't bother me for whatever reason; though - knowing me - it should have.

Then, earlier today I was looking frantically in my messenger bag for a safety pin that I needed and checked every pocket in desperate search. Sliding my hand into a small zippered pouch, I felt what seemed like a folded slip of paper. Pulling it out curiously, I unfolded it and realized that it was a ten sole bill. I had no idea - and can't remember - that I had left that in there. I immediately thought about the money I threw in for the tithe and later thinking that, oh, I don't have any money left. Smiling, I thanked God and slipped it into my back pocket. I feel like God multiplied my tithe and blessed me because I gave Him all I thought I had left without worrying whether I would need it. Some may say it was just coincidence that I happened to find that bill in my bag, but I don't concur. There are never coincidences, just God-instances. (I don't know who originally said that, but it's not from my own mind. Credit goes to whomever thought it up first.)

Have a blessed day! (:
Vicki

Indescribable, Uncontainable; You Are Amazing God

2010-06-10T20:39:00.000-07:00

Hey all,

I had some really good God moments over the past few days. And the past year, I should say. My eyes have been opened to a lot of stuff that is about the world and Godly and sometimes a mixture of both. He’s shown me things that I can’t explain, but some of the points that He’s revealed (and that I can, fortunately, explain) I feel like I should share with others. Let’s begin, shall we?

So first, I am propelled to think that there is somewhat of a cycle to this whole “wisdom” thing. These are my thoughts about it (with God’s help):
You gain wisdom through experiences and in speaking to others about the wisdom you gained, you give them knowledge of it. You help them through your own experiences (using the wisdom) so that they may not make the same mistake you did. You don’t give them wisdom; you give them knowledge through your wisdom. Or present them with the knowledge, free for them to take if they so choose.

Which is generally a good idea.

My next thoughts are about rules and regulations, laws and such that we are supposed to follow. Remember that hand book in school that you read that listed all those – what you thought – dumb rules that you felt like they forced you to follow? Yeah, those ones. The smallest rules and the biggest laws are similar in how they attempt to guide you. I feel like laws (like the Ten Commandments or any other rule you should – but are not forced – to follow) are like walls surrounding you. Imagine yourself totally surrounded by bleached white walls that are tall, but short enough for you to climb over if you wanted to. The walls are built for you protection and to keep outside things from getting in, like bad influences and things that could harm you in any way. However, the walls are like a strong suggestion for you not to get out, but you could jump them if you wanted.

I feel like some people think that rules are like a cage, locking you inside and forcing you to do things that you think you don’t want to do. I absolutely despise the phrase “rules are meant to be broken” because they are not made up for people to break them. That is far from the reason they are laid down in the first place. Rules, laws, regulations; any of those things are set for your safety and protection because (generally) wise people set them, using their wisdom to help you not make the same mistakes that they did. The rules are not preventing you from doing something fun or anything like that. On the other side of that wall (not chain link caging) is a field of endless barbed wire, not bright green, unbelievably luscious grass and rainbows.

If you think that, you're in for a big surprise.

In short summary, (if the above was so incredibly scatter-brained that you couldn’t follow along, I’m sorry) rules are made up for your safety, not to prevent you from doing anything fun. (You’re not missing out on anything being inside the walls.) Laws are like walls, not caging. We have the free will, the choice to stay inside the walls or climb over them. God asks us to stay inside the walls because He knows what’s best for us, but we - as fleshy, sinful humans – always want to know what we’re not allowed to do. Our flesh and curiosity gets us in trouble and it breaks His heart to see us scale the walls, but He’s always got His arms wide open if we choose to jump back over, bruised and scratched.

I am still attempting to grasp just how God loves us as much as He does and I know I’ll never fully understand it because if I did, I’d probably explode. It’s too much for us humans to handle, but I want to know more of how He can love such imperfect sinners so unconditionally. It’s so awesome to think that I have a Heavenly Father who will always, always take me back into His loving arms no matter how badly I’ve screwed up.

I love it.

Thoughts? Comments? And please, don’t hesitate to tell me if I’m out of line in anything I said. Don’t hesitate to point me back onto the right path; I stumble off it daily.

Thanks for letting me share my thoughts with you (:
Have a blessed day!
~Vicki

Kiss A Cloud

2010-06-10T08:04:00.000-07:00

A few droplets of moisture landed on the exposed skin of her arm, surprising her, the gray sky stealing her gaze upwards. The rain that came down was unsusual rain; it fell soft as snow but touched the ground like water. The mist caressed her face with chilly fingertips and she grinned.

"It's like kissing a cloud."

-------
The original idea of this is not mine, but the writing is. The words "kissing a cloud" are from one of my friends, Ryan Stauffer (ryanstauffer.wordpress.com/)
Thanks Ryan for the great idea (:

I wrote this because this is exactly how it rains down here in Peru. Peru only gets 1/4 of an inch of precipitation per year. So, the way that it "rains" is as a thin mist. It's weird.

~Vicki

Pictures of the Orphanage

2010-06-08T20:12:00.000-07:00

Here are some pictures that I really liked of the orphanage. And a random picture of chairs in the cafeteria that I thought was cool.
The fourth picture is an updated picture of the orphanage, taken just today. The Gateway team is just flying here! It's got paint on it and everything. I really love their company; it's an awesome group of people ranging from teens to middle-aged and older Moms. It's been a great experience working with them so far and it's only the end of the second day! I can't wait to see what's going to happen these next few days.

The two pictures in the middle I will not take credit for (other than editing them); they were taken by David Mosemann (http://www.davidmosemann.net/). The one of the chairs and one of the orphanage, however, I can claim.

~Vicki

Methodical Dressing

2010-06-08T06:58:00.000-07:00

I had an epiphany while standing in front of the mirror, gawking awkwardly with a toothbrush sticking out of my mouth at an odd angle and foam dribbling down my chin. I’m not sure why it struck me in this moment, but it did.

I realized that I dress methodically after a shower or in the morning when I’m getting ready. There is a certain order that I put on my clothing every single time and it hasn’t changed. The order goes something like this:
Under garments (without details for the sake of it being public), pants/shorts/skirts, first layer shirt, second layer shirt(if there is one).

I always, always have to put on my pants first because if I put on my shirts first, then I might have to pull them up to button my pants and then have to straighten the shirts back out. Since I put on my pants first, then I can just smooth out the shirts as I put them on and not have to use extra time to mess with them.

So, you see? Methodical. It might also be a little bit of my OCD seeping in too.

Who knows.

~Vicki

Coldplay Kick

2010-06-07T18:49:00.000-07:00

So I'm on a Coldplay kick. This isn't all that weird, but I suddenly just felt like listening to all the albums that I have on my iTunes library (Coldplay Live 2003, Prospekt's March, Viva la Vida, and X & Y) and that is a little strange for me. Just listening to all of the songs by one artist more than once is different for me. But I really like them now(1), since I actually paid attention to the lyrics and the way the instruments flow together.

I hope you all like the snippets I post on here even though they tend to be random and out there. I just wanted to give people a chance to see kind of what goes on in my head.

I'll be posting some things other than just writings too, occasionally, but most of the posts will be snippets or stories. I'll be typing some stuff about living in Peru too, it'll be sprinkled in. Some of these things might be complete rough-rough drafts and really clunky still, so bear with me. Constructive criticism is always greatly appreciated. Just don't be brutal. (:

These eyelids are starting to feel a little like lead, so I'll head out now before I start typing gibberish.
Well, if I haven't already.

~Vicki

1 - I liked some of their songs before (Viva la Vida, Clocks) and have had a lot of their songs for a while on my library but never bothered to listen to them, for some odd reason.

Sorry

2010-06-06T20:46:00.000-07:00

“I’m sorry.” She murmured softly, staring downcast at the blue tiled floor, avoiding his eyes entirely. He shook his head slightly as a small sad smile crept onto his features. “You keep saying that, but you know just as well as I do that no matter how many times it’s uttered, it doesn’t really help. They’re just words, even if I know you mean them.” And he knew she meant them too, but it made no difference. She could be saying, “I think I’ll have a sandwich today,” and it would have the same effect on him as the words she was muttering now. They both knew that those words had lost their sincere meaning over the years because of how much people abused them. She sighed and closed her eyes, that foreign, small frown on her face deepening. “I know.” She practically whispered, opening her brown eyes to stare at the plain white wall, again avoiding his eyes.

He gazed at her face, letting his eyes trail up her neck and over her softly angled jaw, up around her small but full lips and letting his eyes rest on her unfocused ones after he spied the hardly noticeable patch of dark purple half moons hanging underneath them. “I'm sorry.” She murmured, grimacing as she realized she had said it again. He chuckled softly, shaking his head again. “Sorry, it’s impulse. Ack! Sorry! Gah!” Her hands rapidly came up to her face, smacking hard against it.

He laughed and walked over to her, gently tugging her hands back from her face. “It’s alright, love. I forgive you.” He whispered tenderly into her ear as he began wrapping her arms around his torso. She caught on quickly and coiled them around his body as she went to rest her head against his chest. Before it lay against him, however, he put his forefinger under her chin to bring up her face so that he could look into those beautiful eyes once more.

The Beginning

2010-05-26T12:46:00.000-07:00

Everything has a beginning and everything has an end.

And this...is the beginning of my blog. I've debated with myself numerous times on the subject of starting up one of these bad boys, but I always arrived at the temporary conclusion that I simply was not the type of person who would blog. Then I would double back and argue with myself again and reason that I had a life that was somewhat different than the average teen and that people might find that interesting. I really couldn't defend that thought because I was not made up of the people I would be writing to and so wouldn't know all of their opinions without just assuming them myself. And we all know that assuming isn't a good thing to do.

So, I breathe life into this digital journal and hope that it keeps people interested. And I hope I can update it at least weekly. I suppose I'll mostly be blogging about writings that I've been working on and what's been going on here in dusty ol' Peru.

Warning: posts following this one may be random, incredibly stupid, gruesome, and contain romance. Ye have been warned.

~Vicki