You and Me and Me and You

I walked down the street, my long black hair curtaining my face. I walked alone, no one by my side, missing my friend. No one must know. I shivered, the cold January wind traveling up my spine. Snow would fall soon; I could feel it in my aching wrist that I had broken a year ago. Such sad memories that I refused to think about any more. My heart lurched with longing if it peeked too far into my mind.
When I got to school, I sat in my seat by the window, in the back row. I took out my notebook and began to doodle. When I found my drawing taking the shape of Jeremy, I ripped out the piece of paper, split it into tiny pieces, and threw it out. No one must know. The teacher sauntered in and took her place at her desk. The lesson, so dry, so dull, began. I looked out, missing the squirrels and birds, missing the warm breeze on my face, the sunlight kissing my cheeks. And there he was again. Looking back at me in the bare trees, the clouds, the sky. I swiveled in my seat, unable to help myself. When the teacher caught me glancing at Jeremy behind me, detention loomed in my future. I didn’t care, my glance was worth it; he looked back at me with sadness in his eyes, loneliness. I turned back, looked straight into my teacher’s angry eyes and recited the Oath of Independence, my voice twisting and cracking with hatred and sadness.
“That’s right. You are an independent woman. Acquaintances are silly and distracting. Let go of the past and look to the future, kids!” she chuckled, turning back to the chalkboard to continue the notes she was writing for us to copy. The ‘kids’ stared back at her and I could tell that they felt the same way. They shared my hatred to the teachers of our “school” that acted more like a monarchy. They longed for their own friends, like me. I understood the Oath. But understanding and agreeing were too different things.
The teacher had assigned detention to Jeremy also. My heart soared. I would have pitied him, being punished for my mistake, but he seemed to be happy. I knew that he didn’t enjoy going home, having to endure the screaming and yelling of his father who never seemed to be satisfied. During detention, the teacher declared that she was off to buy a cup of coffee. She got up, gave us a warning glance that she didn’t need to explain and walked out of the room.
I listened. She walked farther and farther away, her footsteps reminding me of the clock that always seemed too slow or too fast. When she was sure to be out of hearing range, I jumped up and threw myself into Jeremy’s awaiting arms. I began to sob until a ridiculous fit of hiccupping overtook me. He rubbed my back, shushing me, comforting me. He muttered three words.
“I miss you.” I could not have explained how much I missed him. I needed him. How much I wished they would understand. They controlled us, not caring about how we felt, not understanding that friends were not something disposable, something that could be taken away whenever they were inconvenient and replace with education.
And then he did something unprecedented, so uncommon that I was momentarily stunned. His kiss was so soft, so quick that I wasn’t even sure that it had happened. I saw him fall into his chair, tears of his own swelling into his eyes until he buried his face into his hands. I was turning red, I could feel it. My heart was pounding, threatening to jump out of my chest. I ran over to the sink and grabbed a few paper towels, wetting them, and throwing a few to him. He began dabbing them at his eyes, his breathing still ragged, almost eliminating the redness, and all traces of our teary reunion, all traces of our friendship. I dabbed at my own eyes until I found that it was pointless. I was still crying. I threw out my towel, caught his and threw it into the garbage.
When the teacher came, her eyes wrinkled in confusion at my red eyes. I told her of my late night last night and I couldn’t help but to add in a small part about how unobservant she was, but my remark went far beyond noticing my reddened eyes. Detention again tomorrow, along with some hurtful words that stabbed at my heart. The rest of the day went by in a blur and I found myself walking home in what seemed like only a few minutes. I thought about Jeremy and how when I held out my hand, craving to hold his, it only caught air. I began to miss him more. His kiss brought on a new kind of longing. A stronger one. And I missed him more than ever. I learned that my longing had not reached its limit, but once I felt like I could take no more, it swelled and continued to consume me and I could take no more. I couldn’t do this. I collapsed to the ground, sobbing, the concrete of the sidewalk cold and hard. I jammed my head against a telephone pole as if that would release some of my feeling. A woman walked by, watching me, glancing around nervously. She jabbed me with her walking stick.
“Get up,” she hissed.
I looked up at her. She jumped, looking around again, and walked away hurriedly. Confusion mixed with longing. I peeked at the guards around the street. They were staring at me, muttering to each other. One started towards me, holding out her hands, slowly advancing. In a quick moment of realization, I turned running, screaming. The guards chased after me, yelling that they didn’t want to hurt me. That may be true, I thought, but they were about to do something much worse. I thought about the memory device, I remember watching the woman with her memory taken away at just a click of a button. That would not happen to me.
“No!” I screamed. I tripped, gasping, thrashing around as the guards’ hands wrapped around me. I couldn’t breathe. I was gasping, crying, hiccupping, and screaming all at the same time. It was over. I knew it. Suddenly, I heard a click, saw a flash and everything froze.
I looked up at the guards surrounding me. What’s going on? Why do they seem to be studying me? The guards stepped back, watching me closely and told me to go home. I acquiesced and began walking away, my face screwed up in confusion. My face screwed up in confusion and I turned home, rubbing my aching wrist as I walked the rest of the way home.
The next day in school was even more confusing than the day before. The teacher gave me a strange look when I took the seat in the front of the classroom, away from the window; it was too cold outside. I arranged my books on my desk and looked up, ready to start the lesson. My teacher approached me.
“Sophie? Where were you yesterday evening?”
“Hmm… I can’t remember. I just remember being on the sidewalk, with guards watching me. They told me to go home and I did. Am I in trouble?” I asked sweetly, not wanting to be rude to my teacher.
“No! Of course not!” she laughed. “It was about time,” she added as she walked to the front of the class, setting up for her lesson.
Towards the middle of the lesson, I got up to go to the bathroom. As I was walking out, in the corner of my eye, I saw a boy get up and follow me out. When we were out of hearing range, he caught up to me. Suddenly, the boy moved, he attacked me. He grabbed me from behind and forced my face to look at his. I struggled, overtaken with fear. What is he doing?
“Sophie? Sophie? Do you remember me?”
“No,” I whispered, terrified. This seemed only to anger him more. When we heard footsteps running our way, he shook me and held on harder.
“My name is Jeremy! Jeremy! Don’t forget that!” he screamed his name a few more times, and kissed me. I heard someone calling my name a few classrooms down. My teacher ran up, forced us apart and began yelling at the boy. Jeremy. His name was Jeremy and he kissed me. Something stirred in my chest. A bit of longing, but I couldn’t quite place its source.
I walked home from school that day, rubbing my aching wrist, my hair swinging in it’s ponytail behind me, puzzling over the events of the day. I decided to just forget it. I continued home, smiling. Why did everyone else look so miserable?

What Happens Next

What is out there if I die?
I want to know.
Yet I am scared.
I need to be sure of everything.
I’m walking into darkness.
Into fear.
Into the biggest test of my soul.
And I hope with as much hope as I can muster that whoever is choosing my fate,
God or whoever else,
Makes the choice that I deserve.
We care only of ourselves.
When another dies, pain takes over.
All those cuts and burns that will never heal.
Is that worse than death?
To me, the worst kind of pain is the pain of the present.
And not of the past or the fear of the future.
And if that pain never goes away?
That’s worse than death.
So I’m just going to live.
To live my life.
Never need to know anything.
And never be afraid of the unknown, but of the known.

Anger

Anger
Fire
Hot molten lava
It rises in my throat
It burns
It scorches
It builds up
Day after day
It EXPLODES.
And now what is left?

The Color Palette of My Life

The Color Palette of My Life
Soft, light, smooth, fiery, lush, dark, blinding.
Anything.
Soft for that feeling as you lie in bed with the covers tucked around you, your pillow cushioning your head.
Light for that daisy that ripples in the breeze that reminds you of summer.
Smooth for the feeling of the pencil gliding across the paper making anything you want it to make.
Fiery for that anger that builds and builds until it explodes and there’s nothing left.
Lush for the plants that fill your garden and ask for company and care.
Dark for that feeling that you will never be safe no matter where you are, no matter who is with you, no matter what is ahead.
Blinding for the sun that blinds out the bad things.
The color palette of my life.

Believe

Do you believe in ghosts?
Do you be lieve in Santa Clause?
Do you believe in the Tooth Fairy?
Why not?
I d0.
I believe in imagination.
And that's all i need.

Greener Pastures

Sometimes life feels better on the other side;
In the greener pasture.
Sometimes you feel that your life isn't
All that you wanted it to be.
Sometimes you take that adventure to that
Other, greener pasture.
When the truth is,
The grass may be greener,
But it doesn't taste as good
As your grass.