My Greatest Work Yet…

chelaboo — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 06:49:53 +0000

A blade of grass, or dust in the wind
One face in a sea of many
One massive body, moving and working together
A loss of individuality at first glance, or a chance of being a part of something greater than yourself
One dead piece of grass in a field of life stands out as one rebel in the crowd of conformity
Or maybe, it’s even a symbol of dedication to a cause.
Every blade of grass is cut down to what it is decided it should be, sometimes they’re carelessly ran over at random
Leaving some to wither and die, while others live for another day
Only for every blade of grass to eventually die with the coming of winter.

Writing from the heart…

chelaboo — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 05:25:45 +0000

Writing is supposed to be from the soul. (At least in my personal opinion.) But what if you don’t want to write about what is really on your mind? What if you don’t want to go there?

I find myself in that very position right now. I have writer’s block. Why? Because while I have many story ideas bouncing around in my head, I dont want to go there. Whether it’s for my own selfish reasons, or that I don’t want to be the girl in creative writing that writes the story for shock value. I wouldn’t intentionally do that and I would hope it wouldn’t seem that way, but you never know.

Why can’t we write happy stories without being cliché when we have much more serious matters on our mind? This is the problem I think I run in to the most. Every thing I put on paper sounds cliché or over done. But I’m so tired of depressing stories and song lyrics. So what do you do?

Maybe these stories are repressed memories like the stories about people who keep painting certain scenes or writing certain stories and don’t understand why. Or maybe they’re just an interpretation of those memories. Or possibly, they’re someone else’s memories all together.

Regardless I’ve resolved that in order to write the happy fun things I’m going to have to actually write out every sad story that fills my head until they’re all gone and on paper. Then I’ll have room for more happy thoughts.

Untitled Story for Class

chelaboo — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 21:37:03 +0000

Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
There it was again. The slow ticking of the clock that followed me everywhere, that I had become so accustomed to. I wildly spun around half expecting to see it following me, but all I saw with me on the deserted street were the knocked over trash bins and broken benches. I cursed this wretched city under my breath and felt a million eyes looking at me even though I couldn’t see them anywhere. I needed to hurry so I could reach the safety of my home before dark. The night was always dangerous, especially while outside. So, I continued my trek down the lonely deserted street towards my home always looking out for the millions of eyes and the ticking clock.
I finally got to my house and paused at the front gate. One of the boards covering my windows had fallen to the ground during the day. I took a closer look and saw marks on the wood where the nail had been. This was the work of them. They thought they could fool me, but I caught them. Damn it. It’s almost evening. I would have to wait until morning to replace the board. All the others seemed to be in tact. I would have to keep a close eye on that window tonight to make sure nothing got in. I slowly glanced around and realized I was still standing outside in the cold. It was almost dark now so I ran up the front steps, ignoring the nagging feeling that I was being watched. I even noticed the ticking had stopped, but ran inside just the same and closed the door behind me.
I hurriedly locked, dead bolted, chained, and again locked the front door and then checked every other window in the house to make sure they were locked and the drapes were pulled shut. I returned to the living room, and locked the window, however with the board missing I knew they would be able to see in. I pulled the dark drapes shut as tight as possible and looked around the room. There was a coat rack, a rocking chair, a birdcage, and a mirror. I grew weak while staring at that birdcage, so I got down to business. I pushed the mirror in front of the breached window, pulled the rocking chair in front of it and got ready for a long night.
I saw an orange tabby streak across the room and continue to run in circles around my steadily rocking chair. After about 10 minutes of running, Sir Woody stopped directly in front of my chair and stared up at me.
“Good evening, Sir Woody,” I said.
“A good evening to you ma’am. I see you are manning the window. Very good, very good. Don’t want anything coming in. No, we don’t want another incident like last time. Yes, last time was terrible. Terrible, I say.”
He was right. I had completely forgotten about the last incident, when a window had been left unlocked. The ticking had seeped inside and stayed for months. The eternal ticking. I shivered at the thought of it finding its way back in here. I tried so hard to keep it at bay. Yes, I must stay vigilante, like he says.
“You know. This is only the beginning,” he said, “Yes, just the beginning. They’re resorting to vandalizing your property just to get to you! Imagine what they will do to us if you let them in! Oh, you musn’t. You musn’t let them in here. That will be the end of us all. Do you hear it? It has already begun. There it is again. It’s here. Don’t you hear it?”
And then I could hear it also.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
I could see he was right. It was already coming. The ticking was just the first sign and now that it had started it wouldn’t stop. I was sure it was loud enough to wake the dead. If only it really could. But I couldn’t think about this. No, I must push it from my mind. I saw the orange tabby walk to the corner and curl up in a ball. Yes, I had to push this from my mind.
“Another worthless day that you’ve wasted. More oxygen that you’ve taken advantage of, that could have gone to someone else.”
I knew that voice all too well. I turned around to see a gray and black striped cat. She was a beautiful little thing and she knew it, and made sure that everyone else knew it too. That was how Little Miss Mollie worked. I had always wondered how she was so sure of herself. I mumbled my brief hello to her and tried to make small talk. Mollie was always a source of great stress for me. She was one of those people who knew exactly what to say to get you down. Was she a person? She certainly didn’t look like one, but she was far too intelligent to be anything less. She knew everything, more than I did, and she was merely a cat.
“I see you’re staying up all night again. Any reason why?” she questioned.
Instead of answering her question I tried to think of anything that would change the subject, but nothing came to mind.
“Stop avoiding it. Spill.”
“Well, someone or something ripped the board off the window and I intend to stay up and make sure nothing gets in here.” I tried as hard as I could to sound sure of myself. If even a tiny twinge of doubt was in me, she would find it and harp on it. Apparently, I failed.
“Really?” she questioned. “So just what do you think is going to try to get in here?”
I knew where she was headed. She loved making me explain it. My intense fear that was rooted into my being. The ticking. The eyes. The thing. I didn’t know what it was, and she didn’t believe it even existed. Luckily, I knew better than her, and I had to constantly remind myself that someday she would see how wrong she was.
“Earth to crazy. Just what do you think is trying to get to you?”
“I… don’t know,” I answered honestly.
“And just who do you think you are?” she asked.
“I… I’m sorry?”
“Who do you think you are that anyone would care to get to you? You’re just some crazy old lady. No one visits you. No one offers to help you on the street. No one even will walk in front of your house. You know why? Because no one cares about you. They don’t even care to look up at you when they pass you on the street, or to check and see if you’re alive, much less, care enough to break in your house and get you. Who would want you?”
I had to pause for a moment and think about what she had said while she erupted in laughter at her own joke at my expense. Who did care? I didn’t have any family left. No legacy, and nothing and no one to remember me by when I was gone. I told her to leave me be and she complied; however, I could still feel her eyes on me like she was waiting for something to happen. I briefly thought maybe she had become one of them. Had they already infiltrated the safety of my house? I had worked so hard to keep them at bay and now they were here. She was still watching me as if she knew exactly what was going through my head and she appeared to smile at me. How is it that she knew what was going through my head? Just as my paranoia set in again I saw the orange tabby leap from the corner and attach himself to Little Miss Mollie. She squealed in pain and threw him off of her and then ran at him for the counter attack. I was in such a state of shock and confusion that I sat there and watched this go on for what seemed like hours. Was I worthless? Were they going to try to get me? Who, or possibly, what are they? This last question frightened me the most as I realized that what I had been afraid of all along was now in front of me fighting to the death. I rose from the chair and tried to inconspicuously leave the scene before either of them noticed, but the second my back was to the door, they both froze and turned around to look at me.

Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
I could see the anger in their eyes and knew that these eyes were the ones that had constantly been following me. Could see the hatred in them. Hatred toward what I had become. It was too much to handle and I had to find a way out.
TICK.
TICK.
TICK.
TICK.
The ticking was getting louder as the cats slowly stalked toward me. At that moment a little yellow canary flew onto my shoulder. The little bird that used to fill this house with wonderful song had long ago fell silent. I did not know where it had gone for so many years, but I now watched it fly down to the space in between the approaching cats and myself. Greed filled their hungry eyes and I could tell they aimed to annihilate the poor bird, the only surviving memory of what used to be. I watched in horror as they both pounced on it and in a matter of seconds all traces of the bird were gone without a sound. I felt myself give in to my despair and looked back towards the beady eyes still staring up at me.
“You might as well give up,” she said. “You know you’ll never win. All you are is wasted space. You’re already dead on the inside. So consumed with all your paranoia and loathing, you might as well give in.”
“End it!” he cried. “It can only get worse. They can come and find you if you are no longer here, but as long as you are breathing they will follow you. They know everything. Just end it here.”
With every last shred of hope gone I knew that they were right. I walked through every room in the house one last time with the two pairs of beady eyes following me. We returned to the living room and I stopped to look at the empty birdcage. It had been unused for so long, I couldn’t remember what it was from anymore. And even with all hope gone, I couldn’t help but feel a little sad I wouldn’t get to see it again. I walked into the kitchen and turned the pilot on, not for the purpose of eating though. There would be no need to eat, as I wouldn’t feel hunger again. I walked back into the living room and gazed into the mirror. I saw myself for what I was for the first time. I was a walking corpse. There was nothing in my eyes, nothing in my soul. I had lost my will to live so long ago. I turned around to the two cats as they both smiled up at me.
“We win,” they said together. “You should have known that you would lose this struggle.” And with that, they disappeared.
I searched the whole living room for them, because I could still hear them in my head. I turned to the mirror once more knowing I didn’t have much time left and this time I was shocked at what I saw. Those little beady eyes that I had been so afraid of were now mine. I stared at the mirror in horror, terrified of myself and with my last bit of strength I pushed over the mirror and it broke into a million shiny little pieces.

Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Waiting was the worst part. Sitting there with feeling guilty. Knowing I should have been there. I should have saved here. It should have been me. So young, only 7 years old with her whole life ahead of her, and it could all be gone because of one moment, one second I wasn’t with her. I had failed. Failed my duty as a mother to protect the most precious thing in the world to me. If I couldn’t do that, what could I do? Nothing. The answer was absolutely nothing. I didn’t deserve to live any more; it should be me in this hospital instead of her, me on the brink of death because I did not deserve life.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
I could see it on the doctor’s face the minute he walked in the room. After days of waiting, she was gone. She hadn’t made it. There would be no more summers spent together, no watching her grow old, I would never again hear her sing along with the canary she had begged for. She had loved spending hours with it. But none of that would ever happen again, because I had failed her.
I foggily came back to reality. I was lying on the floor among the broken pieces of glass. I knew I finally was getting what I deserved and knew I would soon be with my daughter again.

Tick.

Chelsea Danielle

My Greatest Work Yet…

Writing from the heart…

Untitled Story for Class