onyxexistance: (long way home)
    To many of you this'll be completely random and all over the place with brief moments of sanity, but I suppose that's what I was like when I wrote it.  Like everything, you'd have to be told story after story to understand the meaning behind what's going on in this piece, but, [profile] shine_shine told me that she adored it, and that she wouldn't get my autograph from J.M. if I didn't (okay, not really), so here 'tis.

    I’m plugged into my MP3 player so I can’t hear anything: damn crickets, voices that crackle like static, distant over the radio.
    Voices that are still somehow still attached to people that once upon a time I couldn’t live without, and now can barely stand the sight of seven out of ten chances.
    The only thing that connects us is the smallest thing in the world: blood.
    I’m perched somewhere, I’m thinking a quickly fading moonbeam, and have no idea what’s going to happen when it finally fades completely.

    If it weren’t for a few pics from events where I’m someone else, pr around strangers, no one would know that I’m part of this family.
    I’d be easy to wipe off, a smear on an otherwise clean mirror. A shining, perfect mirror that, where the shadows their quiet fingertips, are scratches and dust, from what they don’t want anyone to see.
    I’m a mother that’s never been pregnant and is still a virgin.
    I’m an adult that isn’t old enough to vote, and who can’t make her own decisions because her parents are ignoring it.
    I’m living in the shell of a girl who’s wandering somewhere, lost.
    I have a mug with a teabag still left in it from almost a week ago. Markers, papers, batteries, money, my wallet, a magazine, and my laptop are what I’ve managed to use to define my life.
    It’s easier to love when you only see their words, and through that their voice.
    Or see their pictures of what they’ve seen and pretend that you were standing next to them as they took it, the flash disorienting you for a minute as you blinked rapidly.
    I always figured I’d be one of those people who had everything figured out, but fate used her same trick and yet, the only thing I have figured out is that: I don’t know anything.
    Actually, not true. I know that: I want to go to Oxford after graduation and never look back. Leave it all behind.
    I’m not a fifteen year old teen girl. I’m not. I’ve had/still have more responsibilities that kids older than me haven’t had, and won’t have for a while.
    That I’m pretty sure that I don’t want kids. I love them to fucking death, but I don’t want to inflict the oldest with being an adult and parent and make them give up being a kid without asking.
    I don’t want that. And, I know that I’d do what my parents have done.
    Not that I’m saying that it’s all their fault. I should have told them to fuck off and let me be a kid.
    Then again, it’s not I knew what fuck off meant, nor what having responsibility would do to me, or what it meant I had to give up/
    I’m the daughter my father never wanted, and only a person to clean spilled milk.
    I’ve been bumped from “eldest” to “person who inhabits a room”.
    My best friend left me for writing, growing up, Ikea, and yoga.
    We both diverted crying with laughter and promises of calls.
    The laws of Fate, Time and Space have stolen the only person who a.) understood me and b.) talked to me in public.

Travis

Jul. 16th, 2007 11:29 pm
onyxexistance: (long way home)
    To describe Travis is a long and difficult, however, I'll try.  
    Compared to me, he's tall; then again, everyone's taller than me. No, he's six foot one, and makes me look up, up, up.
    He says he wishes he was more wiry, but that wouldn't suit. Board shoulders and an athletic build that can fill a room.
    Green eyes. Smart, green eyes. A big mouth that often says more than it should. Large ears on either side of his head that are covered by longer dirty blond hair.
    He's insecure as hell, and has been run over by girls who can't tell that he's more than a good looking guy.
    Nothing can stop him from letting his opinion be known. Though, his opinions are smart and well researched, just not always what you want to hear, no matter how right they are.
     Yet, behind his tough boy attitude he's a cliche. A hopeless romantic who would kill anyone who'd hurt the people he cares about.
onyxexistance: (colourful dots)
    The words I want you to say aren't, "I like you," there's time enough for that.
    No, I want to know how your day went, don't leave anything out. What kind of food you wre craving since you walked into first period, that you can't stand your science teacher, and that nobody know, but you simply adore art, the idea behind it all.
    I want to know how you're stuck in the back (again) and you're sick of not being able to read the board.
    That you can't live without your friends, and you value them beyond popularity (even though you have that anyways baby!).
    How all you want to do is go and sit outside on your lawn, watch the sun set, moon rise.
    Why you're so excited for your new school year, though really, nothing beats summer. Really, nothing (except, me (but you don't need to say that...yet.)).
    What country you wish you could visit (and not because of the girls there boy!).
    Where you hang out, your favorite place (it's in my arms, I know. But there are others) to be.
    The sound of water lapping as the moon rises isn't cheesy.
    Boy, that's what I want you to say. It's everything easy, simple....PURE!.Everything about you.
    Because, even if you don't say, "I like you," you don't have to when you're letting me in.
onyxexistance: (colourful dots)
(copied and pasted from [profile] manyfacets)  

She flopped on the ground, arms and legs askew, stared up at the sky, imagined shapes in each cloud.
    “Summer, finally,” the earth seemed to whisper, humming, pulsing, living as everything seemed to sharpen, come into focus.
    Rolling over onto her stomach, she absentmindedly pulled grass out, piling it, watching it dance as it fell back to the ground.
    `A blue pick up puffed down the street, engine belched, a cloud of black smoke showing appreciation for gas.
    Windows were rolled down, and music rolled out, wave after wave on summer currents, fast, but lazy enough to gentle the sound a bit.
    She smiled, pushed back her raven, electric blue tipped hair out of her eyes and lifted her head in acknowledgement.
    The truck passed from view, off to find someone else to nod to, and she ambled over to the willow on the empty lot next door, sat at the base, and became five once more.
    Hanging branches left sunlight patterns on the ground, and she drowned in the sight, needing to know that it would always stay the same.
onyxexistance: (message)
(copied and pasted from [profile] manyfacets. Written June 7, 2007)


“He was lost and now he’s found,” the stupid words were running through my head and wouldn’t leave me alone.

            I wasn’t lost, I knew exactly where I was, sitting in front of the River Thames, a sweater pulled close around me and the hood lowered over my face.

            My face was cold, hair tucked on my right shoulder, finger stuffed in the sweater’s front pouch.

            It looked like I was a kangaroo, but at least it kept my hands from becoming too chapped.

            Sighing, I stood up and headed down the way, my worn in runners making no noise against the old cobbled streets.

            I don’t know if there were cars, as far as I knew I was the only person surrounded by bright lights that were fading off, fuzzy around the edges, blurs around each corner that could have been people or vehicles.

            I wasn’t lost. I knew exactly where I was; maybe not where I was, but that didn’t count.

            Did it maybe mean where my thoughts were?

            Before I continue on a fruitless mind game, I looked up, just slightly, as the sky cracked open, a bolt of lightning showing its jagged body, searing its light to my eyes until all I saw was repeats of it all across my vision.

            Cursing quietly under my breathe I wondered if now would be when I’d get lost.

            An ambulance roared past, shocking the lightning patter away from my eyes.

            The vehicle bumped and roared its way down the narrow  street, sirens wailing, echoing, coming back a hundredfold, bouncing off the  cobbles and buildings.

            The lights kept me entranced, and I stood there in the pouring rain, each raindrop part of a steady rhythm as they fell, only to crash against the street.

            I managed to make it home, how, I walked, but I couldn’t tell you what route I I took, how long it took me, or whether or not I passed anyone on the way.

            I just know I walked because my feet ached, calluses bubbling on my heels.

            Entering the bathroom, I flicked the light on, started the shower, and slowly peeled off every later.

            I stepped into the steaming shower, and barely noticed that it was too hot.

            “He was lost, and now he’s found,” how I hated that verse. I don’t even know why I was thinking about it.

            Stepping out of the shower, I grabbed the top towel off of the stack that I kept there.

            Wrapping the sea foam green towel around me, I wiped the steam off the mirror with my right hand, and stared at my reflection for a moment, not really seeing what was visible, trying to peer through my pores, trying to see if I could see everything that made me up, what made me work, what I was thinking.

            After a bit, my vision fuzzed over, the mirror re-fogged, and I was no closer to finding out if I was all there or not.

            Sighing, I crept away from the mirror, and re-dressed myself in a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt, and shuffled my way to the small kitchen where I turned the kettle on.

            I could hear the rain, it was pounding on the roof, I could tell, like I was standing outside, even though it should have all been muffled.

            Suddenly, I felt like I had just run a marathon, heard feet pounding one after another on the uneven cobbles through an alley, narrow buildings on each side, trapped, encased.

            Heard nothing, but saw noise. It ricocheted off of the brick buildings, metal ladders that grew from buildings like ivy, footsteps that stumbled onto wet stones, breathe hitch, whoosh out, and cascade into white fog, dissipate.

            Looking around, it took me a moment to realize I was in my apartment, and I had fallen asleep on the narrow couch.

            “He was lost and how he’s found,” I muttered under my breathe, while pouring the evaporating water into a mug, and dipped the teabag in. Once, twice, three times.

            I knew if I pondered in much longer I was going to give myself a migraine, which I sure did not need.

            Leaving the tea by the sink, not eve really knowing why I had made it in the first place, I decided to see if anything was on TV.

            Flipping through channels, I watched mindlessly as a group of cartoons paraded across the screen, intending, I’m sure, to make people laugh.

            Finding nothing to catch my interest, I switched it off, mad at myself. I needed to snap out of whatever I was in.

            At the rate I was going, I would be insane before you could say asylum.

            I drifted off to sleep and ended up dreaming of feet running, footprints staining the group, showing where everyone was headed, and how we were each lost in the right direction.

 

onyxexistance: (Imagination)
(copied and pasted from manyfacets Written June 5, 2007)

She was a contradiction. Everything about her: she'd tell you that she loved you one day, and the next you irritated her beyond anything you'd ever seen.  She'd complain about how everyone acted, and would do zilch about herself. Everyone believed that her life was wonderful: popular, pretty, smart, and (usually) nice.
    But that's not how I saw her. She was all over the place, a new driver in life, still not sure when to hit the gas, and when to hit the brakes.
    Everyone thought that she had a few things about life figured out, when she could barely grasp the concept of what life is. She'd ask for everyone to be mature, and yet couldn't get past her own kindergarten behaviors.
    All I really wanted was to break her spell over everyone, find out what would make her break down and actually become human. Someone who wasnt' afraid to make mistakes, and when she made them, just accepted it.
    But, I couldn't. After all, I was as new as she was, still learning whether or not it's safe to pass someone, or just keep going slower than you really want to, just because you know that it's safer like that.
onyxexistance: (message)
(copied and pasted from [profile] manyfacets. Written June 5, 2007)

Five innings. Five freaking innings and the other team decided that they wanted to go to seven. "Thanks a lot" was what was running through my head.
    We were down by so many runs it wasn't funny, and there was no way that we'd ever get caught up, we weren't trying, not even close.
    The elastic cords that held my leg protectors to my legs bit deeper into the tender skin behind my knee cap, and I knew I was going to be sore later.
    I ignored it, bent down into my catcher's position once more, heard the ball leave the pitcher's hand, saw it fly towards me and felt it thump into the worn leather I had encase my hand in.
    Throwing it back, I managed to stretch my tired legs for a few precious moments before bending down once more to continue the process I'd been following for five innings, and would follow for another two.
    "Thanks a freaking lot," I muttered behind my metal cage.
onyxexistance: (sparkle)
(Taken from [profile] manyfacets, written May 18, 2007)

Each instrument leased out life, life to a series of notes, that strung together somehow managed to make sense, and to create what they were supposed to.
    Life dwindled, slowly, steadily, and finally faded away, though not before reaching the world into which they were born.
    Some of them snaked down my pen, crawling, slithering, working their way to the ink, working their magic and imprinting themselves into my ink, and inscipting them onto my paper.
onyxexistance: (Not Tall)
(Taken from [profile] manyfacets and written May 14, 2007)

The sun was setting behind the weeping willows as they swayed softly in the wind, etherreal dancers. It looked like something you would find  on some exotic beach, and yet it was on his driveway.
    Smiling up, I cocked my head to the side, and asked, "How'd your day go?" while bouncing the basketball from hand to hand, keeping him occupied.
    Flashing his charming smile my way he told me, "Pretty good, though it just got better," he was playing my game.
    "Aww, you're so sweet," I tell him, and pivoting around him, I let the orange ball float through the air on the soft breeze until it clearsthe net, swishing silently.
    I turn around, a huge grin on my face, trying hard not to laugh at his 'poor baby' expression, "And I think that that's game," I tell him, dancing past him.
    "Not quite," he says to me, grabbing my arm, and pulling me to him, locking his arms around my waist,"Not quite," he repeats, smiling down at  me.
    Smiling in return, I laugh up at him, "Awww, feeling bad about being beat by a girl?" I ask, teasing him.
    "No, as long as it's only to you and no one else sees," he  tells me, pushing back a piece of phair that's fallen out of place.
    "I guess I can handle that," I tell him quietly, and lean into him, content to just stand in my own paradisde.
onyxexistance: (crazy)
 (written May 11, 2007, copied from my main: [profile] manyfacets )

   I wanted nothing more than to leave, run the other way, using all the energy I had been saving up for this moment, and go.
    My palms were sweating, I could feel the droplets starting to slide down, one after another, to match the ones that I knew, and could feel, forming on my forehead.
    I scuffed my toe in the red ground beneath me, my heart starting to beat faster, as though I had already run, instead of waiting for the gun to start my life. To start the next 400m that would decide whether or not I kept running, or just stopped.
    My tongue felt thick in my mouth, every drop of moisture having gone to my hands and forehead, I licked my lips, nervous beyond imagination.
    Everyone was there, or so it felt. I hated running in front of people. That's just at the beginning though. You'd think I'd figure that out, but not yet.
    The starter stepped out, and I tensed even more, if that was possible. Every muscle waiting for that shot to rocket into the air, jumpstarting everything to pound a steady rythm onto that red track, between two white lines for something that everyone wanted: first. To move on, and stay on top. To prove that those insane hours of practising were worth it.
    The gun fired, and every thought fled my head as my feet took on the wings of the Greek messenger god, and flew.

His Jade

Apr. 15th, 2007 06:57 pm
onyxexistance: (green)
    The machines whirred and beeped, tracking her life, making sure that she wouldn't have to start living using one of their own kind.
    Black hair was spread across the hospital's uniform white pillowcase in soft waves, seeming almost real.
Her chest rose and fell softly, as though she was perfectly fine, if you ignored the wires spiraling out of her body.
Her old comforter was spread across her, horses dancing in a range of soft pastel, little girl colours, the words 'My Little Pony' written on rainbows that ran across the top.
Jade. His Jade. The person who had helped him through a bad day, after only a day of knowing him, who for three years had been there for him, who he, in turn, had been there for.
The girl who streaked her hair elecftric blue, hot pink, lime green, and bright purple, and had shaken off the strage looks people had given her as she walked out the door with them.
Who had been his friend, talked to him seriously, shared pain, joy, laughter, betraylel, and confusion with him for two years before finally agreeing to go out with him, and even then was unsure of herself.
Who had played every sport she could get her hadns on, and had cheered him on in all of his activities, who had argues strategies and players, abilities and rules.
Who wouldn't back down from a fight, and who would argue until three in the morning when she would finally fall asleep in front of her computer, the letter 'b' repeating itself in her messages, letting him know she was out.
This was teh girl who was now asleep, the fight almost gone, her natural, coloured hair replaced by an itchy, plastic wig, who could barely sit up, never mind score from the three point line.
The six letters ravaged her body, taking away any thing that she loved, and things that she was used to doing. Graduating was thought not possible for her this year, and she was so tired she couldn't try to prove them wrong.
Her eyes fluttered, and it took her a moment to focus on him, when she did, she managed to find enough energy to smile, no matter how faintly, at him.
Forcing himself to respond, he took a hold of her hand, not trusting himself to say anything.
No, not everything was gone from her. She still had him, her family, she still had a reason to live, and she still had a fire, albeit a small one, burning inside her.
He could see it when she managed to smile; it flickered faintly in her eyes.
It was green. Green for life, for hope, for second chances.
Green for Jade.

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