Jun 17

Flame City

Jun 12

Different Worlds Chapter 6: Ivory's Perspective


I watched him carefuly as we walked through the empty halls. He seemed to be fighting a mental battle in his head, a very intense one, one that seemed, naturaly, to be about letting me take the crystal. He didn't fully trust me I could tell by the way he kept looking at me, like I was about to bolt, but he let me take the crystal, which was odd.

I, to be completly honest, didn't trust him either but I led him through the halls and out the back door. I glanced around nervously. Then, holding my watch (which doubled as a walkie talkie) up to my mouth I said: "I'm around back, be quick." A moment later the blue truck came zooming around the side of the building and came to a very short stop, leaving black skid marks on the hot pavement.
May 01

The guards perspective (chapter 4)

I grab her tightly on the arm and haul her to her feet. Before I bring her to the interrogation chamber I bring her to a changing room and shove an outfit that looks similar to a hospital gown in her arms. "Change," I say "it's protocol." She doesn't respond again... only glares at me. She quickly turns on her heel and walks into the small changing room. I hear the lock click and a minute later she comes out in the navy blue robes with her chocolate brown hair hanging loosely around her shoulders. 

I grab her arm again, with my right hand, not trusting her for one moment and open the door with my other hand. The second I open the door she pulls her arm from my hand and breaks off into a fast run down the clean, gray hall. I curse under my breath as I pump my legs hard after her... I've never met a girl quite this persistent. 
Feb 20

taken by the waves

The sea 
wrapped around him,
i just know it.

he had to be comfortable...
right?

He had spent his whole life trusting the sea
and to be claimed by it in the end,
it didn't seem fair.

i had hugged him goodbye before he left,
burrying my small face 
into his large papa shoulder
before he grabbed his bags and walked out the door
for the last time.

i woke up after a dream a week later 
in a cold sweat. 
In my dream my papa had come to our door
dressed in raged, torn clothes covered in seaweed 
and had gently whispered that he was sorry
he could not make it home one last time to say goodbye,
he would miss us all;
he had always been marked by the sea,
it had always wanted him for its own.

that night it was broad cast 
on the radio 
that his ship was missing 
and a search and rescue crew had been sent out with no luck.
Feb 17

wishes

for a while in my life i have wanted to live in the history of our country, 
the american revolution 
but then i think about now
and the history i HAVE 
been a part of.

and you never know...
maybe one day i will tell my children 
that i was a part of a major event in history
that they are learning about in school...
you never know.
i sure hope i can find a way to acomplish this.
 
Feb 16

my lightning (a reminder to all that there is warmth in this world)

i lay there looking out through my window
at the full moon,
the perfect ball of golden light.
i tip-toed to my window and peered outside.
the lawn flickered with small lights,
dancing through the tall meadow grass.

it was a hot summer night in Vermont.
one where you can only get away from the heat
if you sleep with an
ice pack on your head,
three fans, and no clothes. 
I scrambled to pull on my nightgown in the dark
and quietly slip out of the house.
once i had successfully closed the screen door without a noise
i broke into a run through the tall grass.

the lightning bugs were a flash of light in the blackness
as i patted,
barefoot through the meadow.
i reached the barn on the hill and climbed the ladder to the hayloft.

i sat there the rest of the night.
quietly contemplating my future. 
would i have a farm like this?
would i marry?
Feb 14

fog spirits

when i was younger
i always thought that when ever a bird sang
it was the call of a lonely deceasted soul,
calling out to the world in the most gracious
and gentle way it could:
by song.

i would stand at my window
on the mornings when the fog was too thick to see the harbor 
and wait
for those gentle souls to show themselves
to me.

sometimes i could make out the silent figures
and when ever i did,
i would whisper
through the hazy light of the early morning
that it was a pleasure to meet such quiet people.

i thought that they were perfect.
they always listened and watched,
never talked.

they knew, like me
that its good to have some people in the world
that were just there to observe it.
because so many others put out, you had to take it in. 

"The best time to talk to ghosts is just before the sun comes up.
Feb 13

beyond the doorstep

She stood at the edge of the water,
looking out to the vast sea ahead of her.
she had never seen such an angry sea 
before in her life 
and it frightened her to watch it bubble up and churn
in such a way.

He stood at the edge of the prarie,
gazing out at the wild, whipping strands of straw 
that continously had the want to pull loose
of the damp, overrulling soil that held their roots in place.

The rain poured down on both children and drove them,
frightened into their tiny, dry houses
to wait out the overwhelming storm raging just out side their door steps.

They crawled under their quilts
and sat by the fire
to keep the cold from their bones
and hope in their hearts. 

And once the raging monster
that had just hours ago,
ripped the delicate prarie grass from the earth
and tore at the silent, gentle sea subsided 
they crawled from their quilts
Feb 12

Freedom


 
We never
did what we were told,
for why were boundaries
made if you never could
follow them.
If you never could
make them, push them
or break them.
 
We were fighters
in a way no one had been before.
We were used
to rules that were made
by powerful forces,
ones we were told
we could never be.
 
We used our minds,
thought of advantages,
planed step by step.
We used your weaknesses, your shames
and slowly we became
something better
than you, something more powerful.
That’s how life
was though:
small things were made
into big ones.
 
We thought such things
were fragile,
for if you fumbled once
you could break it,
ruining a moment forever.
We didn’t just think so
we knew so.
 
We would travel
many miles
only to turn back,
but not once did we think
it a waste of time,
Feb 12

Volcano

Alive.
Was all I thought
as I ran
through the field
of tall meadow grass
that warm July day.
 
I was alive
and no one could stop
me from touching
happiness.
 
She ran feet
behind me
gasping for air
and squealing for me
to slow down even though she knew
it was a race
and I wouldn’t slow
in all my life.
 
Because once the match
touched my skin
I couldn’t stop burning
until I was cool, grey ashes
put out by some force
of unknown magic.
 
He ran feet ahead of me,
always a volcano
when he ran
not the timid fire like me
and not at all close to her;
the red coals,
barely burning.
 
He had pulled ahead
in the beginning,
“Girls,” he said
“just can’t run as fast as boys.”
 
But I knew he was wrong
and I was going to prove it.
 
Fires I knew could burn

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