Untitled

I found this recently while I was sifting through the copious amount of files in my Documents folder. I do not remember writing this at all, and I can hardly believe that I did write it, especially since I don't really like writing poetry, ha. It was really surprising to read, and made me more than a little sad that I'd forgotten these feelings. Still, this is why I write -- to remember emotions and events that I don't want to forget. So while it's heart-wrenching to know that I don't feel this way anymore, it reminds me that I was once filled with such intensity of emotion, and I look forward to the day when I feel it again.


Cold, clear, crisp
A perfect night for change.
I held you close awkwardly,
Testing new waters and charting the unknown.
We climbed the brick steps, gently holding each other's hand,
And at the top you altered the course of my life with the simple statement
That you just wanted to live yours here.
With me.
And we walked back down and we gazed up at the sky.
It opened above, inviting us to look deeper into what lay ahead and behind.
In other nights, I held you close,
Your face buried in the pillow as you mourned what you could not change.
Somehow my small acceptance gave you what strength you needed,
And you in turn gave me what acceptance I needed
To forgive myself for past wrongs.
So we mend each other, giving here but never taking there,
Because love is about giving what you can and not asking in return.
We don't slice it up and serve small amounts to everyone we know;
It's endless and boundless and is never used up.
You taught me this and so much more that I wonder
Whether I give enough back to deserve all that you offer me.
Yet all I need do is see your radiant smile,
And your laughing eyes reflect back to me the sheer
Happiness that's warmed me ever since that chilly night.
All I need do is remember the way I felt as I traced
On your back the words I couldn't quite say.
You turned to me, made my heart race, tears coursing down my face,
And I found it wasn't lost on me, as I found it with you,
The love we've shared in the little things that have served as
Foundations upon which I rebuild what was once torn down;
What we've both torn down within ourselves.
So I sit here pondering your question,
Wondering if I could rebuild without you.
My answer is:
Two people can work faster than one,
But this one has labored much on her own and someday she will again.
But that isn't today.

--6/22/05

Stood Up

I can't really remember when I wrote this little bit; it was at least a year ago. It seems somewhat promising, since it's a type of personality and relationship that I've never explored in my writing. My characters are rarely this flawed, if they have flaws at all, ha. Plus, it actually makes me cringe reading it. I feel that I really conveyed her frustration and hopelessness, but at the same time showed how pathetic she is when it comes to this one guy. Because aren't we all a little pathetic when it comes to that guy (or girl)? Yeah, you know what I'm talking about.


Ella hated when he did shit like this. Once again, Daniel had stood her up without even trying. They were supposed to meet for coffee, a simple get together to chat and enjoy each other's company, but it meant so much more to her now that he was getting busier and busier at his new job. She had set up the whole thing, made sure that he was free that day, and begged him to come out with her. It made her heart ache everytime she heard his deep, smooth voice. But all her entreaties were for nothing.

They were supposed to meet at 3:00 pm, so she called him at 2:30 to make sure he remembered.

No answer.

Ella thought nothing of it; maybe he just didn't hear his phone. She got her things together, made sure her keys were in the side pocket of her purse, checked her makeup in the mirror, and called Daniel again at 2:40 pm.

No answer.

Now she was a little irritated. If he was paying attention to his phone, which he always was, he should have seen her first missed call already. Still, Ella had hope in his punctuality. She checked her makeup again, put on her shoes and jacket, and walked out the door, confident that he would call her back in the interum. By the time she exited her building, it was 2:45 pm. There was still time to drive to his place and pick him up, but she had to make sure that he was waiting for her. Convinced that third time was a charm, Ella called Daniel once again.

No answer.

Three missed calls. Ella walked to her car and got inside, staring at her phone, willing it to ring. She sighed in disgust and just as she turned on the ignition, the phone rang.

"Hi," she said cheerily, as if she wasn't pissed off that he didn't answer her calls. "Are you ready?"

She heard a groan. "I'm feeling pretty sick."

Her heart fell. He was using "I'm sick" as an excuse? "So I guess you don't want to go out..."

"No, not really."

Ella waited for him to say something more, even just a simple sorry, but the line was silent. "Alright then," she forced out, trying to maintain a chipper tone of voice.

Drinking Coffee

I had written this way earlier in the year after visiting San Francisco, and I recently transcribed it for a friend to read because he was interested in my process. Even though San Francisco inspired it, the setting is Japan. I mostly wanted to write something about the experience of drinking coffee at an outdoor cafe, but I also wanted to experiment more with dialog and conversation since I had just read Haruki Murakami's "After Dark," which is a really interesting book, and I loved the quick, witty conversations between characters. This is essentially verbatim what I wrote down in my journal, and edited only slightly for clarity and spelling. The dates are for when I wrote each part.


1/31
A sharp tapping on the glass jolted him out of his reverie. He glanced up to see a young woman, probably his age, smiling crookedly at him. She held up her train ticket and he saw that the fare printed on it was not enough to let her through the gate. Shrugging apologetically, she said, "I guess I forgot how much the ticket costs."

Checking her station of origin on a pricing chart, he looked at her and said, "That'll be 10 yen."

Out of her pocket, she pulled out the small, bronze coin and dropped it into the tray beneath the glass, all the time looking at him and smiling that strange smile.

"You know," he said, "there are machines right over there where you can add to your ticket."

She shrugged again. "I like human interaction. It makes things feel more personal. A machine can't be personal."

He didn't really have anything to say in response, but she kept standing there as if she were waiting for something. She arched an eyebrow at him and he realized with embarrassment that he had to re-validate her ticket. He slid the ticket out of the tray, ran it through the machine, and slid it back to her under the glass. Taking her ticket, the woman kept up her coy smile and gave him a small salute with two fingers before turning and walking through the ticket gate. Jun watched her go, thinking about how strange people could be.

2/20
The rest of the day passed normally, just droves and droves of business men and women passing by on their way to work., lunch, meetings, whatever. Jun hardly noticed. His friends couldn't understand why he had this job, much less how he could like it. Jun wasn't sure if he liked or disliked it, actually. Standing behind the glass of the ticket window for six hours a day wasn't exciting, but it didn't bore him to death either. He didn't do much besides watch the people walk by and assist the occasional traveler with a ticket issue, but he never felt like it was a waste of time. In fact, he rather liked the time to stand and do nothing, yet still be providing a service. Behind the window, he could just be, and the world did not intrude upon him.

Unlike most self-respecting young men, Jun never went to university. Entrance exams had never gotten the same hold on him him that it had on his high school friends, so he didn't bother trying to get into college. Instead, he took some training classes and got a job at the local station. For six years he'd been working at this same station, and the fact that nothing had changed in all that time didn't bother him in the least. He wasn't the kind of person who needed life to mean something. The status quo was just fine with him.

At 4:45 p.m., the girl was back. She recognized Jun from that morning, and walked straight up to his window, beaming the whole time.

"What time do you get off?" she asked

Jun looked at the clock. "About fifteen minutes."

"Care to go for a cup of coffee?"

"I don't know about that," he said, a little wary about this overly forward girl.

"Why not? Prefer something stronger? We can find a pub instead?"

"No, I just don't know you."

She gave him a coy little smile that made his palms sweat. "Well that's why I'm asking you for a drink. Just get a drink, sit, and have a conversation. What do you say?"

"That's all?"

"That's all," she said. "Meet you at the South entrance? I know a great little coffee shop not far from here. And it isn't Starbucks."

"Sure."

"Great! See you in ten minutes." She gave him the same two-fingered salute from that morning, then walked away into the crowd.

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

--I love this place, sitting right here, watching the people walk by. It's much better in the daytime, when there are more people, but this is nice too. It's just so peaceful to sit here with a cup of hot coffee between your hands, drinking in the caffeine and the sights and sounds. This is the best place to sit, this little table facing out to the street. Come sit over here; you won't know what I'm talking about until you do. Okay, now just sit and watch and listen and observe.

--I watch people walk by everyday at work.

--Yes but you don't really see them. You're separated from them by the glass. But here, you're out in the open, breathing the same air and feeling the same breeze. Just watch them. Wonder about them. Think what their lives must be like. Imagine, each one of those people out there has a life and a world that is completely separate and different from yours except for this moment in time when they're passing by on the street. Can you even imagine what might be going on in their minds right now? Their brains are filled with thoughts and emotions that we are completely unaware of and will never know. It's simply amazing. Try it. Just sit, hold your coffee, and observe.

Jun did as she said, stopped thinking and just saw. The night was cool, but an outdoor heater above their heads kept the chill off. Small groups of people, or just lone walkers out for a stroll, passed by silently. He heard the distant drone of cars and the sharp jangling of the passing trains. The deep blue sky held a little light yet, but the dark was quickly overtaking it. The air smelled crisp and fresh, and he occasionally caught a whiff of cigarette smoke, or the rich aroma of his coffee. The mug's warmth between his palms felt calming and peaceful, and Jun thought that maybe she was on to something, maybe she wasn't as strange and off-beat as he thought she was.

They sat there silently, thinking the same thoughts and feeling the same inner calm. Through that connection, they formed a bond.

Ten Words

Penny Arcade is having a contest where you have to write a short short set in World of Warcraft in only ten words. Just thought I'd post my entries since this kind of counts as writing fiction...right?

1) My life for the horde? How about some HOT instead?

2) My life for the horde? Let's not be too hasty.

3) Lich King? More like Bitch...King.......please don't immolate me.

4) Dupers (and non-dupers) beware! GM Gabriel will "confiscate" your loot.

5) Eat your vegetables or I'll tell Scarlet Crusaders you're undead.

New story!

Good Lord, I haven't updated in forever! To remedy that, here's a tidbit from my newest story. I think it establishes the main character's personality pretty well in just a few paragraphs. It will grow more and more supernatural.

The note read:

George-

Don’t forget to take your pills. I’ll be back late tonight.
-Teresa

Next to it was a small paper cup containing his medication. George frowned, crumpled up the little piece of paper, and tossed it into the garbage. He hated taking his pills, and she knew it, which was why there was always some variation on this note left neatly next to a cup of pills waiting for him every morning. Just once, he thought, I would like her to trust that I’ll do it without leaving some inane note. He immediately felt regretful for thinking something so uncharitable about the woman he loved, and who loved him so much that she was sticking around like this.

George threw together a breakfast of bacon and fried eggs, his favorite. He ate slowly, savoring his last few moments of clarity before he’d have to give into duty and take the goddamn pills. On those days when Teresa was at home, he often used the excuse that he hadn’t eaten yet, and thus could not take the pills least they reacted adversely to his empty stomach. Her usual response was to throw a protein bar at him. Despite her irritation, or maybe because of it, her reaction always made him laugh. Just thinking about it know brought a small smile to George’s face, though it slipped away before long.

The last bite came far too soon. Best to do it like a Band-Aid, George thought. He picked up the cup, tossed back the pills, and chased them with shot of orange juice. His duty to God and country complete, George went to the living room and sat on the couch to await the blurry onset of existence as he now knew it. The pills prevented him from doing anything worthwhile; they robbed him of his ambitions, desires, and motivations. He couldn’t work, couldn’t read, couldn’t write, and could barely have a conversation with someone. All day George sat in the same spot, hardly noticing the passing time, only feeling the oppressive weight of medicated chemicals coursing relentlessly through his veins. But if he didn’t take the pills, he started to see things he didn’t want to see. He’d rather sit blankly on a couch for days than see those things.

George turned on the TV as he always did, but it was more for Teresa’s benefit when she came home rather than an actual desire to watch something. It disturbed her to find him sitting alone in a room staring out into nothing, so he pretended to be interested in the news or pro wrestling or this week’s made-for-TV movie.

A few hours later, he realized that he was paying attention to the TV. At first, the recognition of that awareness was so shocking that it took him a few minutes to even register his shock. He shouldn’t be feeling anything right now. In fact, he should be a virtual vegetable, completely unaware of his surroundings. But when he thought back to the past couple of hours of the programs he’d been watching, he remembered all of it. First there’d been some news about a shooting at a local mall, and then there’d been a talk show with political pundits discussing White House affairs. After that, a courtroom drama about a mother suing her son had come on, and the son had won the case on a technicality. The knowledge that he’d been aware this whole time amazed him, but it also made his gut harden into a knot of worry. Did this mean that his medication was no longer effective? Would he start to hallucinate again? Maybe it was a sign that he was getting better, that he’d adapted to the side-effects of the drugs. George wanted nothing more than to believe that, yet somehow he didn’t think that was the case. After two years of taking those meds, nothing had changed in his behavior and the way he reacted to them. It was too much to hope that such a sudden change marked anything but a potential problem.