Give Me A Reason

Standard

Give me a reason

Like leaves in the seasons

To change, for you

It’s been a long hard winter

I’m prepared to wither away

But you say you don’t want me to

Oh, you want me to stay

But oh, I don’t want to stand still

Just give me a reason

You beg and you’re pleading

For me

But you have nothing to give

Winter has ended

I don’t want to get left stranded

Watching you walk away

Oh no, no, no, no

Just give me a reason to stay.

A song written for a Fantasy in progress, What If. Read the first few chapters on my other blog authormercedes.weebly.com

Wildest Dreams- Drive

Standard

When I asked where we were going, Mr. Prent replied, “Let’s get out of this town; drive out of the city, just… get away from these crowds of students and teachers…” And witnesses.

“I like the sound of that.”

So we went on a long drive. No destination in sight. Maybe Mr. Prent got the feeling too. He has somewhere- he didn’t know where yet, that he had to go.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I woke in the passenger seat, but Mr. Prent was laying in the bed of his truck, staring into the stars. I climbed out, realizing we were in a cemetery. Of all places to go, I wondered, why there?

Not that I cared. I am the picnic in the cemetery kind of gal. But she strongly advised against it- like everything else- and suggested I find more “appropriate” interests.

I wonder if she would have found this appropriate.

I didn’t say anything. Mr. Prent just looked so far away; deep in some other world. Instead, I laid there next to him. The cool metal sent chills up my spine and I shivered in the warm autumn night. Wordlessly, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and I layed my head on his chest. His cologne reminded me of a cool ocean breeze that swallows you whole… his scent is still in my hair.

I’m not sure how long we laid like that for. I started off counting seconds in his heartbeats. One, two, three, fo-ur, fivesix, seven, eight, nine, tah-en. But doing that only made me sleepy. I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to hold this moment in the now and have it last forever.

I should know better than anyone, nothing lasts forever. Especially not happiness. I was happy once-upon-a-time. When I had parents- real ones- but it was so long ago it feels like a dream. Or a nightmare.

I guess he knows about this too. It was the cemetery where both his father and brother were buried. A robbery gone wrong. Mr. Prent was in college. His mother was grocery shopping. To come home and see her son and husband askew on the kitchen floor. I could just imagine her walking into the house, wondering why the door was already open. She’s talking to them- not knowing they can’t hear- going on about a great special she got at the market. Then she sees them. The blood. And bags fall out of her hands in slow-motion… It’s all a little too familiar.


A passage of Wildest Dreams & a picture It & Write inspiration!

Wildest Dreams- Haunted: A Poem

Standard

Dark clouds in my head

Rain cascades over my ribs

Salty and acidic

Eroding my bones

I am broken

Haunted

And so far gone lost.


I thought this would be a good poem for Wildest Dreams. A little side project I am working on. Read part of it here, a picture-it & write inspiration!

What It Took To Realize- Chapter Three

Standard

“What?” I cried.

“New York City! For the weekend! Aren’t you excited?” She began to bounce up and down.

“Why?” I asked.

“Well, I’ve got a few jobs there this weekend, and there’s this big party tomorrow night…” She slowly trailed off.

I shook my head. “Tupaia,” I whined. “You know I don’t do parties. The last time I went, everyone laughed at me.” The thought of it pushed tears up through the back of my eyes. I couldn’t dance, and when I tried I hit someone in the face. Everyone stared at me, leering, laughing, and pointing. As if that wasn’t enough, they started making fun of the way I looked, the way I was dressed. My ribs began to suffocate my heart, which began to beat wildly trying to escape like a caged bird.

She jumped over my luggage and wrapped her arms around me. “I know, but it’ll be different this time. You don’t have to dance, and it’s a masquerade ball! Masks; no one will even know it’s you!”

Doubt gripped my throat. I continued to shake my head.

“I promise you, it won’t be like last time.” Her sapphire eyes pleaded with me. They were soft, childish, and naive; even though Tupaia was older than a few eras.

I nodded.

She squealed, jumping with me still wrapped in her arms.

This is going to be a disaster.

 

*

We arrived in New York City around noon the next day. As soon as we arrived in the “Big Apple” we dumped our luggage in our hotel suite. The suite was four rooms big and lavished in all shades pink. Light screens hung at the windows which presented us with a front-row view to time square. The streets were busy with buses and taxis. With people on foot or bikes. The buildings reached endlessly at the sky where music videos and ads played on them. The bedrooms were just as big and elegant as the rest of the suite. My bed was all round and covered in equally circular, silky blankets and pillows.

After ditching our luggage we fled to get ready for the ball. Tupaia wore a long elegant sapphire gown that complimented her soft defined curves and matched her eyes. Her wavy brown hair was wrapped up in a bun, and she wore a peacock feathered mask upon her face. She was stunning, as usual.

Tupaia had “her people” dress me in an emerald mermaid dress with a blue sequined mask that almost looked like scales, and my red hair flowed down my back. They all gasped, exclaiming, “She looks like Ariel!”

I grimaced. I was always jealous of Ariel; she had a father, loving sisters, and married her prince charming. She was beautiful and everyone loved her. She was everything I wished I could be.

Tupaia grabbed my hand, “You look like a model.”

I snorted.

*

As soon as we entered the facility where the party was being held, Tupaia went on her way to make a good impression with various modeling agencies and photographers. I went to the back of the club, where I sat alone for most of the night. The club was dark and gray. People were scattered everywhere dancing with strangers, mingling by the bar with blue lights and drinks in their hands. I was out of place.

I was surprised when the song, “Voodoo” blared through the speakers since I hadn’t heard it until a few days ago. But that was not the weirdest part of the night. No, the unusual thing was after the song had just ended, when a hand was held out in front of me. “Dance with me.” I looked up at a boy dressed all in black, with a black hat which covered his hair and a black mask covering most of his face, but his sunray eyes, curvy mouth, and soft chin.

I looked around for someone else that he could be talking to.

“Please.”

I looked up into his golden eyes, and for some reason I could not say no. I took his hand in mine and let him lead me out into the middle of the dance floor. “Resistance” by Muse began to pound through the speakers. He pulled me close against his soft chest. “Follow my lead,” he whispered into my ear. His voice was a little higher pitched than I imagined, but still comforting somehow. My heart threatened to break through my chest as he began to glide us across the dance floor. The lead singer’s voice sang into my ear “Is our secret safe tonight and are we out of sight?” The tempo began to pick up, as he twirled me around, and around. Everything became blurry, but his golden eyes that my gaze had become fixed on.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed into my mouth.

I lost my breath. As the words, “Love is our resistance. They’ll keep us apart and they won’t to stop breaking us down. Hold me, our lips must always be sealed,” poured from the speakers our lips began to draw close to each other, like negative and positive attraction between magnets. When our lips were practically grazing, he drew away to lift me above him, and spin me in the air. He slowly brought me down as the song drew to an end and another song began. Our eyes were locked into one another’s, and for that moment, the world had faded away.

I heard the light sound of someone clapping, and I was pulled out of the spell I was under. I looked around to see that people had gathered and began to clap. They smiled and pointed, whispering to their friends. I fell back through memories, and all of a sudden I was at my last party, where everyone was laughing at me. I had to get away.

I pushed past the mystery boy’s shoulder, a wave of his vanilla scent followed after me along with his cry, “Wait!”

I sprinted through the doors and into the brisk NYC’s February air. The sidewalks were lined with slush, and the roads were busy with taxis, but I didn’t care as I ran across the streets, through the slush, while cars honked at me. I could hear his voice distantly crying, “Where are you going?”

I didn’t, I couldn’t stop until I was in my hotel suite. I flung myself onto the king’s size bed and cried myself to sleep.

*

In the morning, I woke to Tupaia sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking my hair. “I heard about what happened last night,” she said. “Everyone thought you and that boy were fantastic!”

I buried my face into the silky pillow.

“So why’d you run out?”

A tear burned its way through my right eye. “They were all lookin’ at me…”

“They thought you were amazing, Morgan!” She exclaimed.

I tore my face from the pillow, and looked up at her. Her hair fell over her shoulders like a waterfall, and in her silver silk pajamas, she looked like a goddess. “There was somethin’ about him,” I told her, “that made me forget everyone was there.”

She smiled, and her eyes grew distant. “I’ve felt like that before.” I wondered when. Tupaia hardly ever talked about what her life was like before she took me in. “It must be love,” she said at last.

I fell into the pillow. Love? With a guy I don’t know? I didn’t even know his name, how could I love him? And what about Leroy? I stared at Tupaia contemplating how it would be possible to love someone you only met once. “I’ll probably never see him again,” I sighed.

Tupaia laid down next to me, and held me in her arms like she use to do when I was young. “You never know. Things have a funny way of working themselves out.”

*

I bummed around the suite watching re-runs of H2O, my favorite TV show, while Tupaia went to her modeling jobs. I watched, for about the millionth time as three girls, unlikely to become so close, had no choice after they are transformed into mermaids with powers over water. I fantasized that I was one of those girls, instead of who I was. I didn’t even have powers.

I imagined how great it would be if my life were like the TV show. Being surrounded by friends who knew and accepted my secret, being able to lean on them when things were tough… Would I ever gain friends like that? I wondered. Doubtful.

That afternoon I drove the thirteen and a half hour drive back to Folly alone. Tupaia had scored more modeling jobs in the city from the ball Saturday night, so I decided to go home on my own to get ready for school the next day. The white lines on the thru-way melted away. All I could see was the mystery boy’s golden eyes. The whole way home, I smelled vanilla. I’ll never see him again.

Please Rate/Comment & Feel free to share if you like it!

Thank you for reading ❤

Hummmm

Standard

Just got home. 10 minutes earlier than a normal day, 10 minutes later than a good day.

God, Mondays suck.

I pick up the phone from the cup holder, preparing to text Kyle and let him know I’m home, but I am distracted by an article I was dying to read. Something about how writers kill off their characters. I thought about it, every book I have outlined, rough chapters scribbled on paper, all in my desk in the bedroom; in every story I kill someone. Then I’m thinking about Disney movies and how Mom pointed out that someone dies in every one (usually a parent).

Taylor Swift’s “All You Had To Do Was Stay” is still pumping through the Sable’s speakers. I open the door so I don’t look like one of those people who just listen to music in their car, the bass thumping away.

The wind whips through the open door and I hear it. The humming. A chill runs deep up my spine. I’m almost afraid to look, but I do. It’s a girl, a pretty ordinary looking girl. She is wearing a gray and black zipped jacket, with the hood down. Her brown hair is back with a thick, obnoxiously bright orange hair band. But it’s too thick to be a hair band, more like a sweatband. And I watch her for a moment. She just keeps walking, head down, humming. Her hum still makes me shake. For a second, I’m convinced it’s not even her. The ominous sound is all around me like a tornado.

I get inside and lock the door without looking back.

Wonderland

Standard

cozy-places-to-read

Sunday.

Lazy day.

The only day I get to have a lazy day. I work Monday through Saturday, and even after leaving the office I stay up until about one in the morning working on my laptop. My family says I’m a workaholic. Coworkers say I need to take a vacation. I don’t need any of that. I need to get him out of my mind. It had been 11 months, twelve days, and… nine hours on the dot since…

Sunday.

My favorite day.

I warm up some homemade hot cocoa on the stove, hazelnuts for added flavor. And just to snack on.

Mmm, cinnamon. Mother gave me these t-lights for christmas. To help me relax I suppose. They work. By the time I sit in my armchair it smells like fall in my livingroom.

Fall… Red leaves falling to the ground. Crunch, crunch, crunching beneath my feet. His almond eyes glowing in the sun… A better time.

Interior design is my job. My hobby. My passion. I go in and make places look… unique. I give a boring four white wall cell, character. I pick up my latest book. Living. That’s what I do. I take inanimate objects, rooms, and floors and give them life. That is my life…

Living.

What does it mean to be living? To breathe? To Laugh? To work? To die?

I am curled up in my gray wool blanket, throw pillow fluffed to my liking, and I inhale the nutty chocolate fumes of my hot cocoa.

There’s a knock at the door.

Six-thirty PM on a Sunday.

No one knocks on my door. I live out a good mile from my neighbors. I need the distance. To be alone. To be safe. Are we ever safe?

There’s another knock.

With reluctance, I set down my porcelain mug onto my sweetgrass tray. My thumb rubs over the chip on the handle. It’s funny how you forget things, but remember the events you wish you could bury. No matter how hard you try you can’t hide away from your own mind… What a terrible thought.

Another knock.

They certainly are persistent. A chill dances up my spine as I discard my blanket. My feet thump thump against the hardwood floor. The gold handle is warm in my hand. And I wonder, why am I so hesitant?

With a swing of the door, like a current raising, he is revealed. His smile is wide, showing off his pearly whites like a cheshire cat. And I know now, all this time, was a waste. There is no escape from Wonderland.

A Picture It & Write Inspiration.

Jungle Gym

Standard

I am sitting at my desk in the open spaced classroom. None of us can concentrate on the current task. We watch the minute hand tick-tock. The room fills with the chorus of bouncing pencil erasers, the tap-tap-tapping of feet against the linoleum floor and fingers drumming against polished wooden desk tops.

Once the minute hand reaches the three, we all hop out of our seats, our chairs squeaking against the floor, and bolt for the door. “Single file,” our teacher, Mr. Burn, laughs as we pour out of the classroom and stampede through the hallways. It’s recess. My shoulders are pressed against my friends’. We smile at each other silently communicating, this is it, get ready.

At first glance recess is just dozens of children playing on the jungle gym, swinging as if they could reach the stars; but a closer look would unveil wild animals prowling the jungle. Chimpanzees swing from vine to vine, chirping to one another. Toucans simultaneously take flight beyond the canopy where parrots are squawking.

I crouch, watching river dolphins dive down waterfalls, from a distance. I dig my paws into the ground, feeling the soft loose soil shift between my toes. A stuffy heat covers us like a wool blanket, carrying a musky smell of sweat and dirt. Anticipation tingles on my tongue like venomous spit.

I wait.

When the familiar roar of a panther calls my name, I get ready. “It’s time,” one of my pack members growls. She comes up next to me, her shoulder blades moving up and down with each step. Her black fur looks as smooth as skin and shines beneath the sun, plum purple. Together we stalk a lone red tail catfish swimming down the whispering stream of clear water. Its black scales sparkle under the ray of sun peaking in behind the Brazilin Nut trees. We lower ourselves into the tall leafy forest green grass to stay hidden. My nose in the dirt, I listen to the thump-thump of its heart. Then I spring from my hind legs, air rushing past me and flowing through the fur on my face, warm and cool all at once.

A siren blares over all sounds, everyone ceases what they are doing to gaze up at the rust colored school building. The ringing dulls into a lulled hum in our eardrums.

Recess is over.

The spell is broken as Tyler and I fall over into the patch of spongy woodchips in a fit of laughter. As we stand up from our hands and knees, we brush off the lingering chips that leave little rectangular imprints where our skin is bare.

Around us, the jungle begins to melt like a mirage. The toucans descend from the clouds leaving the black empty seats swinging back n’ forth in their wake. The silver metal chains squeak with loneliness.

The river dolphins flip their fins propelling themselves down the rivers, their feet smacking against the ground as they transform into two blond twins: Kathy and Cassie.

Once again we are a group of kindergarteners dragging our feet back to class. My friends and I exchange glances, holding back a smirk as we pass the grown-ups. To the average on-looker, it was just a jungle gym with bright mustard yellow and ketchup red slides. Triangular monkey bars and tall fireman poles… But we knew it was much more than that…

__________________________________________________________

A short story I wrote for my writing class. The assignment was to describe a place from our childhood. I’m bad at remembering things, but what I remember most about my childhood was how convinced I was that I was a lion and going out onto the jungle gym with my friends pretending it was a real jungle. And thus this article was born.