For You

It was AP Chem, what can I say? That class always leaves me needing encouragement, so I just randomly started writing this. I don't think it's half-bad, pfft but what do I know?

So what’d they do little girl?

Beat you down, drown you out?

Leave you in the dust and kiss you farewell?

What’re you gonna do now little girl?

A beauty closed within a broken shell

Never reaching out to test the ground

After being so stomped down upon

Who did it little girl?

Who left her alone to the crows and wolves?

She got lost, confused and dazed

And unsure of anything.

Who are you going to blame little girl?

Did God send you here to suffer?

To ramble, lost and aimless?

Or was it a trick of the devil?

I know you’re questioning everything you do

But listen, it’s okay

It’s all gotta end sometime

It can’t last forever.

Unfortunately that’s true for everything

So don’t do it kid, hold on a little longer

Things gotta way of working out

Relax, it’s fine, don’t worry little girl

‘Cause God’s got your back and we’ve got your hands

The Tired

This was just a little free verse... thing. Kinda stream-of-conscious too. That's why it's all jumbly and mixed up. I didn't really plan to post it, but I was just all like sure, why not? So yeah, here it is. Enjoy it and stuff.

There’s a road ahead of me

Empty as the stretch behind me.

Both abandoned, both lonely

But not bad really, no not at all.

It was dark and it was all quiet

‘Cept the sound of the road

And the music, can’t forget that

Wish that the road went on a little longer

‘Cause I’m not ready to go home

Maybe just travel a couple hundred miles

Then come back, might feel better.

Might not, but hey that’s the luck of the game.

Either head south or north

I don’t know really, they’re both nice.

But then there’s always the West.

The wild, wild west with its legends

And past deeds of daring do.

But there’s as much heartbreak over there

So maybe I’ll avoid it there too

I want a place where there’s nothing

Not a nothing kind of nothing

But an everything kind of nothing.

And once I get there, then I’ll be fine

God love the souls who pursue that road

And God love the other souls who don’t too

And I don’t really want to go anywhere

Not today or tomorrow, or the next day.

I just want to stay here, hide under the covers

‘Cause I don’t know what I’m doing

I don’t know this or that

All these things that everyone else just automatically knows

Is there a handbook or a brochure?

Did I miss the memo that says this?

Or did I just not get it?

Was I forgotten in the distribution?

I suppose that’s always possible

After all, I’m not significant.

Not particularly important to the outcome of the world

What does it matter if I’m here or there?

I’m just in my own little microcosm

And I don’t think I’ll ever come out.

Because I don’t know where there’s room for me

I can’t seem to find my place anywhere

Perhaps I’m lost? Or perhaps I was never found?

Either way, I don’t know where I am

Or who I want to be.

Untitled

Why yes, I did just write another tree poem. But they're just so pretty and stuff! I can't help but write about them, with all their whispery-ness and green-ness. So yeah, trees are pretty cool

(Iamadork)

They rustle so tenderly

Brushing and weeping

Branches swaying softly

Speaking to one another

With voices so secretive

Their lives hidden deep

Amidst the veil of leaves

Reach for one, come back with none

Mourning so sorrowfully

Stretch for their mothers

Join hands with their brothers

A lost beat of ancient hearts

Thrumming throughout the black night

And send leaves a-dance

Swirling beneath the warmth

Fall on the unforgiving ground

Lost and cold and all alone

Mend This Broken Thing

When the Muse strikes at 2 in the morning, you can't help but run with it. So seeing as how it is super late at the moment, I'm going to apologize in advance for the pacing and any other little details you might have a problem with. It's one of the few short stories I managed to, you know, keep short. So here you are. I'm going to bed now.



There was a broken fairy in her grandmother’s attic.


Bryn Fletching was a child of naught but six when she first discovered the small figurine. She remembered climbing the dusty ladder that led way up into the tiny, dirty, little room that had been around since her mother was a child. The floor was old cedar wood that had long since lost its sharp, spicy tang with the many years weighing on it, and it was covered from wall to wall with countless knick-knacks and ancient pieces of furniture. The ceiling angled downwards, creating tiny, unusable spaces in the back of the attic. Spaces hardly touched by bright light that brings only certain spots into sharp contrast, or gray light that sprawls across everything without care or concern.

There was one window to the left if one was to come up the ladder, it was small, but let in enough sun to make it possible to navigate the slightly disarrayed aisles of boxes (neatly labeled, though) that made searching for an object a little easier. The dust on the plank floor was at least an inch thick, and every sound of the outside world was so faint that it might not have been there at all. It was like another world.

It was quaint and haunting, and she’d almost immediately fled back down the ladder on reaching the top. But before she could do so she noticed something hiding away in a small basket of several odds and ends, perched on top of a particularly worn desk. Cautious, as only a six year old can be, she tiptoed across the floor raising clouds of dust that were too lazy to climb any higher than her knees. Bryn flinched as the floor creaked at her like the joints of an old man that had seen too many years a long time ago. She did eventually make it to the desk and shyly rummaged through the basket. It was filled to the brim with a whole host of seemingly useless items that she found exceedingly dull. As she withdrew a golden watch on a chain (which had been what she’d seen in the first place), she noticed a broken fairy statue at the bottom. Gingerly putting the watch down she fished the pretty thing out and examined it in the early morning light filtering in from the window, as dust motes swirled about in some intricate dance.

She was by far the saddest, most beautiful thing Bryn Fletching had ever had the pleasure of seeing in her short life. Perched on what looked like a silver crescent moon, she stared upwards as if seeking something beyond the known world. Light, almost ivory, hair tumbled down her back in a fall of helpless curls that reached her waist, while sweet blue eyes searched for something they could never find. An elegant gray dress was settled over her tiny body, pausing at her slim ankles. Slipper-clad feet pointed gracefully downwards, while her moon-white hands grasped the top of the moon as if to hold her steady.

She had only one translucent, delicate wing remaining on her slightly arched back, and Bryn thought it was a terrible thing to be that beautiful, and be denied the privilege of flight when one clearly wanted it so badly. Everything from her expression to her posture spoke of some silent request to be free. But she was earthbound.

Bryn resolved to search for the fairy’s missing wing until she found it.

Then she heard her grandmother calling her down to eat breakfast, and the little girl could only touch where the figurine’s wing should’ve been before opening one of the drawers in the old mahogany desk and nestling the little fairy into the folds of some long-forgotten article of clothing. With that she hurried back downstairs.

She didn’t tell her grandmother about her discovery though. It didn’t seem right.

Bryn Fletching visited her grandmother every Sunday, along with her mother, father and older brother. Her mom would often fret after Bryn would leave the table that the little girl was spending too much time cooped up in that attic. Then she’d fire questions at her own mother to try and find some reason to forbid Bryn to do so. To her credit though, Bryn’s grandmother answered them patiently.

“What about rats? Surely there are rats up there, she could get the plague. She’s only eight ma.”
“Dear, haven’t seen a rat since I started usin’ that special poison.”


“You know that poison you told me about? I bet it doesn’t prevent bats from getting there, they have diseases to don’t they? Worse than rats, I bet.”
“Bats don’t live around here, dear.”


“That dust, goodness me, you know Bryn is allergic to dust.”
“She hasn’t had an asthma attack since she was four, which is around seven years now, right? Besides, she knows to come down if it gets hard to breath.”


“You know there are some days when she comes home absolutely disgusting, cobwebs and dirt hanging off her hair and clothes. Not to mention the cuts and bruises she gets from crawling all over that filthy place.”
“It’s part of bein’ a kid, Ashleigh, I remember when you’d come home covered from head to toe in mud.”


“She saw a spider, mom. We simply can not allow her up there anymore. She could come across some brown recluse or black widow. Mom she could die.”
“They don’t live around here either, Ash dear. Do stop worryin’ about Bryn, she’s perfectly capable of takin’ care of herself. She’s sixteen.”

~*~*~

Bryn Fletching had been searching for that wing since she was six, she’d started from the right-hand side of the room and combed her way to the left in twelve years. And still had found nothing. She couldn’t find it in herself to give up though, the fairy seemed to have gotten more forlorn with each passing year and it drove her onward.

The girl’s searches had always seemed sort of hopeless, but there was some kind of peaceful solitude to it as well. Which was part of the reason why she wouldn’t give it up just yet. It relaxed her, and gave her something to work for. It was a hobby of sorts in all actuality.

Her friends thought her a little crazy that she liked to delve into her grandmother’s attic on Sundays, but didn’t question her really. Sometimes they offered to help, but she always turned them down with a slight smile, saying that it was sort of her own little thing. She’d never told them why she did it, despite the fact they’d asked several times.

They left the subject alone for the most part though.


It was the summer after her last year in high school and she was delighted that the college she would be attending was only about a thirty minute drive from her grandmother’s house. This meant she could still do her quest for the wing, even if it meant in slightly shorter time intervals to allow for homework or studying.

She was okay with that.

Her grandmother never asked her why she went through every box and drawer in that attic.


College started and she found herself getting wrapped up in studying (as she’d predicted) as well as parties. Her mother was relieved at this, finally daring to hope that Bryn had given up, and would start embracing her life a little more to its fullest. She didn’t push the change, merely asking casually every now and then what Bryn had found in the attic lately (she had discovered something new every time she looked, and had never failed to tell the whole family). Her replies tended to be a little distant, as if she was guilty, saying that she hadn’t really had time to do much of her attic-combing. Her mother made appropriate noises of sympathy and regret.

The first time she was able to do something more in the attic was about halfway through her first semester, and she had fled upstairs on a Saturday after a week of severely testing midterms. Telling her friends that she would see them on Sunday evening (none of them had classes early Monday morning), she threw herself into a day-long frenzy of scouring every box she could. Only pausing for mealtimes.

She collapsed in bed that night around 8 and was out like a light.


The next morning she helped her grandmother clean up around the house to prepare for the traditional Sunday breakfast her family had. It was pleasant and Bryn’s mom didn’t once mention the attic to anybody. It was a nice breakfast, and Bryn left the table feeling quite affectionate towards her slightly quirky family. They left a little past noon.

That evening before Bryn left she roamed up the ladder on a whim. She couldn’t tell why she went up there, but she did. It was dark, but her grandmother had, quite fortunately in her opinion, long-since had a light installed. She clicked this on, before scrutinizing the tidy room. Over the years Bryn had dusted and swept and organized until she’d had the room nearly spotless. Boxes were lined up in sinfully straight rows, all of them organized into separate categories. She’d left the three desks, the dresser, the bookshelf (she’d read every book it had held), and the chest in their places because they were too heavy for her to be moving about. She’d just worked around them.

Her system had made it easy to find what she was looking for... except that one wing. Bryn found herself walking to the desk that held the fairy, with the basket she’d originally found her in, perched on top. She poked through it idly, before opening the drawer (she had to slide the top middle drawer out in order to open the others). She picked the fairy up, gently stroking the broken stub where her wing should have been while she took in every little detail of the figure. The fairy had always looked fragile, and now even more so, as if each day without being able to fly had aged her. But still beautiful.

“I’m sorry.” Bryn whispered quietly, “I’ve tried for nearly thirteen years now.” The fairy made no response, but the girl thought that maybe her expression had softened at the words. Shaking her head at her silliness, she tenderly tucked the figurine back into the drawer and closed it.

As she stared down at the desk, tears threatening to fall, she reached a decision.

When she told her grandmother about the fairy statuette, the old woman stared at her disbelievingly for a second before laughing long and heartily.

“That’s what you’ve been lookin’ for all this time, Bryn? Oh my dear, you should have told me. I’ve been tryin’ to find that damn fairy for years now, I have her wing tucked away safe-like in my dresser.” And then the woman laughed some more, and Bryn couldn’t help but chuckle as well. Well more like hysterically laugh for ten or so minutes straight.

As soon as she got the wing she went streaking up the ladder, only pausing to flick on the light. She had hot glue and the wing in each hand and hurriedly set them down in order to get the fairy out.

“I have it, and you wouldn’t believe where it was!” she gasped, not really thinking about how strange this might’ve sounded to any person just walking by the base of the ladder, “You’ll be free in no time at all.” Just as she was heating up the hot glue gun she heard the doorbell ringing, before her friends’ voices started yelling at her to hurry up, they were running late.

She hesitated at first, glancing down at the fairy who seemed to have gotten back some kind of hope on her thin face. Reluctantly she unplugged the hot glue gun, before placing the broken wing beside the fairy.

“Here, as soon as I get back, I promise I’ll put it back on. Please don’t give me that look,” somewhere in the back of her head Bryn realized she was arguing with an inanimate object, but she still continued, “we’ve waited nearly thirteen years, I think we can afford to wait a little longer.” Her friends’ increased their pitch and pace of delivery and she winced, “You’ll fly again, don’t worry.” She whispered rapidly before rushing back down the ladder, not bothering to turn off the light or push the ladder back up. Once she was on the ground floor again she rushed to the front door, telling her grandmother that she would be back late and not to wait up for her.

When the door slammed shut, Claire thought she heard a grief-stricken whisper from upstairs, but shrugged it off as the wind and went back to knitting while she watched TV. Intent on staying up until Bryn got home anyway.

But Bryn didn’t ever come back to them. Either of them.

Dance of the Shadows

So this is one of those poems that makes sense to me, but I don't know how much sense it will make to others. Maybe it's a little clearer than I think, then again maybe it's not. Anyway I wrote this for English in 10th grade, it was modeled after a poem that I can't quite bring to mind right away. That's beside the point, just enjoy, m'kay?


As I was walking in the woods one day
Shadows fell ‘cross the way,
Silent in their soft dance.
A waltz one would not notice at a glance:
Some slowly sway, others happily prance,
Not a care in the world,
Merrily they gathered, their story they unfurled.

All throughout their sunlit forest they flit,
None that dare stop and sit
They know what may await
On the morrow or in the days of late.
They know all about this world and its fate,
They enjoy each moment,
Because they understand how life is important.

They’ve seen all that has gone by in the past
These trees have shadows cast
Since days long disappeared
From their blackened forests the shadows peered
At humanity, and would learn, as they neared,
Of the days yet to be
Once their dance finished, their lesson was told to me

We don’t have enough time on this earth to rush,
Perhaps we should stop this crush
And listen to the words
That are told to us and show that we heard
From seeking the shadows ever blurred
That the best fable
Is not spoken, but found in the shadows sable

Hey look! It's a Fairy Tale... sorta

This story is very silly, but I find it amusing so... here it is. Also I apologize for any mistakes, I am quite tired and not responsible for any spelling/grammar errors that may appear.



Once upon a time there was a handsome prince, he was so handsome that his wicked stepfather locked him away in the lowest dungeon of an abandoned castle beside a mountain. The prince was waiting for his brave princess to come and rescue him.


He waited, and waited, and waited, unbeknownst to him his rescuer was getting closer everyday.



Serenity strode through the halls of her father’s castle, anger rather evident in her expression. Her pet frog was perched on her shoulder and would give the odd croak of alarm when he was jostled by his rather anxious owner.

“I can’t believe him Columbus, sending me out on a quest for a prince. Doesn’t he know it should be the other way around?” Columbus put his one of his webbed feet on her head with a sympathetic ribbit. She sighed when she finally got to her room and sat down on the edge of her magnificent four-poster bed.

“Ah, well I guess there’s no way around it. We’ll just get packed and leave right away.” Columbus hopped off her shoulder and watched as she start to pack her bag, “It’ll be nice to get out of this castle though. I won’t have to learn how to dance or sew, I’ll wake up when I want, eat when I want, travel when I want.” She smiled and held her hand out for Columbus to jump on, “Come on then froggy, we’re about to go save a prince.”



She was already sick of this crazy adventure and she was barely two steps out of the castle walls. Almost the minute she had stepped out it had stared raining. Hard. Serenity was soaked to the bone and irritable in a span of thirty seconds, whereas Columbus was croaking excitedly as the rain poured down around them. With a sigh she started walking on the muddy path, trying to ignore how uncomfortably her wet dress rubbed against her.

“You’d think the richest kingdom within a hundred miles would be able to supply their princess with a horse.” Columbus squeaked fearfully as she patted him, “I know you don’t like them, but you have to admit they are extraordinarily useful creatures.” Columbus didn’t seem convinced about this, and went back to examining the wet woods around them.

After a good couple hours they were well into the dripping woods as Serenity chatted to her little green frog. The rain had long since stopped and the sun had peered out of its cushiony bed to shine down on the little droplets of water scattered haphazardly across vibrant green foliage. They weren’t able to enjoy the sight for long before a rather startling, booming voice echoed around them.

“A girl conversing with a frog, I’ve seen it all now.” Deep laughter filled Serenity’s ears and Columbus cowered underneath her long black hair, very much afraid of the unknown phantom.

“Who’s there?” she was proud at how brave she sounded.

“Who do you think would be in a forest, girl?” The voice was rough and dry, as if it belonged to someone who had seen many and more winters.

“Show yourself!” she cried, her voice shrill from fear as the realization dawned on her that someone could see her, but she couldn’t see them. She felt herself tremble. So much for the bravery she couldn’t help but think wryly.

“I’m right in front of you.” This confused Serenity and she looked dead ahead, but all she saw was a huge old oak tree that looked rather weathered.

“What?” she murmured, another chuckle seemed to originate from the tree… almost as if… “Oh for the love of…” Deep brown eyes appeared on the trunk of the tree as she trailed off.

“Yes I am talking to you.” It said, answering her unspoken question with a dry bark… she smirked inwardly at her pun.

“You think me conversing with a frog is bad? You’re a talking tree. A tree, T-R-E-E, you’re not supposed to speak at all.” Columbus threw in a ribbit of agreement from his hiding place underneath her hair.

“Well I do, so it’d be in your best interests to get over it.” Serenity cast the tree a strange glance, and it just rolled its deep brown eyes, “Anyway what are you doing here, Princess Serenity of Lorin Castle?” Serenity wasn’t too surprised he knew who she was, her “How to Deal with Magical Creatures of Various Shapes and Sizes,” teacher always told her to expect mystical creatures to be all-knowing.

“Going to rescue a handsome prince so my dad will stop bothering me about getting a man.” She responded nonchalantly, also remembering from her aforementioned teacher that it was best to keep a cool demeanor when dealing with a Magical Creature.

“Isn’t it normally the other way around?” She rolled her blue eyes.

“Try telling him that.” The oak pondered on this for a moment before speaking again.

“Do you know where your prince is?” she shrugged.

“I dunno, I’m just sort of going where the wind takes me.” The tree seemed to nod its branches knowingly as it swayed in an idle breeze.

“Easiest way to get lost. I’m going to help you out of the goodness of my heart, Princess” she wisely did not tell him that it was anatomically impossible for a tree to have a heart and listened with a patient, grateful expression, “Here’s where you go: keep walking in the direction you were headed until you come across a fork in the road, take the left path, then keep going until you find a stream, follow the stream’s flow, and eventually you’ll notice six dwarves dressed in green most likely worshipping one of their books of wisdom, they’ll give you directions to the abandoned castle. Just know if you go too far you’ll meet my cousin, the angry river, you don’t want to do that.”

“Won’t the dwarves stop me from going too far?” The tree rattled its branches in a shrugging motion.

“Depends. So farewell Princess, I look forward to meeting your prince next time you come by.” She waved and started walking again, Columbus peered cautiously out from under her hair, before he was convinced that he was safe, then hopped onto her head. She sighed and reached up to pet him, unable to repress a smile at his happy ribbiting.

“Looks like we have a long walk ahead of us Columbus, old pal.”



To her surprise it took a total of ten minutes to find the six dwarves and just like the tree said they were indeed worshipping their book. She watched the reverent scene for a minute before interrupting.

“Excuse me?” The dwarves looked up and before she knew it she was surrounded by several rather angry looking, smaller-than-the-average-human creatures.

“What’re you doing here girl? And why’s there a frog on your head?” One of them demanded, showing off a rather impressive collection of snaggle teeth in a menacing grin. She remained unfazed, as she channeled all her previous classes. Dwarves were testy, and the only way she would get answers was if she was polite with them.

“The talking tree sent me here and told me you might know where the abandoned castle that’s holding my prince is?” Gruff, amused laughs rose in answer to her.

“A princess rescuing a prince, we’ve heard it all now!” Serenity hoisted the nearest dwarf in the air by his collar, courtesy forgotten rather quickly.

“Listen, shorty, tell me where he is right now and I won’t sick my frog on you.” The dwarf sneered up at the cute little green frog.

“What’s he going to do?”

“Don’t let his appearance fool you sir, he eats dwarves for breakfast with his tea.” Columbus’s tongue shot out and pulled in a fly in mid-flight. He then hopped down and started snuffling the dwarf’s dirty, brown hair with interest. The dwarf crossed his arms, rather impressively dignified for someone whose feet were dangling in the air.

“The directions are in the Book of Wisdom.” She grinned.

“Now was that so hard?” He just snorted and she just put him down as Columbus hopped back onto her shoulder. She took a step toward the thin, unimpressive, brown book wondering if such a small object could hold such immense knowledge. As she was reaching for the book she bumped into something and looked down at the line of dwarves suddenly in front of her.

“You can’t touch the Almighty book.” The lead dwarf said, his nose in the air as if he was ten feet tall, not three. Serenity raised an eyebrow, then remembered her, “Dwarf Outsmarting,” classes from back at the castle and shouted in a frightened voice.

“Look a green speckled dragon!” With shouts of fear the dwarves dove for the bushes in a spectacular display of athletic ability for ones so stocky. Serenity didn’t waste time in grabbing the book and running for the edge of the clearing. Columbus hung on desperately as she jumped over a cowering dwarf, showing off her own athletic prowess.

After some minutes later, she slowed to a sedate walk and opened the book. The princess quickly skimmed the first page disinterestedly, muttering through the words with an alacrity that had Columbus croaking in protest.

“This book was made with the customer in mind. If any problems should occur while in use please write the makers of the Book of Wisdom, Version 2.0. For possible side effects of the Book of Wisdom turn the page… blah blah blah, copyright, trademark all that....” Serenity turned the page and surveyed some quite elaborate handwriting on the right-hand page, before continuing her rapid read through of the book.

“Side effects of overdosage of knowledge include: heartburn, headaches, dizziness, fever, amnesia, cardiac arrest from shock, finding yourself living all alone with thirty cats because you lost all of your friends because you were an unbearable git, delirium, confusion, and possibly death. Turn the page for instructions.” She frowned and examined the other page, it was just more copyright. Serenity flipped the page and was surprised to see only one line.

“Look at the other page.” Serenity snorted and transferred her gaze to the blank sheet of parchment. After a second she noticed it looked as if the page was rippling like open water in a windstorm, until a picture had formed of a big mountain, identical to the one right in front of her. Right down to the snow on top. Or rather right up to the snow on top. She snorted again at her weak joke.

“An enchanted book…” she mused, stroking the binding, after a few moments. Coming back to reality she realized she had to go over the mountain. The picture suddenly changed to ruins of an old castle in the valley beside the mountain. Serenity looked around curiously and her eyes widened when she saw the old castle right by the mountain. She switched her gaze between the book and the castle quite a few times before just accepting the fact that it was that easy.

With a shrug she walked over to the abandoned castle.



The handsome prince sighed as he stared up at the ceiling of his cold, cold cell. When would his princess come? He’d been here so long he’d lost count of the days, though he guessed it was around three. After about half an hour of contemplating just why feet were shaped like they were, he managed to occupy himself, like he had done hundreds of times already, by thinking about what his Lady would look like.

For some reason he always pictured her with a frog on her shoulder, like some smooth-skinned, slightly slimy sentinel who looked after his Princess with undying loyalty. It was strange. Still she was beautiful, despite the bright green frog, she had long silky, ink-black hair and dark blue eyes that were both spitting mad and heavily irritated. Quite the irascible creature, his princess was he decided. She would have an irritated expression on her face and have her hands on her hips, tapping her foot impatiently. Her dress would be an elegant deep green (still simple though, after all his Princess was not given to frivolities) with a square necked bodice and once she caught sight of him she would say something loving and brave… His thought process screeched to a halt.

What would she say? It’d be heroic and wonderful, and he would instantly fall in love with her at the sound of her dulcet tones. All of the sudden, he had it. It was noble and lovely, and absolutely soaked with adoration and warmth. She would say-

“Wake up you idiot, I don’t have all day!” The prince was confused, to say in the least, unable to figure out what had just come out of his beautiful princess’s mouth. He blinked and then realization hit like a rather forcible ton of bricks; she was here, right now!

“My princess!” he ran up to the bars of the dungeon, wrapping his tastefully ring-clad fingers around the cold iron bars, “You’ve finally come!”

“Yeah, yeah, just hurry up and let’s go.”

“Do you have any keys?” she stared at him uncomprehendingly and her frog croaked something that sounded suspiciously like a long stream of profanities of some kind.

“What?” Oh how different his Princess’s tone was! Now nothing more than a deadly, low hiss.

“Keys Princess, keys!” A rather shrill, frustrated scream echoed all over the moldy dungeons at this.

“I just wrangled a stupid dragon for nothing?!” she turned on her heel before striding away ranting to her frog, “Columbus I am through, Father can just get over the fact I’m single and will probably always be that way. I mean honestly, what does he expect me to even do? Just marry some stupid, idiotic stranger who got his stupid, idiotic self locked away in some lowest dungeon of some abandoned castle in a valley guarded by a mean dragon, that I have to slay? What do I look like? A godforsaken rescue dog? Well I, Princess Serenity of Lorin Castle will not stand for this. I’m going to …” The prince wailed into the encroaching damp darkness.

“No come back Princess! I’ve been in here for days, save meeeee!” The last echoes of her angry voice faded, leaving the handsome prince locked in the lowest dungeon of the lowest castle in the lowest valley. Again.

The Island Journal

Day 1: 21 May 2007

It has occurred to me that I am probably one of the single most idiotic people on this planet. You would think that after years of being told not to talk to strangers, I would have enough sense not to. Apparently not though.

So I was walking on the shore yesterday when I saw this guy sitting in his boat looking at the sunset. He looked kind of sad, so I went over to talk to him. I was surprised to see he was around my age, and actually quite good-looking. He seemed glad to have some company, because he smiled at me, and before I knew it we were talking. After a good hour of straight talking, he offered to take me for a short boat ride in his little row boat.

Figuring my dad was passed out drunk on the couch, I said sure. I’m sure if my mother were alive she would probably have died of a heart attack at my blatant stupidity, but I just didn’t feel threatened by this guy. He seemed too sad to really be any kind of evil mastermind.

As he rowed us out to sea, I kept talking. I talked about my life, my school, what I wanted to do in the future, everything I could possibly think of off the top of my head. This guy was just amazingly easy to talk to, I guess I saw a little of myself in his eyes or something. He didn’t talk much, but he watched me with those understanding deep green eyes and the same melancholy look on his face.

I’m guessing I eventually fell asleep, because I woke up on a shore sometime later. It wasn’t my shore, not the one I walked on everyday to avoid my dad’s drunken rampages. It was in the middle of what seemed like an endless sea, the sand was a shockingly pure white and the water was a beautiful, unreal light blue in the rising sun. And I was wet and smelled like seawater for some reason.

Right as I was about to start panicking, I noticed a spot on the water and recognized it as the boy’s boat, a sigh of relief escaped my chapped lips. This inhuman island was unnatural and I didn’t want to stay one moment more than I had to on it. It was too perfect, too strange, I longed for my homey, familiar, beach. As I was lost in these thoughts the boy kept rowing towards me, but suddenly a sickening crunch brought me out of my reverie in a hurry. I looked up in time to see the little boat sinking, a jagged rock rose up from where the tide would normally cover it. I screamed and ran to the edge of the water to see if I could catch sight of the boy, but he didn’t resurface.

Day 2: May 22, 2007

I’d love to know why I was brought to this island and I’ve been pondering about it since after I’d found a suitable shelter. I mean what else is there to do on a so-far deserted island? I have a few theories that I want to write down and dissect in the future.

1) God has seen it fit to punish me by stranding me here, with some guy’s death on my mind and without food and water.

2) God has seen it fit to reward me by getting me away from my suckish life, by way of an island (hopefully) filled with fruit and other survival type things.

3) That boy (whom I’m never seen in my life) had a serious hate crime against me and decided to plague my mind with guilt for not being able to do something for him.

4) Or maybe, just maybe he was helping me: I mean I didn’t imagine that sad look on his face did I? And it seemed with each stroke of that paddle his face got more intense and determined, not likely as I'm probably suffering from heat exhaustion and all that good stuff that comes about with being stranded on a (so-far) deserted island, but like I said I have time to think about these things.

Anyway now that I have those out of my head and on paper, I intend on putting you, my dear journal, back in my bag and going to go forage for some food. Maybe I’ll explore this island a bit. From what I’ve seen so far it looks like nothing short of a tropical paradise, without the people of course.

Who knows maybe there’s a spa resort on the other side?


Still day 2…


It’s extremely late, judging from how tired I am and where the moon is in the sky. Today actually turned out very fruitful (literally, ha! Pun), to my relief there were coconut trees everywhere. There were also several other fruit trees that I’m hesitant to try out, just because I don’t want to die or anything.

This island is indeed exceedingly beautiful, there are so many colors, and they are of the purest form of color I have ever seen in my life. Reds, oranges, pinks, blues, whites, purples, this island must have every color known to man as well as some not so known to man. Not only did I find coconuts and pretty flowers, but I also found a little oasis of fresh water in what appears to be the center of the island. It doesn’t surprise me too much, because how else would all this plant life thrive? Saltwater isn’t really meant for growing thing from what I’ve heard. I’d be willing to bet my life this island doesn’t get below seventy in the winter…

I’ve also found a little hollow under one of the extremely weird looking fruit trees that dominate this island, it just so happens to be perfect to sleep under. I can’t write underneath my tree, however, because of the darkness and stuff. Right now I’m perched on a boulder overlooking the oasis, with the moon as my only light.

Day 3: May 23, 2007

It appears that I fell asleep writing last night. I suppose I’m exceedingly lucky that no wild animal snuck up on me and tried to maul me. Anyway, today I intend on exploring some more, I’ve only seen about a quarter of this island. I just need to get find a suitable thwacking stick that may come in handy for any encounters with unpleasant animals, possible man-eating plants, cannibalistic natives, etc...

I won’t write until later tonight.

Later


The sun just set and I have to admit, it was ten times more beautiful than the ones on my old shore. Hmm, I already seem to consider my life before this island as ancient past. Of course it seems like years and years since that boy brought me here. Who knows, maybe it has been years and years? I wouldn’t be surprised if outside this island it was already a hundred years in the future. Though that is a bit too Narnia-like for my taste…

Ah well, It’s been a total of three days and I’m already spouting nonsense, I thought I was supposed to be here for more than a year before I reached the crazy stage.

So about my day, I made a very interesting discovery or rather two interesting discoveries. Apparently this island is a whole lot bigger than I had originally thought and secondly there appears to be a village of people a mile or so away from my tree. I didn’t approach them, because I’m afraid they might be cannibals or some such gruesome thing. They were very primitive from what I observed, their houses were made of mud and other things like that, I couldn’t tell details from where I was. I watched them and they didn’t exhibit many cannibalistic tendencies. Of course they could save their disgusting habits for every full moon or something. I’m going to try to avoid them as much as I can, but we are on an island, so it’s just about guaranteed we will eventually meet.

We’ll see how this all turns out.


Around June 24... or something

Yeah it’s been a month since I last wrote in here, but I’ve been extremely busy. With what you may ask? Well of course you can’t ask, you’re an inanimate object. I’ll tell you anyway though. So like I guessed I did meet the village people and to my immense relief they were not cannibals, they’re actually really nice. I’m officially living with the Medicine Woman, Nahkeeyah. She’s told me many stories about their history and myths, and they are absolutely fascinating! I’ve promised to tell her my story some time, it’s quite possible she might have some advice that might help me. She just walked in, murmuring something about a child being sick. When she sits down, I’ll tell her about how I came to this island.

Okay she just sat down.

Next day

Well of all the things that can happen in this wacky world, the strangest happens to me. A lonely teenage girl from Maryland that isn’t significant in any type of way.

Most peculiar.

So I didn’t write this last night because I was still trying to sort it all out in my own head. I’m so glad I had my bag that night the boy brought me here, otherwise I would not have you dear diary to help me through such harsh and unpredictable changes. This is what happened, it’s all word for word, I’m fairly certain it’ll be burned into my brain until I’m on my death bed. So Nahkeeyah comes in right? She takes one look at me and sits down, before scrutinizing me with tired, deep brown eyes.

“What bothers you, Loretta?” I tried not to let her perception ruffle me and without further ado launched into my story about the boy and him drowning and everything else. When I was finished, she looked at me with wonder in her eyes.

“My dear, you have been brought here by the Ghost.” She said the word with deep reverence.

“Ghost?” my voice shook ever so slightly, I’d never been good with horror stories.

“He was a young boy when he died, around your age. He had abusive father, dead mother, much like you. He wanted to escape from life, so one day he ran away with boat and sought out refuge. He found this island and he met our people, he enjoyed our ways very much. But one day a sickness entered the village, it was a terrible sickness that claimed many lives before the Medicine Woman at the time could do anything. He went away from our island to find some medicine from the outside and finally after several days he came back, but it was stormy and he wrecked his boat on the rocks. His ghost ferries itself back and forth every evening and when he returns he drowns amongst the rocks, I believe he thinks that he must punish himself for letting something like that happen to our island.” She let this sink in with a moment of silence.

“Why’d he bring me here?” I managed to gasp.

“You talked with him about your life, yes?”

“Everything.” I had whispered.

“Same story, same life. He pities you and wants peace to find you,” She paused to look at me, I’m sure I was trembling, “because peace could not find him.”

“Will he ever find peace?” I felt a strange empathy, a deep connection that linked us two in some wild game of fate. Again, that might be the crazy talking.

“Only when he makes it to the shore one last time.” Tonight I plan on going to the shore and seeing if I can find him.

Nahkeeyah just left, apparently the children have caught some type of cold. I hope it’s nothing serious.

Next morning


I sat on the shore last night and I did see the boy. I tried calling out to him, but he didn’t as much as look at me. Despite his being a ghost, it still is horrifying to watch someone drown, and to think he does that every night…

I will help the boy if it kills me (well maybe not kill necessarily), but right now I’m going back to the village and asking Nahkeeyah for more advice. It’ll take me all day to get back there, so I better start walking.


Late night


I haven’t had time to ask Nahkeeyah about the boy, the sickness has spread to the younger adults now. Right now I’m helping her with the kids, there’s one right beside me. Oh he just woke up.

~Dawn~


No one’s dead yet, but judging from Nahkeeyah’s expression I fear that won’t be the case soon. I’ve been running around cooling heads and administering medicine all day long. Nahkeeyah told me to take a short nap, but I can’t sleep with all the coughing and heavy breathing going on. I’ve read this diary from front to back and relived every moment I’ve recorded since months before this island business. And, I'm not really sure whether the island (they call it the Lost Island, but I don't like that name so it's just the island) is an improvement or not.

~That evening~

We’ve just lost two people. More are dying, it has spread to the Old Ones. This is terrible.

Two days later


Nahkeeyah has sent me away from the village, back towards where I first got washed up. She told me this sickness was nothing to worry about, but I saw the fear and grief in her eyes. She said I could return in fifteen days, by then I fear the whole village will be gone.

I’m running out of paper in my diary, I don’t know what I’ll do when this runs out. It’ll be like my history ended, no one except me will know how it ended either…

I’m going to look for the boy tonight to preoccupy myself, maybe I’ll be able to help him.

Next Afternoon


That boy is just bent and determined on drowning, I screamed with every bit of breath in me, until I felt rather light-headed. I don’t know what I can do to help him, but it’s like my soul is crying out for me to help him.

It’s a bit of a clichéd, movie kind of feeling, but I can’t help it. I’ve mulled over every possible idea I can come up with and still nothing! It’s rather frustrating and stressful, not to mention I have maybe a page left in my diary. I don’t want to stay here every night watching some boy drown, I want to go back to the village and help.

I’m a bit surprised I’m not sick, after all I was up with all those sick people the past few days, letting them cough and breathe on me. If I don’t have any symptoms by tomorrow I’m going back.

Maybe I’m immune to this disease or something crazy like that?


Morning

I feel extremely sick, it’s not from the sickness either. I just reread the last line from yesterday and diseases brought by white men to the Indians suddenly flashed into my mind.

What If I’m the one that brought that sickness? Like the boy might have so many years before?

The thought makes me want to go hide under a rock, really bad. I have to get back to the village, it’s only been a little over three days, there can’t be that much damage, can there?

Village~ Night


I was wrong.

The damage is beyond terrible, there are so many sick, dying, and dead. Bodies are just being chunked out a mile away from the village, instead of getting their normally respectful funerals. Nahkeeyah has come down with the sickness herself, it’s terrible and it’s my fault. I know it is.

This is my last page of the diary, after this my history will end, no one will ever know about me or the people that lived on this beautiful island. I think wild animals are stalking the camp, I keep seeing flashes in the shaded woods. I am not afraid, the least I deserve it to be torn to shreds, because of the disease I brought to this peaceful people.

Wait, it’s… human.

Oh God, it’s the boy! The boy is here!

He appeared out of the dark woods and looked around at the dying with that sad look he gave me the first day we met. His lips were barely moving as he softly, oh so softly whispered.

“History repeats.” He’s still walking amongst the village, touching the heads of the suffering. Soon, too soon, an unearthly quiet steals over the clearing. No breathing, no coughing. Did he kill them? He paused in front of me and he murmured with grief-stricken green eyes.

“I can’t save them.” I knew this already so why is it ripping my heart out? I’ve known these people for a month maybe, but they’re the closest to family I ever had. And now they’re all gone? Only me, I’m the only one left, besides the ghost boy, the ghost boy whose past is ridiculously identical to mine. So identical in fact, that we could probably pull off as the same person.

“Some will survive.” He’s looking at the village around us, “They will rebuild themselves like they’ve done in the past.”

Perhaps he’s right?

But, you dear diary will never find out, this is my last line.

Here is where my story ends.

Sincerely, Loretta Cartell


This whole thing was a bit rough and still is, (probably will always be, no matter how much editing I do), but I enjoyed writing it and I think that's all that counts and stuff :).

Across a Lonely Shore (Oh, look more... poetry stuff)

A sad song echoes over this quiet sand
The song of the waves as they wash in
Water sweeping over this lonely land
Its soaring voice of the woes of men
It cries for those lost in its depths
The ones that have lost sight
Its steady heartbeat sings them to their deaths
Through this silent day and gentle night
Slumbering quietly this lonely shore slept
Through every storm and lazy day
Over time it watched and wept
The constant rise and fall over the bay
For years it has lulled those that live in it
Never once stopping, ceasing
Ever onwards it must flow and flit
Over summers hot and winters freezing
It must live, it must breathe
When it halts we will see
Across the shore it will wreathe
We will see what is to be
The sirens will sing their soft song
As the waters swell in their sad dance
We’ll look into our years long
And we will not regret our quick glance

A Conversation with a Tree (AKA pitiful attempt at deep poetry)

Can you tell me what it’s like to stand through winds and rain?
Can you tell me why you hold your head so high?
Why have you never given in to the pain?
Why do you reach so far into this sky?
You’ve seen years upon years, does it matter not to see another?
You’ve felt sorrow that none could bear, surely you’re tired?
You’ve never felt the strong arm of a father or the caressing hand of a mother.
Why would you stand through it all and still reach so far into the sky?
You’ve lost everything in the dead embrace of winter
Can you tell me why you still fight to live?
Tell me what makes you hold this center?
Still you stay solid and brave as you reach into the sky… please, please tell me why?

You ask me why? I have weathered storms to watch this world
I’ve kept my head up to observe all that goes on in these lands I call mine
This pain has and always will be here, it has strengthened me as it unfurled
And you ask me why I reach into the sky?
I’ve seen births and miracles and I long to see more
Along with these births have come deaths, but this sorrow is bittersweet
I’ve heard the secret whisperings of ancient lovers of forgotten lore
Still you ask me why I reach so far into the sky?
I’ve lost nothing only let something go to have it reborn
I know the whispering breeze and the gentle touch of angels across me
For the ones that cry and grieve I am here to mourn
For the ones that call for comfort I reach far into the sky, a symbol of hope forever more.