Monday, 15 February 2016

Short Story -A Life in Bright Darkness

I glide. I shift. I walk in the darkness. I feel cold hard metal on my fingertips. As I trudge onto the bus, I can feel people staring at me. People think that my situation is a burden but I think of it as a gift. I have never experienced color, but my feelings and thoughts are stronger than the average person. I still have a life. I laugh. I cry. I feel. I listen. I just can't see. I have a routine like everyone else. I get up. I eat breakfast. I go to school. I have tests. I go through every exhausting miserable wonderful routine every teenager goes through. There is so much darkness yet so much light in my life.

Often adults say that during the teenage stage of someone's life that they are more attached to their friends then their family but I disagree. My family understands me more than any other friend I have ever had. My mother is a warm breeze on a summer night, and my father is a smooth sympathy that could make me fall into a deep sleep as if I'm under his spell. They are my go to people, my life cushion. Well currently my mom is anyway, my dad used to be until he moved far away.  Before he moved, he and I would do everything together. We go out for ice cream, go on boat rides, and even just talk. I remember one night when we went out Cedar Field and caught fire flies, we layed on our backs and my father told my stories about far way places. He used to say the future is like the stars, bright and far away. When ever I was around him everything was magic. But then one morning I woke up and he was gone. I waited, and waited for him to return, but he never did. Every since than my mom and I have been inseparable. I think we both wanted to make up for what we both lost. Although my father is gone, I still pretend he is with me. One day I am going to find him.
I begin to fade back into reality as I get off the bus.  Jane continues to drone on about how she hates Monday mornings and if she doesn’t get coffee soon she might just die. Honestly I love her but she can be so irritating sometimes. 

“Did you finish your essay on microbeads?”

“I don’t care about microbeads. They are  just stupid pieces of plastic that negatively affect marine life. I honestly don’t care.”

“Sorry I said something.”

“I will see you after Spanish.”

“Actually I have to leave early in the middle of Spanish, I have a dentist appointment.”

“Fine Leave me in this hell hole. I hope you get a lot of cavities.”

“Okay whatever, I guess I will just see you after school then.”

“Fine, cya latter Hope.”

“Cya Jane."

Spanish class is a blur. As I read my Spanish braille textbook. My Spanish teacher tells me my mom is waiting at the high school office to pick me up.
I say “gracias” and leave the room. As I make my way to the service elevator, I think of the times when I would scream and yell when I was at the dentist. When I would felt the dentist tools I had no ideas when they are coming. I hear the high pitch sounds of the drills,not knowing when to expect their invasion in you're mouth.
I feel for the braille bumps on the elevator button. I walk in. I feel the ground slowly, gradually move downward and then I’m there. I feel my way out of the elevator and walk straight into my mother’s arms.

“Time for the dentist, Bee”
I say a sleepy ok and with her guidance we make our way to the car. We buckle up and  hit the road.  Time in the car always feels extremely anxious and scary because I have no control of where I am going, and to be honest, my mom is not an very good driver.

 As we make are way down Kings Street something happens. Then somethings happens. The car jerks. I hear a sharp noise cuts threw my eardrums. Everything closes in and I feel my body moving uncontrollably like a awkward dance. The glass shatters and I feel myself jolt forward and then jolt back.  My head lights up with pain. I hear a low painful scream and then time slowly fades into darkness.

I wake up and my mom is gone. I don’t mean like, gone gone. She's is right next to me but not breathing and the doctors say she never will again. But here’s the catch when I woke up and opened my eyes. I could see. The doctors say that it had something do with optic nerve which connect my eyes too my brain and when I hit my head something happend. While experiencing automatic reaction is a scream of course. It’s like a “what the heck” scream. Like a “this is what the world and color and everything looks like and my mother is now dead and I have no one” scream.
 When I woke up this morning I just thought I was going to the dentist, but apparently my whole world is changed instead. My mother was my everything and now my everything is gone. I always imagined her in this certain way, and now that I see her, she is even better. 
She has soft brown eyes like me and smooth pale skin. Her beauty matches her soul. Her hands look delicate and graceful. She is like a ballerina gliding across the stage with her delicate graceful hands.  She also has dimples and freckles that scatter across her nose and cheeks that give her a cheeky yet sweet look. But I will never  hear her voice again and to me that lives within her.  I will never have that warm breeze on a summer night feeling ever again. It’s gone. 
But now it’s time to get in the car to a colorful building in a colorful town with a dark grey feeling. I have been waiting for this moment my whole life, seeing my dad and seeing. But here I find myself,  standing in front of the social service building color and all.

As I walk in the building there is a  hospital vibe that washes over me. There is children's artwork on the walls, and there's this turquoise metallic blue emphasize everywhere.  As I sit on one of the waiting room chairs, I browse a random magazine clustered in a pile on a nearby table. As read it I feel my hands shaking I’m not sure if this is nervousness or excitement I think it’s a little bit of both.  Then a voice calls me. I look up. I stand slowly like in an suspenseful movie and you can’t see what's going on until they dramatically change the camera to the hidden object or in this case a person. My father. I can’t move. I just stand there and look at him.  He looks at me with longing in his eyes yet he doesn’t move. He is like a hunter not wanting to scare off his prey. I see dark circles and under his eyes and wrinkles on his lower forehead betweens his eyebrow caused by distress and deep thought. He stands there with an awkward smile unsure what to do next. When I imagined this moment I pictured fireworks yet there is no dangerous explosive coloring the sky. It’s just me, and him. In a waiting room. I can tell we will not connect right away; somehow I knew this, I guess i just didn’t want to accept it.

Now looking back at this six months later, it seemed much worse. But now I have an ok relationship with my father. It hasn’t and never will, feel normal and I still don’t know why he left. Maybe he will tell some day. Anyway now here I am all grown up taking college courses, rebuilding my life, and writing this story for you. I hope to get published someday. Someday...

Thursday, 14 January 2016

Perhaps -inspired by Shu Ting

Perhaps the time we have
will eventually will be lost
Perhaps the choices we make
will burn down before our eyes
Perhaps the lives we live will always question
what could have been
Perhaps the roads in which we may travel
will change the color of our leaves.

Perhaps when we fall into the rhythmic movements
we can find the familiarity of time
Perhaps you  find the afterlife, is more similar  
than you thought
Perhaps seeking a better life will result in
 never finding it
Perhaps we should change our course no matter
where the storm takes us

Our heart should show us the map to our destiny
And are lives should except it

Monday, 30 November 2015

The most important words go unsaid.

Maybe it's not too late,
I still can move my lips
I have not lost my voice.
Time does not stand still,
people grow new rustic branches
and sometimes tower over you with their thick, 
yet hollow trunks
But in some cases...
without any sunlight and water, 
they slowly wilt to nothing,
but they still have their rings.

It's too late to speak. We can't express the way we feel, our thoughts have disappeared in the void never said. No one knows. Our insecurities get in the way, A thought. An idea. A phrase. Why can't we speak?!

Is our voice really what defines us, 
or is it our thoughts, 
because sometimes
we say what we think.
But other times we say something completely different
from what we feel.
Is life the words or our thoughts?

Words or Thoughts?

Tuesday, 24 November 2015


Shouting, dry slick black curves that crowd the mind.
Hiding in the corners of your brain and appearing at the worst moments.
Echoing, and singing like bells in a ruthless and frantic way,
we scream we beg for mercy.
Getting more and more messy and tangled as you move your lips,
and scribble on the blank white space.
How can these words just spill and fall out of you,
 express how you feel.
Sometimes they don't appear when you need them most,
 you begin to wonder if they even care.
But when they do,
be warned,
they might make a big impact and change your whole perspective.
These little tones in the voice can mean so much but at the same time so little.
Trying to push and scream their way out of your skin,
 they act as tho they are helpless children
But really they are sly and cloying.
Leaving you behind into a gigantic blur of sour, and unpleasing discomfort.