Hmmm...

Pain is such a strange thing. I used to always say that I had a very high tolerance for it, but I've found myself to be such a complainer as of late and I am not okay with that. I got sunburned today (AH, YES, SO INCREDIBLY HAPPY THAT IT'S WARM ENOUGH TO BE BURNT AND TANNED!!!!) and it annoyed me that it was so obvious to everyone that I was in pain. Why do I have to be so dramatic and make such a big deal of my troubles? I really, really dislike being that way and I'm trying hard to stop...being...that...way (pathetic sentence...I apologize that you had to read it.)

Some of you may know this already, and some of you may not, but beginning a few weeks ago, my knee's been stupid and caused me a lot trouble. Because it decided to stop working, I guess it set off this chain reaction thing where it caused all of the joints (or something) in my hip to quite literally pop all out of place then pop back in, one by one. Which hurt. Last year, I tore my hamstring, and now that pain has returned again. And all of this is on the same leg. So I've been limping through dance competitions/classes and life, and waiting for my doctor's appointment to find out what the heck is wrong with my body. In the meantime, every single person that sees me asks me what's wrong and I have to explain the whole story. Which is annoying. I wish that I didn't have a stupid limp so I wouldn't have to explain my stupid and weird and completely inexplainable  injury. I guess the point of all of this, is that I don't mind being in pain, but I do mind people being aware that I'm in pain and then questioning me about it. Cause I hate explaining my problems and having to talk about them.

....Aaaanndd this post was sorta pointless. I think I've had too much sun the last two days. What?! There's no such thing as too much sun, silly! Sorry guys, my brain's just scrambled and stupid. I'll try to write something better and (hopefully) more amusing next time.

One-Act Play

*Here is mah play :D*

A mother in her early 30s is reading the book “Pinocchio” to her four-year-old son. They are sitting on a couch in their living room.

Mom: (Turns to final page.) “Never again, Pinocchio decided, would he tell another lie.” (Shuts book.)

Timmy: Mommy…your tummy is fat.

Mom: What?

Timmy: Your tummy is fat.

Mom: Timmy, that’s not a very nice thing to say.

Timmy: I’m just telling the truth.

Mom: Sometimes, sweetie, it’s best to keep the truth to yourself.

Timmy: Oh. (Pauses.) Read it again?

Mom: Sure. (Opens the book.) “Once upon a time, there was a toymaker named Geppetto. Geppetto loved children, but had none of his own-“

Timmy: Why doesn’t he have children?

Mom: Because he’s not married.

Timmy: Is that ‘cause no one loves him?

Mom: No, honey, it’s because he hasn’t found the right person yet.

Timmy: Oh. Is Daddy the right person for you then?

Mom: Yes, Timmy.

Timmy: Then why do you yell at him?

Mom: (Laughs.) Because sometimes he can be annoying.

Timmy: Is that why you yell at me? Because I’m annoying?

Mom: (Hesitates.) Let’s just keep reading. “Geppetto could make wonderful things out of wood. One day he made a puppet that looked just like a boy. He called the puppet Pinocchio…” (The lights dim, then come back on.) “This was not true. Suddenly, Pinocchio’s nose started to grow longer-“

Timmy: (Hurriedly.) Mommy, I don’t like carrots.

Mom: …Okay.

Timmy: I don’t like it when you make pasta, either.

Mom: Timmy, what did I tell you about saying nice things?

Timmy: But Mommy, I don’t want my nose to get bigger.

Mom: What?

Timmy: When Pinocchio lied, his nose got bigger.

Mom: It’s just a story, Timmy.

Timmy: (Unconvinced.) Okay.

Mom: (The lights dim, then come back on.) “Right away his nose grew still longer.”

Timmy: (Begins to cry.)

Mom: Baby, what’s wrong?

Timmy: O-one time, you s-said I couldn’t h-have a c-cookie, and…and…and I ate it anyway!

Mom: (Shuts book.) Okay, Timmy, I think you’re taking this story way too seriously. Your nose won’t actually grow longer if you tell a lie.

Timmy: (Sniffs.) Th-then why d-does it h-happen to P-P-Pinocchio?

Mom: Because Pinocchio is fake, sweetie. He’s a character in a made-up story.

Timmy: (Horrified, stops crying.) Pinocchio isn’t…real?

Mom: No, no, honey, uh, he…he’s real, all right. It’s just, uh, his…his nose just doesn’t actually grow when he tells a lie.

Timmy: (Unbelieving.) Oh.

Mom: The point is, Timmy, that it’s not a good thing to lie, but you should try to keep the truth to yourself if it will hurt someone’s feelings.

Timmy: But Mommy, when Pinocchio didn’t tell the truth, he got into lots of trouble and his nose kept getting more bigger and more bigger.

Mom: (Sighs.) I know, Timmy, but that’s because…it’s because he was a puppet! Yeah, that’s why. That’s what will happen to you if you’re a puppet. Which you’re not. You’re a real little boy.

Timmy: So it’s okay if I lie?

Mom: No, Tim-

Timmy: It’s okay if I don’t tell you that I broke the lamp and hid it under the couch ‘till Daddy found it and said he did it so I wouldn’t get in lots of trouble? It’s okay if I say that my tummy hurts so I don’t have to eat dinner when you make yucky food? It’s okay if I say that you look pretty even when I’m just kidding? It’s okay-

Mom: Timmy! Stop, stop, stop! None of that is okay! (Pauses.) Well, except for maybe that last one, but still! It’s not a good thing to tell a lie-

Timmy: But you said it’s okay to tell lies…were you lying?

Mom: (Sighs.) No, Timmy, I wasn’t lying. What I meant was sometimes you have to use tact when telling people things.

Timmy: What does tact mean?

Mom: It means being aware of how other people feel and tell them things while keeping their feelings in mind.

Timmy: …What does it mean?

Mom: It means, if someone looks ugly, will you tell him or her they look ugly?

Timmy: Yes.           

Mom: (Shakes head, sighing.) No, Timmy, you shouldn’t.

Timmy: But then that’s lying.

Mom: No, that’s being tactful.

Timmy: So being…tac-…tact-…tactful means lying?

Mom: No, it means making sure you don’t hurt anyone’s feelings.

Timmy: Does that mean that telling the truth hurts people’s feelings, then?

Mom: Well…(Pauses.) Well, sometimes it does. But I still want you to always tell the truth. Just, sometimes, don’t tell all of the truth.

Timmy: You want me to lie a little bit?

Mom: No, I want you to be tactful. (Smiles. Silence. Timmy looks very confused. Sighs.) Listen, Timmy, how would you feel if I said I didn’t like that Lego ship you built me earlier before?

Timmy: I’d be super sad because that’s not very nice, Mommy. You said you loved it!

Mom: And I do love it, sweetie. But let’s pretend that I didn’t love it, and I thought it was kinda ugly, which it isn’t, it’s beautiful, but we’re just pretending.

Timmy: We’re pretending? Are we playing a game now?

Mom: Sorta…Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, we’re pretending that I didn’t like your Lego ship, but I didn’t want to hurt your feelings because I love you so much. So I told you that I thought it was great. I’m not really lying; I’m just being tactful so I won’t hurt your feelings.

Timmy: So…so you’re not telling the whole truth?

Mom: Exactly! Just like I said before! Not telling the whole truth is called a “little white lie.” Telling those doesn’t hurt anybody’s feelings and it’s not a wrong thing to do, either.

Timmy: Oh…why are they little and white?

Mom: Uh…I’m not sure, but do you understand what I mean?

Timmy: I think so, Mommy.

Mom: So you’ll try to be more tactful from now on?

Timmy: I’ll try, Mommy.

Mom: Does that mean you still think I have a fat tummy?

Timmy: Oh no, Mommy, you’re the skinniest, beautifullest person in the whole wide world! (Places his hand on his nose and feels it with apprehension.)

Thoughts!!!!

Heeyyy...everyone...*Sheepish smile* So, yeah, I know I'm a bad a blogger and...stuff...and...yeah...

Okay, I'll stop being shy and start this post already. I seriously, earnestly, REALLY WILL TRY to post my thoughts every day from now on. I think it'll be healthy for me to just let everything out daily, y'know what I'm saying? So there'll probably be much less actual writing, and a lot of informal, most likely frightening views into my mind. If you wish to not read any of it, I do not blame you.

So let's get this party started, shall we?

Thought 1: South Riding on PBS ended...I CAN'T BELIEVE *SPOILER*ROBERT*SPOILER* DIED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thought 2: Tomorrow (Monday) is quite likely the last day at college (I might go in on Wednesday, but I'm not sure). This saddens me...so very, very much. I could care less about no more classes, but I don't get to see my friends and have fun twice a week anymore :'( Homeschoolers (and the Graceling): WE MUST UNITE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 'Cause otherwise, I will be one MISERABLE camper.

Thought 3: Soooo....there's a guy, sorta, and he confuses me. Greatly. To an unhealthy extent, most likely. And I'll probably never ever see him again after this week, since this is his last semester at Suffolk...And he's three years older...and three inches shorter...and has a girlfriend...and I'm trying so hard not to gush about him...and it's really hard...because I do this way too often, when I let myself obsess and then I end up heart-broken...and he acts like he's completely in love with me...and I know that he's a very flirtatious person naturally, but the way he flirts with me is different...and I'm sure I sound like a complete idiot right now. Gahhh, boys are so stupid!!! You have no idea how hard I'm trying to not let myself feel anything. I'm literally forcing myself not to think about him, but as you can see, he's numbah 3 in my mind. NOT A GOOD THING!

Thought 4: DUDE, my hair was crrraaazzyyyy frizzy and curly today. Whhhaaaaaaa????? I'm loving that the humidity makes it supeeerrr warm, but my hair is INSANE when the weather's like this! No way I'm wearing my hair down tomorrow, that's for sure.

Thought 5: I painted my nails today. They are dark purple. I loooovvveee them. It makes me feel so summery and happy. I kinda just want to go dance around outside and pretend that it's raining and sing at the top of my lungs. How epic would that be? Pretty epic, I'd say.

Thought 6: I'M GETTING FACEBOOK AGAIN SOON! AHHHHHHHHHHH, DUUUUDDEEEE, I CANNOT WAIT AT ALLLL!!!!!!!!!!!

Thought 7: I just realized I said dude twice in this blog (now three times). What is this? I only say "dude" (four times) in person, and only sometimes in that case. What is wrong with me????

Thought 8: I. Cannot. Wait. To. SHOWER TOMORROW.

Thought 9: I am in such serious pain lately. My left knee decided to die, my left thigh just hurts ALL THE TIME, and my left hip has been seriously messed up somehow. And now my right leg is hurting because I've been relying on it so heavily. WHY DOES MY BODY HATE ME??? Plllleeeaaseee, plllleeeaasseee, leg, I need you to work again! I have competition this weekend!!!! And of course, I can just barely do the dances full out. I haven't even been able to stretch in awhile, either. Ugh, I can already see what an epic fail this weekend's gonna be. Hopefully, I'll just remain in one piece, although I'm pretty sure my limbs are just gonna fall off soon. But, you know, no biggie.

Thought 10: I love friends. So much. I just love hanging out with people, and talking, and laughing, and having fun, and smiling, and just being with people who enjoy the same things. YOU ARE ALL SO COOL AND THE BEST EVEERRRRR.

Thought 11: I think I'm going into happy overload, which hasn't happened in awhile. But I'm also going into nostalgia overload at the same time, which you would think would be mentally and emotionally impossible, but not in my case. As you all already know, I am a very, very special person. Very.

Thought 12: Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I should post my one-act play on here for you guys to enjoy! *GASP*! Yes! Brilliance, right there, you just read it, ooohhhhh yeaaahhh!!!! See, I have my moments. Sometimes. Occasionally.

Thought 13: I might be seeing people on Tuesday!!! Yay, yay, yay, yay, yay, yay, yay!!!!!!! I LOVE PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! With a passion. Unless they're stupid. And annoying. And jerks. And rude. And, you know, human. :P I guess a better way to phrase that would be "I LOVE FRIENDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Thought 14: This was an incredibly boring and stupid post; more so than my other thought posts have been. I apologize profusely for this. And thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for reading all the way to here (if you have) GOOD NIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

POEMS

*Here are the two poems that I promised youuuu :) The first one is a List Poem, so we're not supposed to actually say how we feel, but rather list items in our surroundings and show how we feel by the way we describe them and the words/adjectives we choose to describe them with. The second poem is an empathy poem, where we have to write from a widow's point of view. Her husband was drowned and now she is forced to confront the water. Enjooyyy :) <3 *

Beach At Heartbreak


Echoing wind rushing through the air,
Hair stuck to damp skin, caught in dry mouth.
Sand gritting against sore muscles,
Forcing its way into every crevice. Ice cold
Water stinging old wounds, sharp rocks creating
New ones. Salt sitting heavily
In the air, making everything
Taste bitter. Weak waves crash again and again;
Earlobes ring in the desolate silence
That follows, like the quiet that comes
After death when the heart stops beating,
The breathing unnoticed until its gone.
Eyes burn and the cold cuts the air
Like a knife through the skin, painful and
Delicious at the same time. Atmosphere
Throbbing from the ocean's pressure, beating
Against reality like an incessant,
Never-ending drum. Delicate shells shatter
Beneath careless feet, as does
A heart in careless hands.


Clearwater Beach


White sand, so soft against my skin;
It's my safety, my comfort, my world.
It's the barrier between me and
The harsh sea, the cruel water, the
Painful memories. "Vacation," they said;
"Time to reflect," was my need, according
To them, they who played in the hands of
Death itself. Seven years ago today,
My life had fallen apart. Today, the
Sea had released its wrath on my
Beloved. The capped waves came rushing
At me, like a rabid animal
Foaming at the mouth. I was helpless
Against its destructive power. I could not
Face it, that which had killed my husband,
That which had broken my heart. Stinging
Water sprayed my face, and I gasped,
Stiff at the touch of the brutal drops.
I took a step closer to my deepest fear,
Longing for closure, longing for peace.
A wave rose to meet me, swallowing
Those who had brought me here in a
Dark void of nothing. I turned and ran.

Could it be...*GASP* A new STORY??????

Okay, so much for the daily thought posts. I'm a lazy loser, so that idea failed miserably, lol.

Anyway, here's thought numbah 1: I had an extremely interesting dream the other night, which means, yep, you guessed it! A NEW STORY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And I'm actually really kinda liking this one so far...I have a general plot/outline in mind, so I know where I'm going, which is a good thing. It's science-fiction/fantasy, and I haven't written in that genre in the longest time, so it's kind of nice to get back into that again. As soon as I finish the first chapter/Prologue (haven't decided which it is yet :P) I'll post it and you can all let me know what you think. General plot, though, is that it's way, way in the future and mankind now lives on the moon, since apparently life can no longer exist on earth. The people here spend most of their time tilling dirt to release oxygen into their enclosed atmosphere. Each person is matched with a member of the opposite sex to be married and produce one child only. The match is based on the genetic makeup of each person, and which two will produce the fittest child most likely to survive. The heroine in my story is unfortunately in love with another man, which is forbidden. But she is willing to forgo her feelings and follow the rules as everyone else does. But the man she loves is more rebellious than that and is determined to overthrow their corrupt government. He is convinced that the situation on earth is not as bad as they had been told. He wants the heroine, he wants power, and he wants to go back to earth; and what he wants, he normally gets. But is returning to earth really such a good idea?

Second thought: Wow...that was a super cheesy summary and really doesn't do my idea any justice whatsoever. Oh well. It's not as predictable and typical as I bet you all are thinking, I prroommmisseee.

Third thought: Dance competition this weekend. AHHHH! I am really freaked out :/ Mostly about my trio. ESPECIALLY about my trio.

Fourth thought: IIIIII shhhouuuulllddd goooo to beeeedddd....I have school tomorrow :( And I'm so tired. And so sore. And so tired. Bleh.

Fifth thought: I have the most amazing bunch of friends and I love them all so much!!!!! I am so happy to know everyone I do.

Sixth thought: My stomach hurts, I am incredibly hungry, even though I've just eaten, like, EVERYTHING, and I'm super moody and bipolar. Yes. You're thinking correctly. I am currently going through my fat phase (That's what I tell my siblings who are too young to yet understand the workings of female bodies...and other things)

Seventh thought: OMG! I should totally post some of the poems I've been writing for my Creative Writing class! (Which, by the way, I absolutely LOVE) Why haven't I thought of this before? There's two that I actually really, really like...Yes, it is final, I shalt post two poems immediately after I have posted this.

Eighth thought: Colleges scare me so bad. I mean, I'm totally excited to actually GO to college, but the choosing, applying, visiting, etc, etc, process is frightening me terribly :( It's. Scary.

Ninth thought: I'M GOING TO GEORGIA TO SEE MY LOVELY LAURA AND EMILY THIS SUMMER!!!!!!!! YAAAAAAAAAYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tenth thought: I have decided that I am quite happy being single and boyfriend-less. It's quite a fulfilling and liberating feeling. The need to be in a relationship with somebody used to consume me, but now, I really don't mind being alone, because I have so many wonderful friends, and I have my entire life to find Mr. Right. I really don't need to add something like that to my long, long, long, long list of worries.

Eleventh thought: Speaking of worries, here's what's swimming around in my brain right now: Bible verses, Thomas More, Henry VII, a conversation the two of them are having, Biology definitions and terms, Pre-calculus theorems and equations, French declensions and rules and words and tenses, the new story I'm working on. I told my mom this and she is now convinced I have ADD. I personally find that ridiculous. Nobody has ever said that to me before. I mean, come on, ME? ADD? Seriou-OH MY HOLY FOOT, DID YOU SEE THAT BIRD?????????????????????????????? Wait, what was I saying? Oh yeah, x to the third power plus five times x minus eighty-nine graphed as an exponential function would be best described as a formula using the number e. Oh no, I was totally saying Je parle francais tres mal, mais je parle anglais tres bien. No, no, I meant....you know what, I'm just gonna end this right now. Good. Night.

Short story

*Okay. So. I wrote this story as well for my Creative Writing class, and I'm debating which one I should submit. Let me know what you think and which you like better (Only part of the other story is up, but I don't feel like putting the rest of it up, so sorry, lol :P) Enjoy!!!*

Frothy waves lapped gently at my feet as I walked the length of the beach. Miniscule rocks and shells cut into my feet, but they were so calloused and accustomed to it from the years I had spent here, I hardly even noticed. I paused and turned to face the rolling swells of the Sound, the damp sand squelching between my toes. I was looking for the solace and healing that I knew this beach would always provide. Evaporated salt sat in the air and on my tongue along with the other flavors of the sea. White foam appeared, disappeared, and reappeared, capping the deep blue-green of the water. The billowing wind blew strands of my hair into my face, plastering it to my neck, my eyelashes, my mouth. Nostalgia settled over me as I gazed at Connecticut in the distance, remembering the countless times I had peered through the fog to see it when I was younger.

With a sigh, I turned my back on the water and gazed at the massive cliffs that had previously been behind me. Sand and vegetation cascaded down its side. I smiled sadly as I looked at the deep rifts that looked like fingers, partially hidden by overhanging branches and the stairs. I remembered playing Nancy Drew with Emily and Beth on those slopes, entirely convinced that a giant had made an imprint of his hand where the rifts were. It was the only reasonable explanation to the mind of an over imaginative twelve-year-old. I could still feel that rush of excitement and anxiety flooding through me as I told the others that we were being watched and were in grave danger. But we didn’t have to worry, because the giant’s handprint was a sign that he would protect us. I laughed in the silence, shaking my head at the foolishness I used to create and made others believe. My laughter abruptly stopped as I remembered that Emily and Beth were gone now. They had moved away long, long ago, and although we had kept in touch at first, our connection had been lost. The girls who had once been two of my dearest friends were no more than memories now.

My gaze now turned to the assortment of large rocks at the bottom of the stairs. I could practically feel my hands pushed against their gravelly surfaces as I climbed all over them. It felt like hundreds of little pebbles pressing into my skin, then being rubbed back and forth. Yet it wasn’t painful. When I grew too old to enjoy climbing over them, I would sit on my favorite rock, the one that reminded me of “The Little Mermaid,” and just think. It was elevated above the rest, and shaped like an oval, its tip jutting out above the sand, surrounded by reeds. If I wasn’t alone, on those rocks was where my friends and I would sit and talk. Sometimes our conversations were deep and meaningful, and sometimes they were silly and pointless.

A gust of wind swept across the beach, carrying sand and the remains of whatever litter people had thrown down from the cliffs with it, shaking all 174 rickety stairs to their very foundations. Midway up the wooden steps, on one of the landings, I could see the bench where I had sat that day with Kimmy. I had been so angry with Haley for tagging along with us and forced her to climb farther ahead, making Kimmy wait with me on the bench until she was out of hearing range. As I ranted and complained about how annoying little sisters were, I remember breaking off a hollow branch that was growing amongst the bramble along the cliff. Taking my pocket knife that I enjoyed carrying around with me everywhere I went, I began to try and stab little holes in it, determined to make a flute as Kimmy gave me words of sympathy and advice.

I saw the blood dripping onto my worn jeans before I felt the pain. I moved the piece of wood away from my hand to see that I had stabbed right through into my pinky finger. I remembered staring at my hand in surprise, not making a sound, more intrigued by the wound than pained. Kimmy began to panic and scream when she saw my finger, which by that time was bleeding profusely. I had quickly wrapped it in my sweater, told Kimmy to shut up, then ran the rest of the way up the stairs. The remainder of that day was a little unclear to me, but I remembered Haley keeping a cool head, despite being eight years old, fetching me a ridiculous amount of band-aids, and ensuring that our mom wouldn’t find out. My parents never did know what happened, although a stitch or two would probably have been useful. I recalled being afraid that they would never let me or my siblings use a pocketknife again because of what happened, and I couldn’t bear being the one responsible for that. Pocketknives were the coolest accessories any one of us could possess, and I knew how terribly my brothers would hate me if my stupidity lost them their most prized possessions.

I peered down at my left pinky in the fading light, and smiled softly as I saw that the scar shaped like a sliver of the moon was still there. I could barely remember the last time Kimmy and I had spoken, but that scar on my finger was like having a piece of her with me at all times. It always made me laugh to think that I had been the one with the injury, but Kimmy had been the one who cried and needed to be comforted.

Squinting at the setting sun, I pressed my pinky close to my chest, feeling as if somehow it connected Kimmy and me. I didn’t know where she was or what she was doing. We used to spend hours upon hours together, not just at this beach, but all over Long Island. At her house or at mine, our families had been close and our friendship even closer. Kimmy was an ardent Yankee fan, and although I generally could care less for sports, I claimed to be a Mets fan just because my dad was. Among any of my other friends, this would have caused derision and arguing. But for Kimmy and me, it only seemed to draw us closer, making us proud that we had different interests, but could still be the best of friends. Anger festered within me as I thought of how simply it all ended. My mom never answered or returned their calls, and soon enough the phone stopped ringing. Without getting any say in the matter, I had woken up one morning without a best friend.

A few years after the friendship disintegrated, I had been in my room typing up a paper on my computer when I heard my mom talking on the phone. “You saw her? That must have been awkward! Her daughter, Kimmy, was sweet enough, but the shit that went on in that house…Oh, God …What’d you say? Yeah, she’s still drinking, hasn’t been sober in years. I felt bad, I really did, but there was no way in hell I would have let my daughter be exposed to that crap.” Hearing that conversation made me sick and I remembered feeling so bad for Kimmy and hating my mom for taking me away when my best friend probably needed me.

With a bitter sigh, I sat down near the water’s edge, not caring that I would get my shorts wet and covered in sand. I dug through the sand around me with one hand, looking for some rocks to throw to help me release some pent up feelings.
Eventually, I came across a dark red, almost brown stone and a thousand memories flashed through my mind as I saw it. Instead of tossing it away, I dunked it into the water, wetting it, and then began to drag it across my bare legs. Red streaks were left where the rock had touched, looking like blood. It had been just the rock I thought it was: the Indian rock. I didn’t even know if that’s what its real name was, but throughout my childhood, I always referred to it as that. My siblings and I would use these rocks a countless number of times to pretend that we had terrible wounds or bloody noses or we would attempt to dye our hair red. Usually, it was blatantly obvious that our injuries were fake, but every once and a while, our artistic attempts would succeed and we would convince our mom that our noses really were bleeding. Of course, when Mom realized the blood wasn’t blood but dye, we’d get in a tremendous amount of trouble, but we considered the punishment worth the fun of playing a trick.

As I looked around and gazed at the landscape, each feature bringing another memory to mind, I thought of the many different parts this little, private beach had played in my life. This had been the site of many an adventure and exploration. It was here that my friends or siblings and I would talk about what we knew of sex and life and our troubles, however insignificant they might have been, and tried to make sense of it all. Here, we attempted to prove to each other who knew the most curse words and said them with a guilty sense of pride. This beach had witnessed our multiple arguments; it had been privy to our deepest secrets; it had laughed along with us and contributed to the fun that was always to be had when we walked down those stairs. It was here that so much life had been lived. It was also here that Kimmy and I had last seen each other.

We had been sitting on a massive rock, a few yards into the Sound, listening to the sea gulls squawk and scream. It was the summer before we entered high school, and we were both a little nervous.

“I wish we were, like, at the same school, you know?” she had said to me with a sigh, picking at the green barnacle between the rock’s crevices.

“Yeah, it sucks that we’re gonna be by ourselves,” I had agreed, staring up at the cloudless sky.

“My mom says it’s, like, good for us to make other friends.”

“We already have other friends, though.”

“I know, it’s freaking stupid.”

“I won’t forget about you, though. No matter how many other friends I make, you’ll always be my best one.”

Kimmy smiled gratefully at me and said, “Same here.” She stuck out her pinky, and I intertwined mine with hers, and we promised to keep that vow, just like we used to do when we were little.

The tide was slowly coming in, and the waves pushed past me, completely soaking me as they swept further up the shore. I rested my head on my knees, allowing the chilly water to surround me, not minding it one bit. The Sound washed up my legs, erasing the red stains from my body, and leaving a stinging, salty sensation. I felt the way I did when I was little and would hurt myself while playing in the sand. I would wash the blood away in the salt water to clean it then jump around in agitation because of the pain. But the wound always healed nicely. As I gazed at my now clean, somewhat sensitive skin, the sun finally dropped below the horizon. I picked up my empty Patron bottle and dropped some jingle shells into it, then headed for the stairs.

Beginning of my short story

*Here's the beginning of my first short story for my Creative Writing class. Let me know what you think of it so far!*

The rough bark against my skin offered the relief I had been searching for. I inhaled the pine scent, my eyes closed tightly. With all my heart, I wished I were home. But that was nowhere near possible. I knew this tree was the closest I could get.

Back home, we had trees around every bend. Brown and green hues met your eye wherever you turned. Those colors were my favorite; they were even the color of my eyes. I could still feel the prickly sensation of pine needles beneath my bare feet. The crunching sound of autumn leaves still echoed in my ears. Bright oranges, subdued greens, vibrant reds, dull browns; I didn’t care what color those leaves were. The fact that they were there and a part of the trees made them beautiful beyond belief to me.

I sighed as I heard some kid ask his mom why I was hugging a tree. As she shushed him and walked away, I slowly pulled back from my sole comfort and stared at it longingly.

“You got a thing for trees?” I heard someone ask. I turned to see an old man, maybe in his seventies, sitting on one of the benches that lined the path, staring at me curiously with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah…you could say that.” I sounded tired, defeated. I hated sounding that way. My voice used to be so full of energy and happiness. The man’s eyebrow rose higher; I faintly wondered if it was physically possible for an eyebrow to go that high. I guessed his overlapping wrinkles just made it look farther up than it really was.

“Why?” His question was so simple, so innocent. But I found it cutting.

“Why not?” I responded. “Lots of people got things for trees. It’s a reasonable thing to got a thing for,” I said indignantly. The man chuckled and shook his white head, looking down at the pigeons around his feet. He had some seed in his hand, and every few seconds, he’d sprinkle it around, smiling his gummy smile as the pigeons went berserk.

“I see your point. But you seem to like them beyond reason, if you get my meaning. I like trees, but I don’t go around hugging them like they’re my long lost lovers.” He grinned cheerily, looking like a pale raisin, shriveled to the maximum. I looked back at the tree, as if expecting my reply to his comment to be there.

“They’re home,” I whispered. I could feel the moisture gathering in my eyes, and I blinked rapidly to dissipate the coming tears. The man smiled gently. He looked less like a raisin that way

“You don’t belong in the city, honey, I can see that. The only trees we have are the ones around you here in Central Park.” I nodded. I already knew that. “Where’re you from?” he asked kindly.

“Michigan,” I sighed, thinking of my farm. The man laughed softly and shook his head again, his loose wisps of hair blown around in the light wind.

“What the hell are you doing in New York?”

“I have family here. It’s the only place I could go,” I shrugged. The man nodded me over, patting the space next to him on the worn bench.

“Alright, sweetie, tell me your story,” he said expectantly. I paused. Did I really want to tell this stranger everything? I considered my options, and decided that I might as well. I needed to get this off my chest anyway.

I walked over and took a seat next to him, his toothless grin close to my face. He smelled like prune juice and bird feed, but there was something comforting about that. It didn’t bother me, at least.

“Why don’t you start with your name,” he suggested, handing me some seed to give to the pigeons.

“My name’s Ashlyn,” I responded, flinging the seed around, smiling softly as the birds pecked it off the ground in the blink of an eye. Just like my chickens would have done. It was quiet for a moment as I stared blankly into the distance. I felt angry at those tall skyscrapers that blocked my view behind the trees. They seemed too shiny in the sun, so unnatural a background to the green foliage. I wished they would all tumble down and be replaced by brown limbs.

After a few seconds of silence, I realized that he was waiting for me to continue. “I’ve lived in Central Michigan all my life. Never even visited another place. My family owned a farm where we grew mostly corn. We had animals, like chickens and cows and livestock like that. And…and there were a lot of trees. All around the farm. Where the fields ended, the trees began.” I sighed, closing my eyes in remembrance. “I loved those trees. More than I loved the farm. They were just…there. Always there. And I knew I could always find comfort and happy solitude with them.

“When I was little, I’d spend hours just hiding in the branches. Whenever things got bad at home or I felt really sad, I’d go to the trees and feel safer, better…happier.” I shook my head, frustrated that I couldn’t express what exactly it was the trees did for me.

“It’s okay, honey, I understand. When I need some alone time, I come here to feed the pigeons. I like to think that I’m doing them a favor by feeding them. But each seed that I throw at them is like a seed of trouble that they just gobble up. And there you have it: one less seed of trouble to worry about. So I guess they’re the ones doing me the favor in the end.” He looks down at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile. I thought about what he said for a long second. I guessed trees did the same thing for me. They were so strong and old; they seemed to just drain all my troubles and worries out of me as soon as I touched their bark. That bark that held years of memories and concerns like mine.