I grabbed his arm and pulled it to mine "And if you love me the way i love you you 'll stay here......" he shook his head and i felt him brush my hair from my face "Tk.........let me go..." it wasn 't an angry let me go it was I 'm sorry but you have let me go "No... If you want to go take me with you." im crazy i thought as i looked up at him. More tears fell from his face. He cried beautifully without the ugly puffed lips and blotchy skin but just tears. Glassy eyes with tears of fire and ice it seemed the way the light hit them. Tears that fell onto his skin, perfectly tan and strangely nice against the almost redness of his hair. I hated to think so but he was amazing in the dull 4am light. The moon hit his face just enough to make him look like artwork. Art that somehow is beautiful but also makes you think. He took my arm and rolled up my sleeve. " Look at you......" he traced the endless scars on my arm, not all self inflicted but all with a reason,all with a meaning. I wiped my eyes even though no tears were there. "Scars and cigarette burns......just another page in my story." he pulled off his hoodie and i saw his arms. Burn marks. "From the fire...most of them....." he breathed, painfully. "From the past." i traced a few of the scars on my arms with his finger. "From my father and other horrible people." i traced more scars and shivered as i did. I traced the long scar from rist to elbow and felt him quake. "From me." i traced the last scars remaining. "And thats
I wake. Cold. Alone. Confused. I am surrounded with a lot of nothing. Harshness is all around me. I can feel tears that are now dried to my face. I am not sure why I was crying, but I know that something is not right. I don’t know where I am, but my best assumption would be jail. By the looks of it, I’m a prisoner. My arms crossed over my chest like a mummy would be. They are secured down with rigidity leather belts. I can’t take a deep breath without being restricted by the belts that hold me down. My legs are cramping and all I want to do is stretch them out, but the belts restrict any movements.
I slam bolt upright, gasping out of the dream. My hands burrow into my sleeping bag, fingers clutching the fabric, grounding me back into reality. No one else is awake, so I sit there, trying to manage my hyperventilation, unable to understand how a dream can feel so real and still be a dream. I can’t shake the feeling of the blood oozing through my fingers, so I unzip from my sleeping bag and stumble out of the tent and into the frigid night air.
The surrounding area grew darker as I traversed farther into the forest. Erie howls echoed from my destination and they grew slowly closer as I continued on my well traversed route. The woods really were beautiful, with its thick canopy allowing a censored light through the branches. The sounds of nature all around, the rustling of branches and calls of birds. The flowing of a near stream, the crunch of leaves beneath my feet.
Bill Bowerman once said, "The real purpose of running isn 't to win a race, it 's to test the limits of the human heart." That was the quote that was running through my mind as I kept in pace with my best friend Tyler, the sounds of our jogging almost rhythmic. The cool afternoon air cleared my busy mind, and as we rounded the corner of the park 's running trail, out stopping place near the duck pond came to view. Beside me, I heard a sharp intake of breath come from Tyler, signaling that he too had seen the pond. Without a second thought, we both sprinted towards it. The path blurred below me as I felt a surge of adrenaline. I willed my muscles to push harder and welcomed the burning sensation that coursed through my body. My heart pounded to the steady thumps of our footsteps hitting the cold rocky ground. I felt the beads of sweat running down my forehead and the nape of my neck making my hair to cling to it. As I was reaching the end, a new burst of energy erupted in me, throwing over the finish line. I hunched over trying to catch my breath as I held onto a bench that faced the pond. My throat burned as I laughed at the sight of him cursing and kicking the dirt. I reached into the pockets of my shorts and tossed him a set of keys to which he caught flawlessly. Without saying a word, he turned and began on his journey back. I gathered what little energy remained in my body and forced myself to sit down knowing it would take him some time to reach the parking lot.
It was to late before I heard the sirens. I heard cars pull into the drive way into our new tent. I took a quick peek out the window. The immigration police were here! I ushered my family out the back door but it was to late. I showed them my ID and he moved to Rorra, whom didn 't have one. He directed her to the car but Mama stepped in front of him holden hew brass pan. "Move aside woman". the officer said gruffly. "No! You can 't take our children! Quick run to Chihiro"! She was a fellow farmer from Japan whom we 'd helped in the past. Rorro just stood there and quivered. The officer raised his gun and pulled the trigger. Mama 's eyes widened in surprise and she staggered backwards and hit the ground with a thud. The
"Dreamy" I thought. Standing on the corner is a young guy with a smile. I see him here almost every day, so I linger for a while. He tells me his name, and I tell him mine. ' 'I 'm Ester, what 's your name? I enquired. ' 'My names David ' '.,He replied. We end up talking for a while and I asked him if he had ever left this city. He tells me of all these stories of the places where he 's been, the distant lakes and mountains, and in valleys oh so green. I can see it in his eyes, he really has been there, travelled in those distant lands, seen sights beyond compare. I am so honoured just to get to know him, and hear him tell his tales. He makes me laugh and smile, stuff I have never been able to do. I want to go and see the world through
As I stand in line I have some thoughts about how the heck I got myself into this.I see older adults grouping around me, I can can feel their nervousness inside my veins. Not a single one of the potions looked at all recognizable, but with my attitude nothing seemed like a bad idea.
Have you ever felt oddly out of place somewhere that should be more, familiar? I’ve never felt more alien then on my third trip to China visiting the Hunan province in a little town called Chengdu. This little town was my origins. Like much of China it had become more urbanized and like much of China it was unrecognizable to me. Seventeen years and six months ago I was adopted by Colleen Colbert, and Joel Carreiro from an orphanage in a little town called Chengdu.
As I sat in my blue beanbag chair in the corner of the room one Sunday afternoon, with the neon green window drapes next to me blowing and waving in the breeze, and a cup of tea in my hands, I began to reminisce. Staring at the adjacent corner of the room, at the vertex where the ceiling and two walls meet, I started to daydream.
I was waddling around in my playpen like any happy four-year-old would. Picking up and grabbing random toys and hurling them as hard my my chubby arm could. I looked at my brother with the biggest grin I could muster, as we heard my mother’s off-pitch voice, singing our favorite Disney songs to us, currently one from Sleeping Beauty, much to my brother’s dismay. It was the best day I can remember. My mother finished up with the song, and I thought it was the best thing I had ever heard. I didn’t know at the time that my mother is actually tone-deaf.
Thud. Slamming my head on the table I aimed yet another piece of crumpled paper towards the bin. Naturally, it misses, adding to the pile of miscellaneous paper waste. A pained sigh escaped my lips as I resigned myself to picking up my pen. Tapping some unknown rhythm on the desk, I tried to make sense of my thoughts. The bite marks on my pen lid pressed hard groves into my tired fingers, a simple reminder of reality. I needed some sort of inspiration. Another drawn out sigh as I decided that I couldn’t bare the table’s mahogany damnation any longer. My chair screeched along the hardwood floor and I clicked my pen to cast it away. A wistful glace to the window told me that the moon was yet to rear its head. It was still safe to go out.
* I decided to rewrite this story, but it is mostly me fixing it up here and there. I went back to read it all over again and it really needs some work. I know I am still not the best writer but I will the best I can.
“Do you remember the red heel you always wanted to wear when you were younger,” my cousin asks. I giggle quietly as my forms a smile. I try to remember, but the memories do not come to me. I look up at her and just say yes, but why is it that I do not recall those shoes? I look down at my feet and close my eyes. I can see myself at the age of two running around in a pearly dress. I begin to scan myself in the dress, I look down, but still cannot see the shoes. I reopen my eyes and I just sigh. Have I forgotten where I came from, or is it just my mind playing tricks on me?
I remember that day when I loved into that town. It was a fresh and clear day. The birds were singing and the sun was shining all over. I had unpacked and had decided to explore around the place. I went through the shops and the park, and there nothing interested me. I don’t know why but, nothing was interesting. I had walked around and I was pretty sure that I had seen something shimmering in the sunlight, but when I looked closer, it was gone. Now, I will tell you how I became this: a ghost.
I decided to go for my usual desk in every classroom; all the way in the back, since it was the best location to really observe people. Looking around the room, there were roughly twenty of us in attendance, quite unusual for such a big ass classroom. Even stranger was the fact half of us were male and the other half female. It’s like it was planned from the beginning.