End of the month: Did I actually do anything?

Okay, feel good post alert. I threw together a poem after being a lazy Facebook scroll-er this morning. So, now, I'm gonna take a moment to thin abotu what I've done this month.

This wasn't supposed to work so well. I decided to do it the last day of March, and I was hoping for like a few small snippets a few times a week. (The original post about April.) But I ended up posting every day. For a month. It's kind of amazing. But anyway, everyday and sometimes twice a day for 30 days. It's kind of intense, but I did it. So there's that. But lets talk about what else I did.

• Per request of my adopted Aunt and friend, Gabrielle Worent, (Titi Gabi to me,) I decided to try my hand at 3rd person. And I did it. Read all my 3rd person stories here. 
• I got a lot more in to poetry. I've always loves poetry, and I experimented with different kinds and forms, and It's another form of expression I'm happy to add to my list.
• I got better at writing. If you look at the stuff I wrote at the beginning of the year, or last year, I'm better. Not a lot, but I'm better.
• I wrote something that I actually like. And I'm turning it into a full novel! (Read part one of the short story version here.) 
• I got to 2000 views. That's a lot, and I'm proud of myself.
• I got two more followers.
• I read more
• I wrote more.

So that's what I did, and I'm happy with it. And I'm proud to announce my word total for this month. It is...
10330 words in 30 days. 
This was me when I saw the number:

That's kind of amazing. It's what my goal was per-month before the Moriah's computer breaking thing. So I'm happy, And I'm changed and better because of this month. :-) Thanks all of you, and see you next month!

Day 30: Music's enough

Today is the last day of the month. That's kinda scary. But I had fun, and I've done a lot. I'm making a follow up post to talk about what I accomplished. :-) This poem is odd, the way the symmetry works, and I kinda butchered it, but I kinda like and enjoy it. 

Dusty keys

Dusty hands

Music plays

Music stands

Singing songs

Singing long

Longing sighs

Longing cries

Feeling pain

Feeling rain

Rain is cold

Rain is here

Here is music

Here is fear

Spin around

Spin with glee

Dress is swirling

Dress and me

Me, I smile

Me I dance

Play the music

Play with hands

Hands are flying

Hands are still

Doesn’t matter

Doesn’t care

Cares don’t matter

I don’t care

Found my music

Found my place

Found my love

Found my pace

Music slows

Music goes

Goes away

Goes to stay

Until more

Until next time

Time will come

Time with some

More music

More dancing

Dancing love

Dancing’s enough

Piano love

Piano’s enough

Music love

Music’s enough

Dream self

Hey! The month is almost over...Crazy, huh? I'll be looking forward to next month's project, which is yet to be decided. I'd like to do Burden, but I don't' want to start it unless it's ready. I know I'm writing another depressing story today, and I'm sorry, but this one I really needed. And it has a happy ending. So, enjoy if you can, Dream self...

Glass is turning through the air, and she’s screaming, though no sound comes out of her mouth. Inside of a dream, it may not seem quite so scary. But what if you know, that when you wake up, it’s worse than flying through glass? What could you do, but sit through the dream and wish that you could really die. The girl in the dream, she is covered in blood. But the girl of real life, she is covered in tears. The parallels are painful, but she's trying not to think of it. Trying to believe she can forget it all, and trying to focus on the glass all around in her dream that's killing her. Trying to feel the pain that isn't there. She's sailing through the air, and she's hurting. But the real girl can't feel it. And she wants to, so bad. She's been hurting for too long, she's not sure she can feel anything anymore. Stop. The girl thinks, her dream self mouthing the words as she does. You can feel. Someone is out there, and he or she or is going to come someday and help you, and you will feel once again. But until then, try to feel what you know only can make yourself feel. Feel what you think there's no one to feel it for. Feel love. Feel it for yourself if that's all you have, but feel it. You have to. The girl takes a deep breath, and her dream self's cuts close together and her eyes become full of light.

They both hear the sound of laughing, clear and bell-like. The dream girl wipes away her tears and looks down, realizing her big dress of lavender, loads of tulle making a skirt, floating around as the glass comes back together, forming a mirror in which her dream self sees her hair is up and the blood gone. And then, the real girl floats in, jumping into the body of the dream girl for only a second.Their voices join, and she can hear them out loud. "I love who I am, and I will keep doing so until I have someone else to love and someone else to love me. I feel the power of love, the pain of my life, and everything I've been trying to feel for a long time. And love made it possible, in some crazy. Love, and my dream self.

Day 28: Illusion of death

Can you get me

Through the night

Without leaving

With a fright

Can you tell me

Why if dead

Why there's aching

In my head

Bones are crunching

'Neath my feet

My head pounding

To a beat

Falling flailing

Heart is gone

Going leaving

Won't be long

Finally I'll

Be in ground

Stone overhead

Dirt surrounds

Wishing I could

Breathe my last

But I can't die

Spells been cast

Buried under

'neath a tree

Wish someone could

Come see me

Angels watching

Through the mist

As my body

Writhes and twists

Hands are holding

Heart's last beat

Knowing now that

Death will cheat

Graves are swallowed

You shall see

There will soon be

No more me

Gone.

Hey! My pot today is going to be short. I'm going through some rough times these days. It's emotional for me right now, so you guys get my favorite thing...A depressing song/poem. not sure which it'll be yet, but I know it'll be heartfelt and sad. Because it's been one of those weeks. So, if you read this, if you could be praying for me as well, I would deeply appreciate it.

Gone
I am
Gone
With the
Sun
I am
Gone

Live
I can't
Live
I must
Dive
I can't
Live

Don't
Stop me
Don't
Crack my
Bones
Stop me
Don't

Gone
I am
Gone
You sing
Songs
I am
Gone

True
This is
True
I'm not
You
True
This is
True

Run
I can't
Run
I'm just
Done
I can't
Run

Dead
I am
Dead
Heart is
Lead
I am
Dead.

Writing tips LATE

I decided to do my writing tips after all. With 6 (six) simple words in mind.

WRITE WHAT YOU WANT TO WRITE
That is the only thing that matters. Yesterday, I wrote about coffee. It was weird, but it was what I wanted to write. That's what matters. Always remember that. Of course sometimes a story becomes something else then you planned in the first place. Sometimes, a story writes itself. And that's okay. But if you don't want to help this story write itself, the answer is simple. DON'T. That's all there is to it. So, that's that, and here's today's story. It's a bit odd, but I wanted to write it so...

Isn’t is funny how easily we walk once we learn? You see children learn to walk, see them see it’s not as hard as it seems. And then, suddenly, they’re teenagers and they walk and talk with friends. And they can walk wherever they please. Including away. Far away. But as children they focus on the walking itself. The journey, not the end. That’s what I do now. Step by step, breath by breath. But after a while, I can’t take the agony of wanting to go back. I close my umbrella, brush some dust off my pretty pink dress, and sit down. I didn’t want to leave, but it’s too late now. I’m gone. Far away from them. It seems that it doesn't really matter who them is, but it does to me. Oh, how it does. I love them. I love my parents. My brother. But what my brother did was unforgivable. He killed someone’s heart, tore it out, and left me to deal with it. He told my best friend that someone didn’t love her, convinced her completely. The hour before her wedding, because he was mad at me, he barged into the bridal room, upsetting all of us in our pink bridesmaid dresses, and told her that her fiance was gone. That he didn't have the guts to marry her. And she believed him. Ran out. And I was left to do nothing but tears to comfort me. I tried to run after her, but it was too late. How can my brother be so hateful? I know he thought he loved her, but I know better. He was wrong. But now who am I to do anything about it? Answer: I am her best friend, the person she trusted this day to, trusting I would help with anything that went wrong. I sigh and open my umbrella again, opening my eyes and ears, trying to track her down.I hear crying and run towards it, not caring when I slip and splash mud onto my dress. It doesn't matter what I look like, or what I feel. This isn’t my day. I hear her, and I decide the only thing I can do is scream her name. And I do. I scream it, and I hear her run towards me, and I know it’s the most wonderful moment in my life.

“It’s fine!” I yell. “Go back to the church. He lied. He still loves you!” And for a moment, disbelief is on her face, and then, trust. And that, just like that, she run for the church.

An Ode to Coffee

(You know this is from Pinterest.)

Okay, I'm supposed to be giving you writing tips, but I don't have any, so I'm gonna cheat again and just post today's story, An Ode to Coffee. I've been taking a break from coffee, because I get too easily addicted to it. So today, when I have a headache and am really wanting some coffee. Sorry if I sound like a coffee commercial, but I had fun writing it and it made me smile and give me a good start to the day.

Coffee. What a simple sounding word, but think of the memories it evokes with any person. For some, they will remember the times as children, begging for a taste and regretting it. For others, they remember sitting at their local coffee shop with a mug and a paper for school to write, headphones on and mind throwing ideas around. Smiling over a latte with your best friend. Crazily writing the first draft of your novel. Singing to

(Yes, it's from Pinterest.)

yourself on a spring day whilst sitting outside with an iced coffee. Coffee is everywhere, by your side. Waking you up, giving you a reason to go on. It’s bitter taste, rich, like the soil we stand on, giving us something to ground us. Something for our feet to be on. smooth, like marble in a great hall, our fingers feel the warmth and are comforted by the smoothness of the mug, the feeling in our fingertips is something that can't be recreated. And when the smell reaches our noses, nothing can express the joy, the comfort. The smile within a drink. Add a little cream, and it's a smooth delight. Add some sugar, and you have an extra kick for those hard days. Add some chocolate and it's just the thing for a book and some classical music. Coffee can do anything, can

Do I have to say it?

adapt to what we need it to be. And quite often, we do. Everyone has those days where they can't live without their daily cup of joe, and that's okay. In fact, it's more than okay. It's wonderful. That we have such a wonderful gift sent from above, something to go with bacon and eggs in the mornings. Something to get us through the long day at work. At the end of the world, you can bet we'll facing it with a big cup of our favorite brew. None of can live without our java, but at least we can't live without it together. All of us, together can't live without this earthy taste, even if some of us don't drink it without lots of sugar and milk, coffee is still one of most loved things in this world. Of course, the real question is: Coffee or Bacon?

This picture came from one of my BFFs, Pinterest. 

Day 23: NO INSPIRATION! BRAIN UNDERLOAD!

Okay, so it's Wednesday, and I don't really feel like writing my FanFic, my poems, or a short story. I just wanna look at Pinterest and work on a novel...So, it's been one of those mornings of started and backspaced beginnings, looking at pictures on Pinterest, and not coming up with anything. At all. So...Anyway. (But seriously, 165 pins, and NO inspiration. Something is really going wrong in my head this morning. I think it calls for very loudly listening to Imagine Dragons, Adele and Sara Bareilles.) But anyway, I need to write. The month is almost over and the week even more so. So, I'm going to to Hauku. My lazy way of writing lately. I don't know what my problem is, but it won't fix. So, yeah.

Pieces of stained glass
Shattered on the cold hard ground
Walk thought it tears fall
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Sunset reflecting
Through my eyes and I smile big
The day is ending
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
If I was falling
I thought you would catch me quick
I guess I was wrong
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Tonight is coming
Seems that still nothing is done
Day passes too quick
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Wish I could reach in
Grab your heart turn it to dust
But my love stops me
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Time passes like light
Sand passes through that hole small
Can't I start again?

So...There. That's nice, isn't it? I sure hope so, because I am all poemed out. ;-P  So, have a nice day, and remember to not be like me, and be inspired. :-)

April Writing project: Day 22: Can't focus

Hey! Posts may be late this week. Stuff is crazy around here right now, but I'll keep writing. Today's poem is about how I'm feeling. too many new ideas to do anything. So therefore, it is a short poem. I'm trying a new format called a Triolet. It's interesting and a bit confusing, but I found that I like it.  Also, next month, I am going to be starting a new novel! Burden. The short story I wrote last week I really like, and someone suggested I write it as a novel. So I shall. Hopefully by then, I will have my tablet and be able to write more easily. But anyway, enjoy, and have a great day!

I really can’t focus

My mind is too ablaze

My heart is homeless

I really can’t focus

Starting to be hopeless

Is it worth the chase

I really can’t focus

My mind is too ablaze

I writed a FanFic!

Hey. I wrote a FanFic for a game my brother Toby (And sometimes me...) Plays, called HeroScape. I posted it on the Fan website for the game. If you like customizable board games, you should check ti out. The game is discontinued, but the community is still thriving and amazing.

So, here the link:
http://www.heroscapers.com/community/showthread.php?t=50148

Read it if you want, and have a great day!

I'VE NEVER BEEN SO HAPPAH!!!!

LOOK! 2000! That's 1000 more then 1000! :-O That's like... A milestone, and whatever. So...Yeah. EXITED! THANK YOU EVERYONE WHO VIEWED MY BLOG IT JUST MAKE ME SO HAPPY! (In case you didn't notice...) But... 2k! It's a big number! Also, this is my 65th post, also cool, but not quite as cool as 2000 views. (btw, I seriously wish there was such a thing as upper-case numbers...)

P.S I still only have three (3) followers...Just saying.

Day 19: I thought

 

 

 

Mud through the forest

Staining my white dress

Did I just run away?

I tried to be there

Maybe you won’t care

But I thought I loved you

I was so confused

Don’t feel you’ve been used

I thought I would be there

 

Stand at the altar

Thought I was stronger

But I ran away

I’m left to wonder

Drown fall down under

Can I get back up?

Wish I could tell you

What I have been through

But I ran away

Thought I was better

White dress gets wetter

I thought I’d be careful

But now it’s over

Your four leaf clover

Left you far away

I thought way too much

There was no more touch

From you because I ran

I’d wish it all back

My skin will still crack

But I can’t and you know

Still walk through the mud

My mind feels like blood

I ran away from me and you

Burden: Part 3

This is seriously one of the best things I have ever written. I am in love with it. I want to go and edit it more later, but this is the last part, and I hope you enjoy. (Click here for part 1, and here for part 2.)

Naira nods, and she feels a numbness spread over the room.

“I will.” She walks over to the single chair and sits down. “You have to understand, it’s a long story.” Her voice shakes, and Dante shakes his head.

“I have plenty of time.” Naira nods again, not sure what to say. She hugs the little box to her chest and begins her story.

“It was four years ago. I was twelve years old, and a man approached me at the park after school one day. I have no idea what made him pick me, and I never will. He asked to talk. He was in his late thirties, and he always wore sunglasses, a red polo, and a wide brimmed hat. I never even found out his name.” Naira’s voice gets tight, and Dante watches her with intense eyes. “I never saw behind his sunglasses, never looked him straight in the eyes. He told me I was needed. That there was another world in danger. He described a box to me, exact-” Her voice breaks, and Dante tries to inconspicuously wipe a tear from his eye. “Exactly the way you had so many times. And he told me inside was a world, and he needed me to keep it safe.” Naira takes a deep breath and rushes on. “Through out the days, I went to see him every week. He told me that if anyone ever found out, I would need to train someone else, that I did not know, that was trustworthy, and train them. He kept telling me every day, that this world, Dunia, was very important. That people lived their lives, and they deserved to. That I needed to keep them from harm. He told me how, he told me to open the box during the day, that they would have sunlight, and close it at night. He told me to never let anyone in my house, which he designed specifically for this purpose, and not get too attached to anyone. He told me after he gave me Dunia, I would never see him again. He told me to make it rain every once in a while, to make it snow when I could. To make life normal for these tiny people. To make it beautiful and long and wonderful, because that’s why he chose me. Because I am loving. Because I am strong. Because I can bear the biggest burdens.” Dante has eyes misted with many tears, and Naira is sobbing. Barely able to speak. Dante reaches over and takes her hand, and he tries his best for a smile. She doesn’t even try to return it, just sobs. And cries. And doesn’t try to lift the burden, doesn’t try to get rid of it. Just closes the box and manages to whisper. “I have made life beautiful for them, and it’s what my life has been for. And now, Dante, I want you to share this burden with me. You know, and I want them to be happy. I want me to be happy. Please, understand this is not something the world needs to know about, and if you disagree, you know what I have to do. And I will do it, because that is what this world needs, and what Dunia needs.” Dante shakes his head.

“This was supposed to be a discovery, and now I can’t tell anyone. I want to finally-” His voice breaks and he reaches into his pocket pulling out a crumpled photograph. It’s the box. Mahogany, with latin words inscribed in it. Hoc saeculo, sicut debent. Quam nescis: digni enim sunt. Et proeliorum toties et salvat.

“This world, as they should be. Which thou knowest not: for they are worthy. The battles often and save.” I translate, having done it so many times. I poured over a latin book so many times, as I know Dante has. I kiss him on the forehead and run a hand through his mousy brown hair. “I know. It hurts, and it hurt me, but I can help you.” Dante nods, his movements slow.

“I know. Because you love me.” And no truer words were ever spoken.

Burden, part 2

I can’t do this. Dante lets go of her hand and Naira rubs her palm over and over, trying to warm it up again.

“Dante.” She says, a shake in her voice. “I-” Her voice breaks and she tries again. “I want to talk to you after school. It’s important, and you can’t tell anyone where you’re going.” He nods, a look of confusion on his face.

“Sure. You want to meet at my house?” Naira shakes her head vigorously.

“No. Let’s meet at mine.” Dante looks a little confused, but then seems to recover. He grins, that grin that I’m sure every day is what made me fall for him.

“You have a house?” He whispers, and Naira laughs a little.

“Indeed I do, and I need to show you something from it.” He nods once again and lets go the hand he held a moment ago.

“All right, I’ll see you after school.” Naira smiles and waves as the boy she’s been keeping secrets from for too long walks off to his class. She walks towards her locker to grab her Language book, her mind spinning. Her thoughts bounce around the locker hall, always ending back in her twisted mind again. Why did you tell him you would show him? Why? Why? The why bounces into her locker and Naira shuts it, hoping to keep the haunting thought out of her head. Or course it joins her in her class a few minutes later, in the midst of Mrs. Deatrick asking her which of her examples on the blackboard is a correct use of a contraction, the voices come back. The questions. Why? Why? Over and over in her head. She shakes her head twice, trying to get rid of the painful headache that wants to know what she’s doing. But that’s a problem, because she doesn’t know. At all. So, for Naira, it was and is a long day. But finally, school ends, and she heads out the door with Dante towards home. The two hold hands and Naira’s pulse quickens with every step she takes. Dante looks a little nervous, but he’s just better at hiding it. Inside, he’s very confused. What is she showing me? He thinks as they cross the street. I’ve never been to her house before, and I’ve known her for 3 years. That’s a heck of a long time. He turns and smiles at her, and she back at him. But inside of her head are different thoughts, equally as upsetting.

I don’t know why I Did that, but I can’t go back. I need to do something. I’m 16, and my house is practically empty. What else could I be showing him? Nothing. And that is exactly what I will be able to show him. So just show him a new world, show him what you never should, and face the consequences. That’s just part of life. The two arrive at the little two room house soon after, and Naira Drops Dante’s hand and fishes through her pocket for her keys. She opens the door and leads Dante through the kitchen and leaves him outside her bedroom door to get something. You can do this. She thinks to herself. With shaking hands, Naira picks up the dark wooden box and walks over to the door. She watches in horror as Dante realizes what it is. He’s told her so many times what it would be like to meet aliens, to find the planet from the anonymous note he received years ago, to find the box in his hands. And now, it hurts her to watch the disbelief.

“How long have you had that?” His voice cracks and Naira ducks her head as if to dodge a blow to the head.

“A few years.” Dante gasps then sighs.

“Why--Why didn’t you tell me?” Naira shakes her head.

“I can explain, but I don’t think you’re willing to listen.” Dante shakes his head.

“I’m staying right here, you’re explaining the entire thing.”

Day 16: Burden, part 1

This story is gonna be looooonnggg. And awesome. And in 3rd person. So...Go me! Here's the first part, inspired by this picture:

There is a girl, will eyes like metal and lips so pale they almost don’t exist, with black hair that

looks like it’ brushed only with her fingers, with the saddest eyes you’ve ever seen. That girl’s name is Naira, and she holds the fate of the world in her hands. Everyday, she wakes up, sitting in a room, white and empty and full of hate, and she goes through her day, trying to ignore the small mahogany box on a pedestal in the middle of the room. Btu it gets harder with every day, and she’s the only one that knows. She keeps the secret from everyone in her school, in her dance class, everywhere. That is burden. But that’s not all. She knows she can’t tell anyone, or it will spread, and he will find out. That is a burden. That is a heavy, heavy, burden. Because she loves him, and if he knew that she was hiding the thing he’d been searching for his whole life. The world. Yes, a little tiny miniature version of the world hiding in a teenage girl’s bedroom. Scary: Yes, a little bit. Real: Oh, so, very real. So every day, she goes through the burden. Hugging the one she loves, Dante, and wishing she could give him the burden, but knowing why she can’t. This girl is the essence of strength, but also confusion. She knows why she has this gift that she calls hardship, but she ignores it. Every day, every morning, a morning like this one, with sun seeping into her white bedroom through the single window, only stained a little bit with blood, She lets her eyelids flutter closed. And, as if, re-living a dream, she remembers that dreadful day.

Her mother had told her never to come back, and Naira wasn’t planning on it. She wouldn't take the blame for murder, no matter who she was best friends with. But that's not what was important. She needed to meet the man who’d been talking to her, every day at 4:30. 4:30 was coming up fast, and she needed to be ready. Because today? He was giving her the gift, the one that needed to be protected, and if she failed, destroyed. He was giving her a miniature world. If someone else got ahold of this world, they could unleash it into this one, and all of everything would change. but the people on that world had no idea they lived here, on earth, that they could declare war at any time and use their growing plasma's to destroy each and every one of us. For some reason the man thought Naira was the one to protect them and the world. Maybe it was her eyes, like black metal. Not quite actually black, with a tint of blue, and had the keen ability to see in the dark. Maybe it was the fact that she never wore makeup, preferred her natural face, but was still extremely beautiful. She never really knew, but the man told her that she was the only one who could do this. So she checked her watch and sat behind the bus stop bench, as always, trying not to cry or to think about how she didn’t have a home.

“Naira.” Naira looks up, seeing the man in sunglasses and a red shirt. His face is shadowed by a large black fedora.

“Hi.” Naira whispers, her voice tight. “I’ve gotta tell you something. I’m turned out of a house and home.” Her voice was rushed, as if she needed to say it before it was too late. He nods.

“I know. I’ll find you a home, but I don’t have much time.” She nods, and pushes her tangled black hair out of her face, her eyes desperate. The man leans down, reaching into his satchel, and takes out a small mahogany box. “It’s here. You know what to do with it.” Naira nods and takes the box, her hands shaking. And the man got up, and he walked away.

Naira’s eyes open and she stands up, walking over to her white dresser and picking out a pair of worn jeans and a blue t-shirt with the words I’m the queen of the world written on it in block letters, and sequins speckled all over the shirt in green and brown. She gets dressed and walks out of her room into an identical one, except with a white chair against a white counter and a white microwave in the corner. Naira grabs an energy bar from a basket on the counter and runs out the front door of her tiny home with only two rooms. She’s never invited anyone over to it, never told anyone where she lived. But that’s for the best. It’s all for the best.

“It’s always for the best.” She mutters, biting angrily into her energy bar. “I’m tired of it being for the best.” And she walks into school.

“Naira!” A man’s voice calls. He’s running towards her, and in a moment, her towards him.

“Dante!” Naira screams, as if the name were ripped out of her mouth. They meet in the middle and embrace.

“I missed you.” He whispers. Naira smiles.

“I missed you more.” The two of them join hands and walk towards the classroom. “Spring break is long.” Naira says, and Dante smiles. Naira turns her face away from him for a moment and screams silently. I wish... She thinks, and the burden on her shoulders tries to knock her down. No.

April Writing Project, Day 15: Forever grateful

Picture prompt:

The white dust floats through the air, and I run through it, my face awash with tears and small specks of blood and the white dust of my people, gasping and wanting for nothing more than to find my father’s dead body and stop it from turning to ash. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust... The words run through my head, words that should not ring so true with me.

“Shut up, Fida.” I say to myself. I only want to use my last charge of power to bring my father back, use the last bit of magic potion to bring his life back. But I know I can’t. My silver hair get’s blown forward into my face and IK push it back hastily, continuing to run, even though the pain from running is intensifying, and I know I cut myself in the calf with a rock, but I need to keep moving, I need to find him. I need to find Iztal. The only man I know will be alive, because he is like me. He is a Sivitane. A Sivitane is a special kind of person from our village. We’re born with either white or black hair, and if we survive the cutting, a ceremony where runes are cut into our skin, then we are set apart, given all we need. Taught in the best way, and the runes? They protect is. From the deadly plague that passes through our town every 7 years. And today? It’s been another 7 years, and Iztal and I are the only Sivitane alive. We need to go run, to continue the legacy of our village and come back when it’s safe. I don’t have any time to think about whether not I want to. I don’t have a choice. I need to, because I am a Sivitane. It wasn’t until now that I thought about what meant for me. Now I have no choice but to run, to marry Iztal, to go, to run, to live because no one else can.

“He-help.”I hear, and I rush. Right on, trying not to think of the feeble young child's voice and run on. I have to be gone for two years, and I need to leave now. I get to a hut, the one that belongs to Iztal. I knock on the door. I don’t mind marrying him. I love him, and it would’ve happened whether or not the plague had come. The door opens and he’s standing there, black hair blue eyes, a beautiful face I never was. Before we say anything, and even know there is no time, He folds me into a hug and I choke out a sob.

“I love you, Fida.” He says, and I say it right back to him, my voice confident and unwavering.

“I love you.” I reach of and touch him on the cheek gently. He smiles and takes my hand, and I take the potion out of my satchel. I take a small sip, just in care the runes don’t work, and pass it to Iztal. He sips down the rest, and we run off. I feel tears going down my face, and I feel the cut in my leg start to close up. I manage to keep moving, and we run out of a the village, trying not to think about the fact that we’re breathing in the death of the ones we love.

“I know you can’t hear, you can’t know.” I say, taking a clump of the dust in my hand and stopping for a moment. “But you helped us live. You did this, and we’ll be completely grateful.” I choke and blow it into the wind. “Forever.” I say.

“Forever.” Iztal repeats, taking my hand again. And we run off, ready to live. And we’ll be back in a few years. And then we’ll leave again.

April Writing Project, Day 13 and 14: Finally Free

EXPERIMENTING WITH 3RD PERSON! Yippee. Anyway, my total word count for this month is 6352. And sorry this bit is so odd, I was a bit rushed. :-P

Adam Johnson was a man, like many were, of about 40 years old. He lived a life, like all try to. He breathed every day of his life, like everyone does until the day they die. He lived in an old apartment building, he worked as a teacher of 4th grade math. He woke up, he worked, he went home, he ate. He slept, and he repeated. On weekends he graded reports, and on Friday’s he watched history documentaries on National Geographic. He had a good life, he kept telling himself. He had a simple life. But why, people often asked. Why, He thought? I wish I didn’t know why. And he would shake his head and walk on. Adam, same name as the first man of the world, but his sins were deeper than that. So  much deeper.

Every day, he got up, trying ignore the pain. Every day, he lived in fear that someone from back then would find out. Every day, he bit his nails to nothing and walked out the door. Because someone normal like Adam shouldn’t have secrets, right? But Adam did. And he couldn't tell anyone. Until one day. After class, a little boy walked up to him, about the age of 7, an inquisitive look on his face.

“Mr. Johnson?” He asked, and Adam turned around, surprised.

“Oh, hello.” He said sharply, taking a deep breath. He closed his eyes from a moment, as if trying to remember something. Then he opened them again, the look on his face less sharp. “What do you need, Joshua?” He bent his knees and dropped down closer to the ground so he could be at eye level with this boy.

“I’m not Joshua. I’m his little brother, Mason.” He nods.

“Okay. What’s the problem?” He asked, and a little bit a sweat sheened on his brow. He had a tight smile, as if he wasn’t quite comfortable in front of kids. THe boy leaned forward, putting his lips next to Adam’s ears.

“You’re not real.” Adam’s face whitened, and he took a deep breath.

“What do you mean?” Mason took a step back again, fixing his gaze on Adam’s neck.

“Under your collar. There’s a thingy. You’re a robot, aren’t you?” He shook his head, standing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mason. C’mon, it’s almost time for my next class. I’ll walk you back to your homeroom.” Mason shook his head.

“No, it’s fine, Mr. Johnson.” Mason ran out the hall and up to the next floor, where his Brother Joshua and his sister Addie, who was about 14 and thought she ruled the world, or that’s how it seemed to Mason.

“Did you ask him?” She asked, her voice sounding a little metallic. Her smile was crooked, as if something was wrong with the nerves in her face. Mason nodded and sat down on the unclean floor next to the bathroom. They heard class start and stared at each other.

“I can’t believe he didn’t recognize us.” Joshua said, sounding a little melancholy. We look just like we did back then, but younger. And more innocent, I suppose.” Carrie rolled her eyes and stood.

“I wish I could tell him, but Mother would never allow it.” Carrie whispered. Joshua stood up quickly, putting a hand on her shoulder hastily.

“He’s our brother. We should be able to.” Mason nodded and stood up,

“Joshua’s right. Mother doesn’t matter anymore. Let’s change back and talk to him.” All three of the children nodded in unison and reached up to their neck, touching the spot below their colors. A light shimmered over them, and when it left, they were robots. Silver, tall, robots, with faces that looked like the older versions of the children that stood there a second ago.

Adam walked down the hall, his pulse high, his mind racing. He seemed confused, upset. A few people wondered to themselves why he wasn’t in his classroom teaching, but no one said anything, and Adam wouldn’t have heard anyway. His thought were bouncing around inside him. He peeked around the edge of the hall, seeing the three tall silver robots and his face broke down. He walked towards them.

“I don’t care what you want, I’m not going.” THe robots turned towards him, the digital faces on them smiling.

“Adam.” THey said in unison. “We’ve missed you so.” Adam shook his head.

“Liar. You don’t care about me. I left because my chip was broken, and disgraced the family. I’m stuck like this forever.” The people nodded.

“Mother wants us to kill you.” The robot that was Carrie said, her voice uneven and her face ashen, “But we just came to give you this.” A port inside of her, and ;something comes out. “It will remove your chip, and you’ll become human forever. Adam put his hand to his chest, as if that would  slow his racing heart.

“You--” His voice cracked. “You would do that?” Joshua and Mason nodded.

“Just--Go.” Carrie said. “ We won’t tell Mother. Can you...” She looked at the item on the ground, and Adam nodded.

“Sure, um...” He took a deep breath and reached down, picking up the heavy brass item filled with a green and blue liquid.

“Thank you.” He said. And they disappeared, and Adam took a deep breath. He was finally free. He was free.