My Journey

A piano.
A piano and a field.
A piano, a field, and the big open sky.
A piano, a field, the big open sky, and a girl.
A piano, a field, the big open sky, a girl, and sheet music.
A piano, a field, the big open sky, a girl, sheet music, and
Silence.

    Jacqueline is a lawyer for a small company in Florida. She is sent on a business trip to handle case in Wyoming for one of the manager's sons. He was accused of murder.  Jacqueline isn't a fan of traveling so far for so long, but she agrees to go after consulting her friend. She goes to Wyoming, meets the guy, and starts to get to know him. He tells her he is innocent, and she believes him.
   The family of the victim is sueing him, and she is able to win the case. Meanwhile, he shows her the sights and takes her to restaurants and such and she starts to fall in love with  him. However, she visits the scene of the crime and finds evidence linking him to the crime because of what she had been learning about him over the past few days.
   The day before the federal case, he takes her out into the middle of nowhere, where there are just fields and fields and open sky, and a piano. He tells her about the piano, how his dad took it out into the middle of nowhere to play a song for his mom when they were dating. She is torn, but finally confronts him about the evidence, and he drives off without her, leaving her stranded in the dust. She pulls out the number of the taxi from her coin purse he thought she left at the hotel, and calls it.
   The day of the trial arrives, and he had already hired a new lawyer to finish the case. To his surprise, she walks in, proves him guilty, and returns home.

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Gandhi

When will we own ourselves completely?

Some say when we stop judging others and being judged.

I was one of them.

But then a wise friend told me that 

"Judging doesn't make you a uniquely horrible person; it matters instead if you act on your judgments."

So. I judge people.

                                                                                                              

I pay attention to their actions and expressions.

I see their good intentions.

I admire their determination.

I never get tired of seeing the intricacies of human life,

Of feeling the weight of their soul in my hands, admiring their sparkling hopes and their powerful wings laced with veins of emotion.

To see the expanse of their potential

Is exhilarating to me,

To understand that this beautiful soul is owned by itself and nothing else.

I admire their uniqueness.

I keep forgetting faults are a bad thing.

It shows growth,

It shows humanity,

It shows a need for love and something better.

I respect their faults.

I get lost in the beauty of other people so often that

I keep forgetting to own myself.

I think we will own ourselves completely when we understand

This beautiful thing called humanity,

When we aren’t afraid to judge without acting on our judgments,

When we aren’t afraid to hold those fluttering crystalline souls in our hands

And see the light in each other’s eyes.

And though you may judge me for it,

Tonight is not the last time I’ll see the light.

Look up

This is for those who can't sing.

This is for those with writer's block.

This is for you.

Look up.

This is for the kids who collect change from underneath vending machines. 

This is for the science teachers who can't retire, for those who need an answer but know it anyway.

Look up.

This is for the perfectionists. This is for the medical students who never see their families and stare at the pale faces of the dead. This is for the doctor's daughters who grow up without a daddy so nobody else will ever have to see that face. 

This is for the fire fighters who can't breathe.

Look up.

This is for the old ladies who live shut up in their dusty houses, with stories to tell but no one to listen.

This is for the insomniacs sitting alone at night. This is for the forgotten. This is for you.

Look up.

Look up from your sheet music and breathe deeper. Look up from your sneakers and into the gaze of your peers. Take your tired eyes from the computer screen and up to the pieces of inspiration tacked to your wall. 

This is for the music listeners, the microwave fixers, the girls who wear too much lip gloss.

Look up.

Evelyn

            A little girl stood in front of a candy store, dressed in a bright green jacket and red rain boots, even though it was a bright summer day. She had recently received them as a gift from her father, and hadn’t taken them off since, much to the dismay of her mother. They made her feel special, standing in front of that candy store, as if she might actually be buying something.

“Evelyn!" her mother called from the sewing shop next door. She dumped bags of fabric into Evelyn's arms and pulled her down the sidewalk by the shoulder of her jacket.

Today, Evelyn thought sadly, was a very busy day.

“Today is a very busy day, and I can’t have you wandering off! We have to go to the hat shop, and then visit Ms. Grace, bless her heart, then take the laundry to..."

Evelyn balanced the fabric in her right arm as she pushed a few locks of golden red hair from her grey eyes. Her rain boots squeaked as she hurried to keep up with her mother, who was still listing off things she had to do.

"...Then your father asked that I would buy him some new gloves, that's the third pair this month! And on the way..."

Evelyn hadn't seen her father since she was four. He was in Scotland, doing something important. Actually Evelyn had no idea, but by the way her mother gave a disapproving look whenever he was mentioned, she guessed it had to be something exciting. Last week her mother had opened a letter from him asking that Evelyn would come visit. Evelyn had begged, and even promised to not wear her rain boots so often, but her mother refused.

           

"Then Mrs. Parsons insisted that we—”

The ground shook, cutting her sentence short. Evelyn stumbled and dropped the fabric, catching her fall with her hand.  The sidewalk was cracking, and suddenly was covered in shadow. Evelyn looked up at the sky, clutching her scraped hand with her other one.

Churning dark clouds came out of nowhere, blowing huge gusts of wind that all but blew Evelyn off of her feet. Her mother was holding onto her hat, bracing herself against the doorway of a shop. In the large glass window, Evelyn could see her reflection, her green jacket billowing in the wind, hitting against a tall man, whose reflected grey eyes pierced her to the core. She spun around.

He grinned. “Hello, Evie.”

~Who is this mysterious man?

~Why does Evelyn’s mother disapprove of her father?

~What does the storm mean for Evelyn?

My Story

In a painted room

On the corner of a street

Under a yellow sunflower bed

There is a shoebox.

Pull it out.

Blow off the dust.

Inside, you’ll find

Me.

A blue stuffed elephant

A broken bracelet

A brown feather.

There is a weather damaged book from when I was seven.

I ran away from home, but never left the front yard.

I accidentally left the book in the rain after I went back inside.

You can still find the rust from the paperclip bookmark

On page 28.

There is a picture,

I am standing in the sun

With a paintbrush in one hand

And a popsicle in the other.

I bet you can figure out for yourself

How easily it is

For a four year old to get them mixed up.

There is a jade dragon.

Neck curved back

Claw stretched out

Teeth grinning.

My little brother’s hands were hot

When he placed this jade dragon

In my hands,

A birthday present

And he gave me

Everything.

In the shoebox

You’ll find me.

But you’ll find him too.

Found Poetry

This is no world for escapists.
The only way to live is to be brave,
To hold blame and shame,
And imprison your dark memories
As they eat away at you,
Pounding on your soul and destroying reason.
You must stay where you are
Until darkness descends like wolves
Demanding your soul
And threatening to destroy you.
Hold your ground.
There is light on the horizon.

~effervescent laughter

http://www.tep-online.info/fable/rabbits.htm 

The Eleventh Color

Ever wonder why we only see a total of ten basic colors, at most? I mean, there are in between colors, but why isn't there eleven? 

I sometimes wonder what it would look like, the eleventh color. I see more colors than I was meant to, flickering across pages and music.  But I can't help but feel I only have a taste.  

I think it would look like the feeling of raspberry ice cream falling off your cone to the grey pavement, only to be caught by someone you hadn't forgotten.  

Or maybe it would look the way a brand new pen feels sliding across someone's skin, writing a phone number.  

Sometimes, on rainy days, the eleventh color is like a broken goodbye, lodged in my throat. 

I wonder... 

what is your eleventh color? :)

~effervescent laughter