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