Toying with Words

A dog walked to the street.

A girl walked to the refrigerator.

A small girl walked to the white refrigerator.

The small girl sauntered toward a white refrigerator.

The brunette girl sauntered toward a tall refrigerator.

The brunette girl joyfully sauntered toward a tall refrigerator.

The strikingly brunette girl joyfully sauntered toward an enormously tall refrigerator.

The strikingly brunette girls joyfully sauntered toward the enormously tall refrigerators.

The strikingly white horses joyfully sauntered toward the enormously aqua lake.

The strikingly white unicorns joyfully soared toward the distant aqua sky.

The strikingly white unicorns joyfully soared toward the distant setting sky. They spun in circles and flew in loops. The unicorns dashed though the clouds, over mountains and streams and seas. They never needed rest, and just played in the sky day in and day out, never stopping.

Sweet Babe

Sweet babe,

For you I brave the sea.

The spraying

Hurtling

Death bringing sea.

The sea that draws fear from

Every bone in my body.

But for you, I brave.

I have journeyed farther

Than I ever would’ve dreamed

For you, sweet babe.

When the wind roars,

Or the sea sprays,

Or the dripping ground glistens,

I look at you and remember.

I remember I have to do this,

For you.

Our journey isn’t for me.

Our journey is for you,

My sweet, sweet babe.

My Best Friend

I met my best friend when I was in preschool. We’re hardly apart now. We’re basically the same person. Only our appearance is different; she is short with dark hair and eyes, and I am tall with blonde hair and blue eyes. Our thoughts, though, our actions- they’re all the same. What we like, what we do, who we like- only a few minor things set us apart. What we wear, people we can’t stand- she’s an extension of me and I of her.

            I can’t imagine my life without her. So many of my stories start with, “So me and my best friend were hanging out...” We spend so much time together during the summer that she almost lives with me.

            Our best and our worst times, they include each other.

Almost

It almost could have gone the other way. My life could have been changed forever. Life without my best friend. It could have been so different.

            He got her name from a friend, who had gotten it from a different person, who had gotten it from a different person. He got all around the school, getting information from anyone who would talk. No one knew who he actually was, he just said he was an 18 year old guy from Ireland, but how was anyone to know if that was true?

            She was texting him for only a couple weeks before their conversation was found. They had texted day in and day out, but no one had known. She told him things about her that she hadn’t told but a few people, but he knew about them.

Who was he? We never knew. Maybe, possibly, unlikely had he truly been just an “18 year old from Ireland”. He was more likely a creepy, pedophilic man living in their very own city.  He was a creepy, pedophilic man who knew about my best friend- what she looked like, where she went to school, what she did in her free time. He shouldn’t have known these things.

If

What if she hadn’t been caught? If no one had known she was talking to him?  If one day, she had mentioned that she was at a specific place, thinking he couldn’t track her down, but he did. If he found her. If he took her.

If one day I got that call, saying that my best friend had disappeared. That she was gone. That no one knew where she was, that they hadn’t seen her since she went off with friends, that they couldn’t reach her. They would ask, did I know where she went? And I would’ve had to say no, I don’t know where the person I am closest to in the world is.

If he got ahold of her- but who would have known who it was? Her friends, maybe, but how do you say, yes I gave some random guy her number and I’ve also been talking to him and I gave his number to her and her and her too? The person who came forward and said this, they would have unintentionally helped a kidnapper commit a crime. Or they wouldn’t say anything, and no one would know they could be blamed, but eventually the case would go cold and her unfound.

What if?

The Day After

It was a Wednesday when I found out. It was late, and I was coming home from a rehearsal for a show. I got in my mom’s car, and waited for her to turn on the car and drive for home. Instead, she just sat there. Something was wrong. Something had happened.

            When I heard the story, I felt as if the breath was knocked out of me. What do you mean my best friend was talking to someone? What do you mean he was a stranger? What do you mean no one knew who he was, or how old, or where he was?

            I didn’t sleep that night. I stayed up the whole time, a million thoughts and what ifs circling my thoughts. Why what if how when who? I threw up, unable to keep down food with the thought that I almost lost her. I wrote and wrote, then ripped the pages up, hating the terrified words on the paper. I phased through so many emotions, from stone cold fear to anger to relief. Morning came faster than it had ever before. I felt sick, my head was pounding, and I couldn’t focus.

I still had to go to school. The day stretched through endless hours, each tick-tock second becoming longer and longer and longer. No one was supposed to know. I had to hide something was wrong. I tried to smile, but I felt nothing underneath. I tried to laugh, but each laugh choked me. What if something was going wrong with her? What if he made his move now, now that someone knew that he was talking to girls presumably much younger than himself? Would she be okay? What was going on? She didn’t have her phone anymore. I couldn’t reach her. I couldn’t contact her. What if something was wrong? I needed to talk to her.

I needed to make sure she was okay.

Missing

If she went missing, it would have broken me. If she hadn’t come home from school one day, and she hadn’t come home and she hadn’t come home. If it grew later into that night, and they hadn’t seen her and they hadn’t seen her. Panicked calls to neighbors, her friends she should have been with. Driving up and down and around streets, trying to see where she had gone off-course. More calls to the school, to more people, had anyone seen her?

It was mid- October, and I was in a show at the time. I would have come down from it, happy and bubbling with stories of what happened in the show. My mom would be sitting in the car, waiting to pick me up. Her face when I stepped into the car would have tipped me off that something was wrong. She would tell me that my best friend in the world had gone missing. I would have been in denial. No, no, she can’t be gone. She can’t. Then I would’ve broke down, right there in the parking lot, because what would I do without her?

I wouldn’t have come back to school. Eventually, maybe, but how can you wake up and try to focus on school when your best friend is missing and you can’t do anything about it? You can’t. I would have gone to her house, the second I was told she was missing. Whereisshewhereisshewhereisshe? I would have gone to her room, remembering the many many many times I had been there. Too many to count. People would start coming, more and more. Maybe she was just upset. Maybe she got lost. Maybe she’ll come home.

Days could’ve passed, and we wouldn't have seen her. Police would be in and out of the house, searching for clues on the missing girl. No one would be able to sleep, haunted with dreams of where she was. Who she was with. Why she was gone. How were we supposed to function without her?

Lucky

I couldn’t see her until a week after. I wanted to- I wanted to go to her the minute I found out and hug her and say no you can’t ever do that again I need you I need you I need you. I wanted to hug her and never ever ever ever let go. I needed to show her that she had to be here forever.

When I finally saw her, I never wanted to let go of her. I wanted to hold her forever, because she was my best friend and I wouldn’t have been able to continue on without her. I was a better version of myself around her. She pushed me to my limits in order for me to become better. I couldn’t imagine my life without her. I don’t want to come close to losing her again.

I’ll always thank everything I have that she was found talking to him before it went any further. Before anything happened to her. I’ll never forget this. I can’t believe that we were lucky enough to avoid something too awful to fully imagine. We are so lucky. So, so lucky.

She Swore

She swore she wouldn’t talk to strange people again. She swore, but sometimes I wonder. I saw her one time, and message popped up on her phone. It didn’t say from who, and I wondered, I didn’t want to wonder. I wanted that to be a onetime thing. But now, a year later, what if she’s slipping into old habits? I wonder if she started talking to him again.

She likes to have attention. If she can find someone who’ll give it to her… No matter what could’ve happened in retrospect, she’ll go back. If she does go back, she’ll be sneakier this time. We won’t be able to catch her. We won’t know it was happening until it’s too late.

“She swore she wouldn’t go back,” I tell myself, “She swore she swore she swore” I tell myself it’s not going to happen again, that even though she likes the spotlight that she wouldn’t be stupid enough to go back again. She swore. Nothing is going to happen to her. Nothing nothing nothing.

Infinity

She has her flaws, but she’s my best friend. I love her so much. She’s a slightly altered version of me. She’s my best friend, and I can’t imagine my life without her. I don’t want to.

We want to always be linked together. That was- no matter how far we are or what happened- we would always be together. Something where we could look at it and say, “My best is still here. She’s here for me.” A tiny reminder for those not-so-good days. An infinity sign, less than an inch, right on our hip bone. An infinity, for always being together. For always being there for each other. To always be connected. Infinity.

Positano

We stayed in a five star hotel with striking views of the Italian beach. We slept in a room with gold plated sheets and our own semi-private canal in Venice. We traveled to see the sweeping sights of Rome and the sunny island of Capri. Our last stop was a small province of Italy embedded in the mountainside. We thought it wouldn’t compare to the sights we had seen before, but it ended up being the talking point of our favorite part of our trip. Positano, Italy.

            Our taxi glided along the newly redone road. I leaned against my mother, sick from the long car ride and from inhaling too many croissants coated in chocolate.  The road was next to a cliff on both sides, and there was nowhere to look.

“We are almost here” said the taxi driver in a heavy Italian accent. I slowly sat up and peered out of the window. One side of the cliff had fallen, and in its place was a sweeping hill with tiny, brightly colored buildings in yellows and reds and blues and pinks. The bottom of the cliff reached down to a sparkling turquoise sea. The sea touched a beach of glimmering white sand, with picturesque umbrellas on the beach. It looked like a retouched postcard. The taxi zoomed into town, the streets curving in a calming way down the cliff. The taxi dropped me and my mom off in a small, blue and white bed and breakfast inn. It was quiet, but when we walked in the attendants greeted us as if we were the most important people in the world. They led us to our room, a pale yellow room with two twin beds with matching yellow flowered duvets. There was a balcony off of the room, carpeted blue with flowers decorating the whole terrace in hand made pots.

The beach sparkled and called to me, begging me to come down and play in the sea. My mother led me through the streets down to the seashore. We passed sweet smelling vendors calling out their products in Italian. Lemon leaves stretched out to us, perfuming the whole air with their scent. Side streets split off the cobbled main road, and fountains decorated the town center. My mother led me further down the road, and we passed under a bridge of flowers that grew in crisscross patterns.

The beach was flocked with people when we got down there. Children played in bathing suits and teens laughed and tanned with their friends. I ran immediately to the water. It greeted me with warm, open arms, and I dove underwater. I was still young enough to play mermaid. I pretended I had a shining fin of scales, and flipped in the water. The rocks were worn down and felt soft under my feet. I let the waves carry me to shore, and sat at the edge of the water and stared out the town. A temple stretched out to my far right, and at the very top of the hill I could see glowing lights. The cliff was jagged and covered in dark green moss in several places. Shops covered the rest of the Earth. I leaned back, and let the warm water rush over me and cover me head to toe. This was better than any of the “high class” places I’d ever been.

Looking at a Coin

I.

The dull rust.

In God We Trust

Liberty

1978

A lasting memoir

still carried in my wallet today

II.

Gold

and silver

and copper.

Precious metals that rule

our precious lives.

III.

A golden coin

in an silver wishwell.

IV.

The forgotten penny

in the bottom of the bag

in the corner of the room

hidden under a book

V.

The deciding factor.

heads

or

tails.

Petty Arson

What had started as a joke spiraled out of control as the city skyline danced with flame. 

jhnuuh

His head slammed into the computer keyboard, leaving the imprint of words marked on his forehead. 

Malfuction

The theatre lights flickered on, lighting the stage in a dull ring. They hadn’t been lit since the accident. 

Murder Mystery

He never finished his story. There was only a red splatter across a mostly blank page.

Sweet Ghost

She was pronounced brain dead at the scene. Ten years later, we still had breakfast together every morning. 

My Life

The moon was coming up

over the horizon to dance and play.

It sent the sun to run

away, whispering “go, go”

The moon watched the day turn a page,

and then the sky was its to take

for the night. It was time for me to take

to bed, but I would be up

with the moon. The night was a blank page,

and with the night I would play.

I was told my imagination had to go,

but with them I could run

far, far away. My life was a long run

of dreams and fantasies I couldn’t take.

I just wanted to go,

to make my life go up.

My life was a play,

And it was time to turn the page.

The small boy page

knew to say he didn’t see me run

outside so I could play.

I wanted to take

back my own life or go up

in flames. I needed to go.

If I were to go,

if I were to turn a page,

my life could only go up.

I could run and run and run

my life would be mine to take,

and my words would no longer be in play.

It would be my turn to play

with the night, to go

to the sky, to take

my life page by page.

My life could run

its own course, up

and up, with me to play

and run, to go

and turn a page. it was my life to take.

Accident

When I was six my father took my brother and I out to the park

to ride our motorcycle in circles.

My brother and I shared only one,

but my father had his own monster sized bike

that towered over me as I stood next to it

with my own

My father helped me power up the bike

and sent me driving

around and around making

giant circles around him and my brother

But I was only six,

drunk with delight

at the speed the wind blew my hair back.

Distracted I turned too suddenly,

racing toward the center of the circle,

straight towards my father and brother.

My brother, only four,

stood and watched as my bike roared closer and closer,

with me absolutely unable to help

Closer and closer I came,

and he looked up with big eyes,

not yet knowing enough to move.

Closer and closer I came,

until my bike was on top of him

My dad was screaming

and my brother was crying

and I crashed the bike to run back to him

The image stays with me

every time I close my eyes

of my baby brother lying on the

cold hard ground

I never rode again

She and Me

           She loves writing. She could write for hours, creating characters and lives and wonderful far off worlds. But it's the hardest thing she forces herself to do.

            It’s the focus she lacks- the motivation and the discipline it takes to actually sit down and write. She lacks the self-control to leave her distractions behind, to leave the TV and the internet for the simple blank page to write her story.

            That’s why she requires me. She needs me to stand there over her shoulder, refusing to talk and distract her, but to push her back to her seat as she tries to leave to avoid her work and take a break.

            She only needs me for the first half hour. After that, she enters a trance, and doesn’t need to be watched for hours on end. That’s when I can sit down and rest, because I know that when she awakens from her trance the process will start all over again in trying to get her to stay down and be still.

            She needs me, but I would be nothing without her.

Sometimes Earth

Sometimes the Earth

stretches up with a muddy grasp to take my ankle.

Sometimes slices of water

splash my shoulders in happiness.

Sometimes ribbons of wind

play with my hair and twirl it out of shape.

Sometimes crackling snowflakes

land gently on my tongue to melt.

Sometimes silent lightning

reaches down from the sky to touch my palm.

A veces una moneda

se encendía un pezado de sol entre mis manos.

π

To get to the bottom

of a page titled

“One million Digits of Pi” you have to

continually scroll for five minutes.

You have to get your friend to take

over your duties scrolling down the page

as you nurse your cramped hand,

aching with the repetitive motion of

down and down

as you scroll.

Your friend doubts you’ll ever reach the bottom.

He says that there’s no way to beat it,

that you’ll be stuck there scrolling

forever.

But finally you reach the bottom,

and you cheer

and your friend sits there stunned into silence.

Who says you couldn’t get to the bottom?

No one now.

Pi is the numerical value of the ratio

of the circumference

of a circle

to its diameter.

Pi is a mathematical constant;

a special number,

usually a real number, that is

"significantly interesting in some way"

Pi goes on forever

and ever,

a never ending repeat of numbers

and numbers

and numbers

and numbers.

Maybe pi is interesting because it applies to real life.

Our life goes on,

and on,

and on,

and on.

Life is never ending.

And history always just ends up

repeating itself.

Darling

The sun comes through the window like a flashlight beam shining in,

shining the spotlight on only you.

The sun hurts my open eyes,

but pools warmly on your sleeping face,

waking the birds to smell the fresh air

and to chirp loudly for the coming day.

I sit beside you with an open journal,

my words swirling with color on the paper before me,

blues and pinks mixing with purples and reds.

Words kin to William Shakespeare’s dance across the paper,

taking me back to Old England.

The world is silent outside.

My coffee steams with the smell of

caramel and cinnamon,

the caffeine gently putting me to sleep

next to you.

Mother is here for you.

Lys et des roses dansent dans vos mots,

pouvez-vous trouver le jardin?

Spread your wings and fly, child,

don’t stay stuck on this earth.

The shimmering wings of beauty

will be the only things to set you free.

To know yourself,

you’ll have to forget

everything you ever knew.

The colorful white walls gleam with the sun.

You can’t depend on your eyes

When your imagination is out of focus.

The sun shines bright and levels with your face.

You glow with love.

Snow Angel

Because last week through the translucent window

I saw the glimmer of the first frost freeze

over the trees and hills around my house—

shimmering and coating everything in bright white

that shone undisturbed and sparkling

as if calling to the deer and the foxes to come make their mark—

and because this was the first morning

that the snow stuck and stayed on the ground through the morning

and the children played

and laughed,

I settled in my cozy window seat

with a cup of caramel coffee— the snowflakes fell

in swirling patterns to the earth,

large, chunky, flakes that would catch in hair and eyelashes

and coat people in a dusting that looked straight from a fairytale—

and because the earth was peaceful

and a blank paper stared up at me,

and a pen itched to write,

I wrote: the frost sparkles up at me,

and beacons me to come join it,

in its cold embrace,

spread out on the freezing ground

like a snow angel.

Writing Hides in the Stories of My Friend's Ex-Girlfriend

He sits across from me

in the coffeehouse,

telling stories of his ex-girlfriend.

“She was crazy” he claims,

not mentioning how enthralled he had been

with her not two months before.

“She texted me everyday” he says,

“I just needed a break occasionally”

Why after it's over does he complain

about the same things he loved while dating her?

“We talked for nine months

and the conversation never ended” and laughs.

He says she hadn't even known

they were dating.

That she hadn't been allowed to date.

“Were you actually dating then?” I say,

and he laughs as if it was obvious they were.

He takes a sip of his coffee,

debating his next sentence.

“She was like an angel…” he finally says

and pauses, as if he still doesn't know where he’s going,

“An angel in that she was sheltered

and never ever left you alone.”

Sociable

Sociable

            You’re lucky if you ever catch Sociable at home. She goes from plans to plans to plans, always with new and different people. Her phone always has new messages on it, even from people she only met once. Everyone who has met Sociable has wanted to be friends with her.

            One time, Sociable was hanging out with Intolerable at the pool. Sociable was with Intolerable, but was texting Talkative, Popular, and Easygoing at the same time, while on the phone with Persuasive. Intolerable ended up getting fed up and taking Sociable’s phone and throwing it into the pool. From then on, Sociable is a lot more present when she is with other people, although now she has even more plans because people like her even more.

            Sociable is with other people so much that she doesn't know who she herself is. Her personality changes with every person, and so do her interests. Sociable is never alone long enough to develop herself and who she is on her own.

Humility

Humility

            Humility has never looked in a mirror. She never realized how beautiful she is. Humility hides behind baggy clothes and words that deflect any sort of compliment. She tries to never stand out, and though she shines she prefers to take a backseat to the achievements of others. Humility is the child of Contentment and Intelligence, and was raised to succeed but never boast. When you praise Humility, she blushes and denies her capabilities. Humility will always downplay her strengths, and only shows how she is weak. When you talk to Humility, she lets you talk about yourself and praises what you do. No one knows much about Humility, because every time conversation turns to her she changes the subject or refuses to answer even just what she likes to do.

            Humility is best friends with Pride. Pride is the only one who can get Humility to admit she is good at something. Humility also has an effect on other people. She can make Pride and Boastful more humble like her, though she’d never admit even her own modesty. When she is told she is very humble, she just shakes her head softly and smiles.

May

May is the sweetest of all the months. She dances in on light feet, twirling and spinning in the air. May wears a floral dress and a crown of flowers in her wavy hair. Her face is clear and innocent, and her smile brings a ray of sunshine to everyone who is near. But sometimes, when May is upset, her moods can bring rain and thunder.

May dances in the rain that she brings, and leaves a trail of flowers in her path. She can wave her hand at the sky, and send the clouds away to reveal a bright, blue sky. May has a very warm personality, like being surrounded by the sun but never being burned. 

The Age of Miracles Review

The Age of Miracles is a speculative fiction book about what would happen if the rotation of the Earth slowed. It's a very entertaining book, and I liked it right away. I have not yet finished it, but I have high hopes for the book. I'm hoping for a very exciting, cliffhanger ending. I would, so far, recommend this book to people.

Introduction to me!

Okay, hi, I'm Carina. I'm taking a Creative Writing class at School of the Arts. I like writing without prompts, but unfortunately there was a strict series of what exactly I had to do for the first couple of entries, so please just bare with me.

I'm a fantasist and realist reader. Some of my favorite books are A Mango Shaped Space and The Giver. I like books that are relatable that can still give you a break from reality, which is what both of these books are.