18 - Make Her Pay

Writing prompt: Red eyes.

( warning: Considering that this is absolutely insanely incredibly perfect for a Homestuck fanfiction, that is what I'm going to write. If you are not a Homestuck fan, don't even bother to read this because you will be very confused. That is all. The art below is not mine. )

  It was all red.

  Then black.

  

  She could feel the light.

  She pushed herself up to a sitting position.

  It took her much longer to realize what had happened than it really should have. 

  M4YB3 1F 1 BL1NK.

  Blink. Blink.

  It was there. The light. But too far beyond the reach of what her face could make sense of. She raised a hand, waved it in front of her face. Wave. Wave.

  Blink. Blink.

  Nothing.

  The grass was cool between her fingers. She tightened her grip and moved her wrist sharply upward. The thin plants tore from the ground, dripping with earth. She brought the clump closer to her nostrils. Organic beauty filled her lungs. Curious, she licked at the bottom of the clump. Across her vision burst a nebula of feelings, sights that couldn't be seen, colors unknown. She licked it again. The taste was ecstasy. The taste allowed her to see.

   She let her hand fall back to earth and suddenly covered her eyes with the heels of her hands. Dark. Black. She took them away and fell back to the ground, back thumping against the earth. Light. White.

    And she knew.

    She was going to need a pair of shades.

17 - horizons; define it; hip revelations

words mean nothing when you don't know what to say

or when you can't speak

you're too shocked

afraid.

lonely.

it gets lonely sometimes

i guess it does for everyone

but i'm still waiting for things to begin

why have they not bloomed

like nebulous clouds, a glittering constellation

bright new birth

the start of time

the start of a golden age

still stuck in the navy blue and gold age

stuck there.

stuck

stuck

tar slurps at your ankles

and you can't get away.

you have to wait.

someone will come for you eventually.

maybe.

it depends on trust

and what you make of what you have

still stuck at home 

when home can be anywhere

and i wish it was somewhere else

somewhere bright and strange and foreign

unfathomable

unaverage

the reception of good news

has left me feeling

rather the opposite.

mechanisms on my teeth

"they'll make you beautiful"

they say.

well

i don't want beautiful

i want mysterious, strong, dignified

interesting, individual, intelligent

in in in 

i would rather have anything

than beauty

god knows what beauty even is

why strive for something 

when the definition

is still unknown

who even cares to find out

i don't.

not meant to be a poem

just thoughts

they ring 

wanting exit

wanting to be shouted across the world

a wave of force

strong enough to sever a thousand trees

to whip back the tops of the mountains

everest.

i am the whole geeky package

and i wouldn't trade it

for the world.

that's the best thing

isn't it

that feeling 

it's just that 

this place has outgrown me

don't broader horizons exist?

will they ever?

i wish they would

please, o please,

broad horizons, 

show yourselves.

sooner would be nice.

coherent thoughts
are too mainstream.
let's all be hipsters
holla
poets are hipsters
aren't they

shakespeare
u so hipster

16 - Memories

    You know those moments where something is happening that's so wonderful that time seems to stop, and later you look back on it and realize that the event has been forever hallowed within your head as one of those extremely fond memories that stay with you forever, which you wouldn't have guessed would happen unless you did in fact look back on it? Then whenever you're doing nothing your mind automatically goes to those moments, and you can remember all the little details that made it so perfect.

    Some of the memories like this in my head include being on the set of The Hunger Games and exploring the Wizarding World of Harry Potter with my dad in August, especially standing in line for the dragon roller coaster and drinking butter beer and sharing a geek connection with someone in the gift shop. I wish I had asked them what their name was. I remember how on our last day in Florida, my dad went to a modeling convention in a Disney hotel so I sat outside on a bench outside the conference room and drew in my sketchbook and watched the people go by. I was extremely hungry. Once a group of girls came by, and one of them complimented my drawing and asked me if I had read Homestuck, which I hadn't. Not yet. Then another girl came by who was wearing a shirt that said "Keep Calm and Eheheh", which is a reference to Loki from the Avengers. In Epcott there was this employee in the Canada gift shop who freaked out over my Doctor Who shirt and told me that they were going to start selling Doctor Who merchandise in the England section. She wrote me a magical moments postcard, which apparently they give out at Disney when magical things happen, and I still have it. Her name was Megan. 

     There was this one thing that happened at Universal. Maybe I'll write a story about it.

15 - Improbable Goings-On in the Burgess Stop n' Save, pt. 2

- Sparrow - 

   The falling snow gives way to bright lights and warm air as I enter the grocery store. There aren't many people inside, though I can see a few cashiers working at the checkout lanes. A large woman in a fur coat walks past me on her way to the register, and I catch a scent of her perfume. It must be some sort of wintry blend, with heavy notes of peppermint. I turn away hurriedly to keep from gagging, pressing my nose into the softness of my lavender scarf. At least she appears to be on her way out.
    I remember suddenly that I came here for a reason and pull off my gloves as I wander over to a Christmas display. A small ceramic snowman figurine is sitting atop a few boxes of outdoor lights. I smile and pick him up, looking at his painted black eyes and carrot nose. His top hat is chipped, the glossy black surface interrupted by a chunk of white. "What are you doing there? That's not where you belong," I tell him. Nearby is a shelf full of snowman figurines just like him, sans the chipped top hat. I plop him down in the center of them, but he is the odd one out, the misfit, looking too imperfect among the unflawed ebony tops. So I smile and pick him up again, this time placing him in my shopping basket. "Those conforming idiots aren't even worth your time," I tell him. I am sure he agrees as we leave the vicinity of the ceramic snowman clone army.
     Soup. That is what I came here for. I eat more soup than any senior I know, especially in winter. Especially in front of the television, during those parties that I don't get invited to. I turn sharply as I exit the aisle, nearly plowing into a freezer full of cookie dough. I carefully read the signs that indicate what is on each aisle. My black flats click on the floor. Aha! Canned products. I enter the aisle and stop in front of the shelf full of soup.
     Well. I bend forward, narrowing my eyes. There is some selection. I reach out and pick up one can of French Onion soup, then grab one of Broccoli Cheddar. My scarf slips off my shoulder and lands in a soft pile on the floor.
      A hand picks it up for me.
      I look up. A boy is standing there, looking at me expectantly as he holds the scarf towards me. Judging from the TARDIS-blue apron, he's an employee.
      I smile and reach for the scarf, but then realize my hands are full of soup. I place the French Onion back on the shelf and retrieve my scarf. "Thank you," I say kindly, then turn back to the shelf.
      I stand there for a few more minutes, indecisive. Broccoli Cheddar is my favorite, but that bean stuff looks good as well.
      "Are you trying to decide which soup to buy?" someone asks. I am surprised to see the same employee stacking cans on the shelf behind me. His hands move fast, and he looks down at the label, then back at me, eyebrows raised as he waits for me to answer.
     "Yes," I say. I hold up the Broccoli Cheddar.
     He nods politely and comes over to the shelf. He stares at it for a brief moment before snatching up a can and holding it toward me. "May I recommend the Chicken Barley?"
     I take it, staring down at the crimson lettering. "Thank you," I say, slightly flustered. No one ever really talks to me, not at school and not in public. I've never really minded, but now I realize that I don't interact very well. I look at him silently. He is taller than me, with messy dark hair and eyes in a sort of light brown topaz-ish shade. His face is bright and alert. I suddenly notice the TARDIS pin cinched to his apron. We are geek connected!
     I open my mouth, then close it. "Wibbly wobbly, timey wimey," I blurt out.
     My eyes widen. That was stupid. You don't just make geek references with people. What will he even -
     He laughs. "Yes! Actually, I -"
     "Thank you for the soup!" I cry, practically racing away. My heart is still pounding by the time I leave the store with my Chicken Barley soup in a plastic bag. I just can't deal with people. I'm so awkward. I ruin everything.
     I get into my car and sit there for a moment, thinking.
     I pull out the can and stare at the label.
     Chicken Barely soup.
   
     I didn't even read his name tag.

14 - high school dance things and cheeseburger secrets

   On Sunday night, I attended a dance... thing. There was loud music and punch and fancy clothes and teenagers everywhere. Ash Hunter (blog here) invited me, and it was quite interesting. I have never been to a high school dance. I did not dance with anyone. Ash did. I was happy to comply with third wheeling, third wheeling through time and space. I am surprised that she hasn't blogged about it yet. (hinthintashgoblogaboutithint)

   I wore a skirt and a shirt and some tights and some sparkly fingerless gloves. I kept eating cheetos out of the massive bowl at the back, and Ash claims that this was where I spent the evening, although I really only ate, like, seven. Really. The punch was green, and I called it Hulk Juice, but they ran out of that and it became blue instead. I renamed it Jack Frost juice. 

   There was a lot of dancing. I pretty much embarrassed myself with my never-before-attempted dance moves, and then I noticed that some people from school were there and I'm pretty sure that was the moment when I migrated towards the massive heavenly cheetos bowl. The high schoolers were forced to perform a synchronized dance contest thing that involved jazz hands and the Gangnam Style dance. I learned how to do it in about five minutes and did just as badly as everyone else, which was comforting. I met a girl and talked with her about Homestuck. I met a guy who seemed to like Ash. I met a glorious red velvet cupcake, and we rather enjoyed each other's company.

    When all of the socializing and dancing and consumption of cheetos and Jack Frost punch had ended, I went home with Ash because we had school together the next day and  it was late anyways. In the car we sang songs from Les Mis loudly and harmoniously. At home, Ash threatened to grill me like a cheeseburger. I will not reveal over what topic she wished to cook me to a juicy medium-rare and then melt a creamy, smooth slice of american cheese over me.

    And that is the story of my first ever high school dance thing. I will watch out for cheeseburgers in the future.

Why, I almost forgot to end this with a quote. "Experience: that most brutal of teachers. But you learn. My God, do you learn." - C.S. Lewis

13 - Xander, Ronan, and a Very Angry Swampus

    "Just stay quiet. I think it's blind," whispered Xander, one hand gripping his crossbow. He crouched with assurance and poise, his eyes focused on the beast, grinning devilishly as if this were a game. "But get ready to run."
    The humid air, thick with the smell of the swamp, pressed down around us, against our lungs. Even pressure surrounded us from all sides, but it was heavy on my mind, wrenching sweat from my brow and fear from my stomach. I looked at the measly blade of my dagger, small and useless in my hand as it gleamed in the torchlight. 
    A splash boomed behind us, and a few droplets of water plunked across my face. I peeked out over the damp edge of our wooden boat as reeds pressed against my feet. 
    The swampus snuffled along, massive claws stirring the muddy water, head moving side to side. Its head moved in the vicinity of the torchlight, and nestled in the side of its face, beneath a bony ridge edged with spikes, was a pearl-white orb. It was blind, alright. 
    Out of thin air a bolt lodged in its eye. The swampus loosed an agonized cry, tearing the fiber of the air with its noise. It lifted a huge foot and brought it down hard, creating a splash that soaked Xander and I. I tossed him a desperate look, sputtering as I clambered into the boat. He returned it with an elated grin as water dripped down into his face. We both knew how easily we could get out of this situation. And we both knew how much Xander loved to agitate me.
     Another splash rocked the boat, slamming it into the tall reeds. Xander let out a whoop of delight. The swampus jerked its head in our direction, lashing its tail to the side and whipping apart an island of swamp grass.
    "Shut up!" I whispered urgently at Xander. He laughed, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous light as he raised his crossbow. "Loosen up, Ronan!" he exclaimed. I grabbed the nearby paddle and jammed it into the water, pushing us away from the plant-heavy shore. The snap of the crossbow sounded, and the swampus let out another roar even more terrible than the last. My heart dropped, and I watched it, fearing the worst. It reared back and threw itself forward, sending a spire of glittering green water soaring into the air. I screamed as it crashed down on us. 
     "You're making this very difficult!" I sputtered at Xander as I struggled to even out the weight of the dinghy. We bumped against the rough grasses. I grabbed the single paddle from where it floated in the bottom of the boat and began to paddle furiously, away from the swampus, churning the paddle through mud and grime. I threw a glance back at the swampus. It was moving toward us now, and the small, useless wings on its back were fluttering agitatedly. The paddle slipped out of my hand and plunked into the filthy water. The swampus opened its huge maw and loosed a jet of steam, drenching us in heat. 
      "Xander! Get us OUT OF HERE!" I roared, in a way that was not entirely different from that of the swampus. Our boat bobbed helplessly beneath the foggy air, atop the disgusting water. The swampus was increasingly disoriented and increasingly angry, and another splash sent our vehicle surging away from it, almost capsizing. Water soaked us once again. And through it all, Xander laughed.
      He lifted his palm, and in that peculiar way, light seemed to fly to his hand, conglomerating into an orb which he threw in front of the boat. There, hovering above the water, it exploded into a hole, a window hanging in the air. I leaped through it without hesitation, landing hard. Xander followed with a yell of excitement. The light boomed and disappeared as the portal closed behind us. 
      I hoisted myself up to the top of the hill and collapsed, breathing heavily as the grass tickled me in all my dampness. I struggled to catch my breath as the purple sunset sky wheeled above me. Xander flopped down beside me, laughing like a jester, his crossbow gripped in his hand.
       I expended my newly gathered breath to give Xander some badly-needed words. "Have I told you lately that I hate you?"
       Xander pushed himself upward until he was in a sitting position, then pounded my shoulder amicably. "Ronan, brother, there is no sight more entertaining than that of an upset swampus." His grin enlarged, and he collapsed into laughter. "And a blind one, at that! It was perfect!" The sound of his mirth was warm on the evening air. 
       I stood up with effort and began to walk toward the distant castle, wringing out the hem of my damp tunic. "Well, I am not amused," I called back to him moodily, leaving him lying alone on the side of the hill.

12 - Improbable Goings-On in the Burgess Stop n' Save, pt. 1

- Caspian -

   The woman's perfume is stiflingly minty and strong. I wrinkle my nose minutely and turn away from the woman, slipping a box of cat treats into a paper bag as my eyes begin to water. "That'll be $24.60," I said cheerfully, not inhaling.

    I watch awkwardly as the large woman rummages around in a faux-leather purse the color of dirty dishwater. Her arm, wrapped in the sleeve of a heavy fur coat, emerges clutching two crinkled and slightly damp $20 bills, which I cram into the cash register.  I then wait patiently for the change to be dispensed into my palm. 

    "Thank you, ma'am," I pronounce, dropping the money and receipt into the woman's meaty hand. She wraps her fingers around it, grabs her bag of groceries, and waddles away, leaving a cloud of pepperminty perfume in her wake.

    As soon as the blast of cold air signals her having left the store, I bend down and inhale sharply, pivoting away from the scent. It is like shoving peppermints up your nostrils, or drowning in mouthwash. I wave the air away from my face and look down to the end of my checkout lane. No one is waiting. It doesn't look like anyone is at any of the other lanes, aside from a few scattered employees, lingering or working. Things here are unusually this silent.
     As soon as I turn around, Necita is there, a crate of cans filling the space between us. "Stock these," she purrs in her heavy Spanish accent. I blink begrudgingly as I take the weight into my arms and made my way toward the canned foods aisle.
     My name is Cas. I'm 17. I have a dog and a mother and no girlfriend. I spend my Saturdays and Sundays working in the Burgess Stop n' Save, the only grocery store within 45 miles of this sleepy Ontario town. There are gas stations and things, but the Stop n' Save sees every one of the town's inhabitants at least once a month. It is large, somewhere in between a Harris Teeter and a Kroger in size, and is vaguely busy most of the time. It is boring, despite the fact that I know all of the people who come in regularly. Nothing exciting ever happens here, but isn't that what we all crave? Excitement, adventure, new faces? It's funny how we all spend so much time wanting things that could be attainable if we just bothered to reach for them. This thought crosses my mind as I walk past a man staring blankly up at a box of macaroni on the top shelf, as if the ability to move his arms has left him.
     I take a detour through the cleaning aisle, breathing in the scents of all the smelly clean things, and take a few more heavy steps before I end up on the next aisle. I slide the heavy crate onto an empty shelf, exhaling with relief as the weight leaves my arms. I have to let them relax for a bit before the numbness goes away. My eyes wander down the aisle.
     There is a girl.
     She has light blonde hair styled in a sort of overgrown pixie cut. A glittery black headband rests atop the sunlight-colored streaks. Her eyes are narrowed in concentration as she peruses the selection of canned tomatoes. She's wearing a purple scarf and a black coat, and I notice that she's standing on her tiptoes, as if preparing to take flight.
     I have not seen her around here before.