Friday, May 14, 2021

The Beach

 A short story

George ran out of the woods, terrified. The thing that was chasing him wasn’t human, he knew. It moved like nothing he’s seen before, but it wore his face. It looked just like George. It was silent and out to kill him for reasons he didn’t know. George started to feel the soft, familiar sand beneath his feet as he continued to run, but it was not comforting. He always ended up on the sand and it never meant anything good. The sand is deep and his feet trip over each other and he lands with a hard thud. Within seconds, his clone comes at him and promptly stabs him. George doesn’t feel any pain, just the sudden dampness on his stomach before he opens his eyes. 

He wakes with the roaring sound of his heartbeat in his ears. He frantically looks around for anything to reassure him that he's alive and well. He sees his lamp, emitting a dull, yellow light in the back corner of his room. He stares at it for what felt like hours while trying to get his hands to stop shaking. God, he hates that dream. It happens too many times to count and he wakes up the same way every time: crying and trembling, begging for help from an empty house. 

The next time he finds himself in the dream, he's in the dark woods, standing still. He hears rustling behind him and he turns, gazing into the eyes of himself but George knows that it isn't him and he freezes. Everything came all at once. The rush of wind, the leaves flying, and himself, sprinting right at him. George didn’t move a muscle, but it didn’t last long as he’s suddenly pinned to the ground. It’s wet and muddy as he fumbles around for anything he could find to defend himself with. His hand lands on a rock and right before the clone could do anything more, George whacks it over it’s head and watches it crumple to the ground beside him. Breathing hard, he sits up and looks at what he's done. It’s face is still his, but it looks so calm like it’s been sleeping for decades. He wishes he felt as relaxed as the face looks. He’s victorious in defeating his killer, but he's far from relieved. It’s cold and damp, but George just sits there and watches until he feels the heat on his face. He opens his eyes and sees the sun through his window. He sat up in bed and looked at his hands. They're still shaking and his heartbeat is still thundering in his head. 

The dreams were supposed to be over, but they were not. This one was different than before, though. This time George felt a sense of power. He looked at his hands, and one had a knife. He's suddenly filled with dread as he looks into the bushes and sees himself looking frantically from branch to branch around him. He doesn’t know what’s happening until he feels himself rush forward towards himself. It all comes too quickly and all too familiarly. Instead of him being hunted, he was being the hunter. He saw his clone start to run, but it was already too late. He felt himself tackle him and plunge the knife into his chest. He couldn’t do anything about it. It was inevitable. He wakes, but not like usual, he's not panicking or grabbing around to ground himself, he's sad. He feels tears going down his face as he looks up at the ceiling. 

It’s been weeks since he last dreamt that dream and George actually thought they were gone for good. He was left with one more. It was short and similar but different. He didn’t feel the overwhelming fear or the panic. He wasn’t even in the woods like he usually starts out. He was sitting on the beach in front of a little pond. He recognized this beach because he ended up here for almost every one of these dreams he has but it has never ended well. He feels so calm. Calmer than he's ever felt here. He feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders and has been left with his thoughts. He has never been left with that. But he feels sad again. The realization hit him. The threat was gone, but at what cost? Killing himself twice? Why? What kind of punishment is that? And why is he rewarded for it? George asked so many questions, but he knew in his heart, as he looks up at the stars, that they’ll never be answered. And he woke from that dream for the last time.


Friday, April 23, 2021

conversation starter

 Your art project. What was it about again?

Oh yeah! It’s about different peoples’ perspectives of their own end of the world. Essentially, it is relatable topics of which could ruin someone’s life.


That is so cool! What are your ideas?


Well, there's drug addiction, depression, failure, and betrayal. How is your project going?


Terrible.


Well, how's work going?

Even more terrible.

Friday, April 16, 2021

ISO Metaphor Poem

 The Dog

The dog was raised by him.

All he knew was him.

He trusted him.

He would do anything for him.

He would love him no matter what.

Even if it hurt him every day.

Even if he damages him.

He has been trained to live for him.

And he will.

Even if it will lead to his destruction.

Free write poem

 The Corrupt President

The man who sang made a country.

It was a special place.

Away from brutality and tyranny.

For freedom and liberty.

But it was taken away from him.

It was his place. For his people.

The place is gone now.

Destroyed by him because it ruined him.

The thought of someone else having it.

“If I can’t have it, no one can!” he yelled.

And he pressed the button.

The button of destruction.

Then dying at the hands of his father.

Begging to be killed along with his land.

Thursday, April 1, 2021

A note to my younger self

 

Stop worrying so much

You will still be quite anxious when you’re older. That's just your nature.

Keep in mind that anything embarrassing you do, no one will remember.

You’re fine. Laugh it off.

You will forget everything. Write it down.

Stop being so morbid. You’re not getting any good attention.

Stop being so mean to your friends. I know that's your way of showing love, but stop.

I know I should be saying nicer things, but honestly, I don’t like you.

I don’t want to remember anything I did. I just want you to fix it.

I guess I’ll say something hopeful. I know you like drawing right now.

You’re really bad at it, but keep going. You’ll get a lot better and will get into AP art.

You won’t be the best at it, but you’re good.

If I Should Have a Child

 

Your name could be Malakai, or Winter, or Alec, or River. I don’t know yet.

I don’t know if I’ll even have a child. But I’ve planned out those names for years.

Hopefully like any parent, I would want you to have a good life.

I want you to feel safe in our home and with me.

Malakai, I want you to feel like your thoughts matter.

I will never push you aside or hold my standards higher than yours.

Winter, I want you to feel like you are free to be who you want to be without judgment.

I don’t want you to feel like I won’t love you for who you are.

Alec, I want to be there for you. I don’t want you to feel as if you need to hide anything from me.

I don’t want you to fear me.

River, I want you to know that it's okay to be scared, or sad, or angry.

Don’t let anyone tell you that you shouldn’t.

I don't know if I’ll be a good parent.

I make so many promises that are hard to keep.

I’m scared that I’ll ruin your life unintentionally.

You didn’t ask to be in this broken world.

You might not even exist.

I might save you from living this mess.

But if you do end up being here with me, just know that I love you.

Friday, March 26, 2021

ISO This is Just to Say

 

I made

a salad

it was good


it had eggs

and avocado

tasty


I ate

It fast

I didn’t

savor it


The Beach

 A short story George ran out of the woods, terrified. The thing that was chasing him wasn’t human, he knew. It moved like nothing he’s seen...