The street, a winding black rushing river, swallowed every drop of rain and adding it to its collective, a river which rushed off in the distance, in an endless stretch toward the city. At that moment, there was a crack, like the sound of a whip, followed by a hollow scream- the wind blowing effortlessly through the trees, grasping onto leaves and twigs, even shingles of sorts, stealing them into its tight clutches, and carrying them into the air. One fragmented wayward wind swooped lower, grabbing onto a small string of colored light-bulbs that had once shined like vibrant stars in the looming darkness, but were now, with all electricity gone, dull and lifeless. A bolt of lightning struck a high tree, a spark instantly erupting into that of flames. From far away, it was beautiful. The effervescent flames curdled into the air, the yellowish orange glow lighting up the sky brighter than the trees had when they were filled with lights.
Evan laughed to himself quietly as he rested his arms against the cold window sill, the water gliding across the windows and distorting his view. It was almost as if the storm was apologizing for cutting off the electricity... and making up for it by making a Christmas tree of its own. He whispered a thank you under his breath as he watched the display of nature fight against itself. The flames, which danced carelessly upon the fragile leaves of the tree, swerved to avoid the rain and the threat of being pushed down from the heavy wind. For a moment, it seemed that the crimson-orange flow reflected the eyes of the tears, sending a sparkling display of glittering fire that shone like a beacon. A beacon of blazing, impossible hope.Then slowly, it died down, falling softly against the tree where it died, the last remembrance of it- a small puff of smoke- dissipating in the air.
"Evan?" came a voice from behind. Evan registered in his mind that it was his father's, but ignored it, continuing in his trance, letting his breath softly cloud the window.
"Evan?" the voice came again, sending a tinge of annoyance running up Evan's spine. He shifted his position awkwardly, sighing. His father could come in here if he wanted to speak with him. The medicine he had taken was already bogging down his mind, and he drowsily stood up, wavering slightly. No, he thought to himself, even as a distant pounding vibrated from the back of his head. He couldn't be cruel to his father. Not right now.
Things had always been tense between him and his father. Even when mother was here, they had always fought. Mostly it was over trivial things like Evan's refusing to join any team or be involved in any sport. His father's not allowing him to talk on the phone with anyone until his homework was done, even if the person on the line needed help with their homework was another example. Evan's forgetting to do his chores. His workaholic father continuously forgetting to come to family events- including Evans 16th birthday. It was always a battle between them, every waking day, to prove the one more a failure than the other. But after the turn of events, the battle seemed to come to an abrupt and permanent halt. Even so, the attacks and injuries on each other had left bruises and scars that were still very painful.
Evan broke from his trance as he realized that his father had called again, and this time he answered in a rough, cracking voice. "Yes, dad?"
Evans eyes moved down to the brownish figure that shied away at his voice. He realized that his puppy had accompanied him in the room as his eyes adjusted from the slight light outside to the pitch darkness in here. She wasnt running frantically around, running her head into various objects and attacking the air with energy as she usually did. She simply seemed to have crept in, and laid down, all without a sound. Presently, she looked solemnly up at him through her squinted, tired eyes, and then rested her head against her paws once more, as though it were too heavy to rise. "How long had she been here?" Evan wondered aloud, but shrugged it off. She was probably just drowsy from the hazy weather outside.
A low glow seemed to float up the stairs, and for once Evan wildly imagined a ghost, carefully approaching the top step, coming for him. He would be embraced, and carried away. It would be peaceful... He shook the thought off as his father came into better view, the candle leaving his face a paler yellow.
"Get away from the window, son. You'll catch a cold," his father said.
Evan solemnly gazed up at his father with an unreadable expression, and at once the man understood. He sighed, and looked at this child under tires worn down with the fatigue of stress. He looked fifteen years older, Evan noted, and possibly more with the effect of the ghastly pale glow against his face.
A sudden emotion clutched Evans father inside- a feeling he didn't like, and hoped that Evan didnt observe. He turned away from Evan and walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge. "Hungry? We should get rid of this food in here before it spoils."
Evan didn't answer him. Instead, he chose to continue to sit by the window, pressing his hand against the cold surface. His father paused from his foraging, decided this wasn't the best time, and retreated quietly back downstairs, making sure to leave the basement door open- something he rarely ever did.
Evan pressed his head against the window, trying not to let his eyes fall on the folder on the table across the room. The folder that had his destiny, all recorded in useless letters and script. His eyes became blurry every time he thought about it, and they once again returned to outside, where the rain ravaged its misery upon the Earth, pelting every object it could, spreading, manifesting, across the horizon. There was the sound of the wind, whistling softly through the trees, colliding against the house, with the rain that followed, pounding against the door.
He jumped as he heard the music burst on, the piano shattering the icy silence like a glass vase. He glanced over at his dog, who sat innocently by herself, her eyes fully shut. Who had turned on the radio? Evan wondered, but shrugged, realizing it must have been just some sort of surge from the storm. He then looked back out the window, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, they seemed to glisten, misting up just like the window had when he breathed on it. The rain seem to leisurely plummet toward the ground in slow motion, the impact of the droplets against the ground lingering in the air for a few minutes before joining the rest of the waters inthe ground. The song that played on the radio was chorused with a voice, and Evan listened intently to the words, and a painful memory surfaced from withinhim.
Heart to heart
A boy to hold
A quiet whisper in the cold.
A solemn kiss
A touch goodbye
Ornate tears in little eyes.
He closed his eyes; remembered specifically every aspect of his mother. Long, beautiful black hair. A smile that would force anyone to break out into a grin. Eyes that pierced into the very depths of the obvious, being able to see what no one else could. She had died very slowly...a long, painful death, from a virus that was noticed all too late. But she had never stopped smiling, even to her last minute... her mouth curled up into a soft grin, as she whispered to her family that she was safe now... she was in God's care... she was home.
Suns will rise
Leaves will fall
Losing memory of your call.
Then it comes
Despite the fear
The loneliest month of the year.
The traumas from the past were flooding back. Evan opened his eyes, crossing his arms, trying not to let his father hear his soft weeps as he continued to gaze outside, listening to the music. The news had been so sudden... but her leaving had taken so torturously long that for one fleeting moment Evan had wished that she had died suddenly. It would have taken away all that pain... But that was long ago. There was nothing they could do now.
Without a December
Cold feeling in air
Smiles in darkness
Though no one is there.
Without a December
Devoid decor
No gifts to wrap
Or choir encore
He closed his eyes again, imagining himself in complete darkness, huddling up to himself. She appeared before him, wrapping her arms around him, holding him just like she had done so many years ago. She would give him one of those radiant smiles, and without even trying, force him to break out into a grin. She would grasp him, and he would feel her warmth emanate from her, and all the pain inside of him would finally go away.Evan, presently, even through his tears, smiled slightly at this fantasy.
To hell with fantasy...
Evan opened his eyes, and stood up, not able to take this. The gloomy scene outside, the music inside... it was almost too much to bear. His eyes shifted over to the puppy, Jade, named after his mother, unaware of his emotional unrest. She lay comfortably across the floor, her back resting against the tree. Their tree...
Without a December
Youll still be there
Dont forget your smile
Pull fingers through hair
Without a December
No fire to warm.
Your arms will conceal
Me from the storm.
They were beyond early this year... but their father had a booked schedule all the way up to Christmas day, and a tree bought on the same day, what it represented was not exactly the epitome of spirit. The tree was still devoid of decorations of any kind, and Evan foresaw there never being decorations on that thing. Not even the angel, a family tradition held strictly even when his mother had passed away, held its natural place at the top any longer.
The angel represented spirit, love, harmony- all that petty crap that his mother had taught to a naive little him seven years ago. She was an avid follower of Christ, but the only supporting pillar of the familys faith. Once she had crumbled, it had done just that as well. Evans eyes followed the room to the bookshelf, where a pile lay strewn across the top and bottom shelf. The last two shelves were in perfect condition- thats where his mothers books were all set. The one at the very end was her Bible. With exception to the tattered edges and build up of thick, grimy dust, it was in perfect condition.
Evans attention returned to the neglected plant in the middle of the room, and he grumbled at the thought of such a bare tree. He knew that he would be draining the family resources this Christmas and it wasn't exactly his fault. Like he wished for his mother, he simply wanted a quick ending for himself.
It was a mistake. Humans err. Something. His mother had a deadly disease that had ripped through her body, weakening her until she became nothing but a listless heap of skin and bones on the hospital bed. "I should have begged them to pull the plug," Evan whispered to himself. She had probably wanted it to be that way, anyway. To see her slowly fading away like that... letting each minute drain and torture her... a kind of pain he couldn't imagine having.
His eyes moved back over to the folder on the table.The long, apologetic letter for not having seen this earlier, even after the multiple tests. The final conclusion, the words that the doctors should have just simply told them bluntly.
Evan had contracted the virus from his mother.
Evan began to bawl now at this thought, a loud sob that jerked Jade from her rest, who sent a concerned stare his way. He shied away, not wanting to be stared at, even by a dog whose sentience was still questioned. He wanted to be alone... and without thinking, spun around, swinging the door open, his legs carrying him as fast as they could across the slippery ground. At one point in his escape, he slipped on the moist soil, sliding across the concrete and rolling into the huge flooded street, the water rushing against his face, choking him.
He sobbed harder, now, and slowly pushed himself up, feeling a tingling sensation all over. His knee felt exposed, and without looking down he knew that blood was flowing profusely out of this wound. He fell to the ground in defeat, unable to run any longer, his chest heaving, and his hot face welcoming the cold storm.
Evan felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see his father standing there, the tears welling up in his own eyes. He held out his black raincoat toward the boy, but Evan ignored it. Unable to control himself, he threw his arms around his father, sobbing into his shoulder, not caring about the distance that had separated them from each other for all these years. The barrier had been broken by one sweep of movement... but it had been weakened by Evan's imminent condition as well. Evan wept, with his father as his pillow, letting every swell of pain come choking and sputtering out, as the rain continued to fall on both of them, letting its calmness slowly quiet the sodden two into a soft murmur.
Without the lights
Presents or trees...
Your love is still
Your gift to me.
The Write Poetry
Love and War
I am nothing that I said I was, I am nothing that you see
When I told you, you were insecure, maybe baby that was me
No matter what we say or do, no matter how hard we try
Blame is settled when we're wrong, and our love is crucified
I trip in on my own two feet, not even happy on my knees
To stay or go, I no longer know, I've lost my own beliefs
I feel so fragile, misunderstood, I just can't place what's wrong
And then you put your arms around me, it seems I don't belong.
Losing love and all the dream with every demonstration
Of the future come to pass, painful concentration
With liquid lips your melting tongue, deep our conversation
Of what I am to you, too much, how am I your salvation?
I am nothing that I said I was, I am nothing that you see
Clueless past the pressure held, but I do need you to need me
I wish I was the picture perfect person of your dreams
But when I'm down and out I know, I'm nothing that I seemed
I'm sorry for your loss of hope, how do I make things right
I still want for you to be here, always by my side
But when the pressure gets too rough, you know where I will be found
Running from the ugliness, fleeing when we're down
I'm shaking in disaster, and crying in despair
I'm losing love and laughter, and hating what we share
I've heard it all a thousand times, oh just how you speak the truth
I'm nothing that I said I was, and I'll still be nothing without you
You gave me a crown of roses, and vowed for me to be your queen
But the prickled thorns, upon my head will always make us bleed
When I'm reaching out of distance, and speaking out of turn
Growing up is not much fun, my head's too hard to learn
I am nothing that I said I was, I am nothing that you see
When the heartache calls upon, why is there need of me?
I'm lost, unsure, and insecure, uncertain of anything
My will is gone and disappeared, wrong are my beliefs
To find again, I'll need your help, I'll need you to need more
I lost my way back there somehow, somewhere in love and war
By Christy Bankston
Gently does the cherry blossom blow
Undisputed in calm compliance,
With springs placating wintry remains
Shedding dawn's dewy daring defiance.
Borrowing its pinkish hue from roses
The fragile flowers capitulate
To the surrounding heavy warm breeze
The petals in dance, perpetuate.
Spring's eternal youth amongst blossoms
Of the cherry tree, failing modest
Manners eschew humble, rejoicing
In pride and refuses summers hottest
Accommodations, unsuiting
For cherry blossoms, thus, they welcome
Death's cheery embrace, succumbing to
Spring's sister festival summer home.
~Mlisswyli@hotmail.com
Sunrise orange, Shadows black
The night before
We talked for hours
And I remember
How we faked our smiles
And shut off our brains
And looked ahead
To better days
And even though
The air was stale
I remember how you looked
I remember how you tasted
Salty cheeks and all
And when it came time for sunrise
To make her appearance
Her tired
Washed out
Appearance
I remember how I closed my eyes
And could still see you
Burning in a bright orange
On the insides of my eyelids
Too bad
It wasn't the same for you
Too bad
You suffocated in the shadows
And waited
For an unknown cause
For something
Easily forgotten
On a Sunday morning
Like that Sunday morning
When you left me sitting there alone
Still passing my gaze over your soft fleshy parts
You loved me then
So what about now?
ELove821
Break up
So weve reached the point I knew we would,
A parting of the ways.
I guess I dont take it hard because
I know there will be better days.
It was great while it lasted
But now its at the end.
Just because I cant love you as a girlfriend,
Doesnt mean I cant care for you as a friend.
Now I cant understand why
I dont shed a single tear.
It might be Im beyond it
Or its the shock of losing one I hold so dear.
Now dont continue hating yourself.
Theres no reason; Im not sad.
I can hardly believe it.
Im not even mad.
But even though I cant kiss you,
If you feel youre at your end
Ill always be there behind you
To help you as a friend.
~Princess_leia_organa_12@yahoo.com
The Write "Stuff"
Month of Change
This has been a tremendous month of change. Of growing apart, and growing up, of trips and falls, of being torn down and learning to rebuild. Of learning and letting go and moving on. Of holding out hope, of tears, relief, and laughter. Of overcoming and failing and trying and experiencing and of coming together as a nation. Of reflection and dissapointment, mistakes, discovery, surprises and realizing nothing conquers all. Of siding with optimisim despite the odds being against you. Of finding strength in the red, white and blue, and seeing unity in a flag we are all proud to display. Of trying to find balance, and contentment, satisfaction, and assurance. It's been a rough week, but next week will be better. It's been a mind blowing month, and I'm apprehensive of what's in store for the next, but I'm also excited, and ready. I'm ready to take it on. I've got faith, I believe in us. Hey, we will overcome, ok?
~Ellie
In response to "Anonymous" in the August newsletter:
I think there's a lot to be said for any writer nearly a young adult writer. Writing when you're filled with emotion is when you acquire the most dynamical stance. Being a teenager is a constant emotional ride, that's why it's so mind blowing. It's hypocritical of you to tell us to write something happy when you, yourself admitted that you usually only write when you're sad. I don't know about anyone else but I write what I know, and I know what I feel, and what I see, and what enrages me and influences me and mesmerizes and awes and baffles and even what makes me sad and in want and confused. It's a way of expression. If I can only express happiness, how much depth does that give me? I'm real, laughter, tears, mistakes and all. I convey that in my writing. It's kinda like the movie "Bicentennial Man" where the robot "Andrew" becomes real when he learns to laugh and cry and feel love. I can't stand the shallow and superficial, and that's what writing some sing song smiley happy poem would be unless it was real feelings. Sh*t happens and I write, awesome things happen and I write, I'm woken up in the middle of the night with words running through my mind and I get up and I write. I agree that a lot of poems are sad sounding, but most of all, they're about discovering and learning how to feel. If I didn't write and have music, I'd be at a loss to shake off the bad days.
All in all, writing, especially poetry, is generally personal. I can admit to reading thousands of teenager's pieces (poetry, short stories, articles, etc. mostly for research for the book I'm writing ) and wondering why they even bothered because it lacked any meaning...to me. You go to English class and everything is analyzed, pronouns, adverbs, conjunctions which is fine, for technical writing. Poetry isn't technical. I don't know about you, but I take pride in writing a good poem, even a sad one, there's your smile.
Best of all, being able to relate to someone's writing, especially when you're upset, brings a lot of comfort, reassures you you're not the only one with those feelings, and that you're not alone.
Keep the passion constant, make everyday extraordinary!
~Ellie~(undergroundellie@earthlink.net)
In response to the "dearest anonymous" letter,
Hello again Anonymous,
We seem to go by the same name. That means we have something in common. We're off to a good start. I didn't mean to offend anyone, and I CERTAINLY did not mean to stereotype "teens" in any way. I'm a teen, and I hate stereotypes as much as the next person (not to stereotype "the next person"). I was simply voicing my opinion about the issue, to which you replied, and voiced YOUR opinion. So, if the Write Stuff is not the place to voice what I think, then you are as wrong as I am. This is an apology, but I'm not sorry, if that makes any sense. I was only trying to let people know that the way they write sounds so sad, and maybe if they tried writing about a cheerier subject, they might feel a little better. When someone else reads their work of individuality, the feeling passes onto them and the feeling rubs off on anyone they talk to, etc, etc. So, please don't take what I said personally or in the wrong way because obviously what I intended to say didn't come out the way it was supposed to.
