sci-Fi

United States

Aries INFP-A
she/her, but not important
Daughter of Apollo District 7 Dauntless Slytherdoor Downworlder Hunter of Artemis
Black and LGBTQIAP+ Lives Matter
Feminist (pro-choice, pro equality)
~Riordan~Rowling~Woodson~
Fangirl 4 Life

Message from Writer

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 90+!!! <3

~pink~purple~blue~

PLEASE give book recs! (I will never shut up about fandoms. You've been warned)

Currently dating Percy Jackson ;)
Bsf with my WTW twin exilityy.jay, go check out her page!

My fav things that are NOT books: Hamilton, SNL, Greco-Roman Myths, 30 Rock, Marvel, Stranger Things, music, archery (it's a real sport people)

Percabeth Solangelo Fierrochase Sizzy Malec Snowbaz Jily Hinny Spierfield Sukka

ok I'll stop talking about myself now

Published Work

The definition of procrastination

When, on a Sunday evening, you sit down to do the math homework that's due Monday, start one problem, realize you don't know how to do it, go "Nope!", and spend the next half hour re-reading the Tower of Nero.

Thank you for coming to my TEDtalk.

Writer's Block | gonna repost this every time I can't think of something new

How do you do this?

How much effort could it take to write down a few words? Clearly a lot, since I'm five days behind on my novel.

But I guess writing is more than just a deadline.

Writing is freedom. The sweet sound of typing. The pressure from punching keys making my nail polish flake off. Bringing a blank page alive with words. Being enclosed in your own little bubble of thoughts. That feeling when the inspiration hits, when your mind is racing and your blood pumping and all you need in that moment is a pen and paper. 

Oh how I love it.


   But



             I



                    Am



                            Stuck.
 

so many things...

So many things that need
saying
doing
acknowledging at least,

crowded in my mind,
screaming to be heard,

packed into my heart
like a weight on my ribs.

So many things I wish
someone could hear
someone could know
someone could understand.

So many things I don't know how to express.

So many things I
want
to be
known,
but instead sit on my tongue,
begging to be spoken, 
until they rot away and are

f o r g o t t e n .

october

You're sitting again on the hilltop balcony. The days of October have so far been long, but you can sense them getting shorter. Of course, Texas has never really acknowledged Winter, but she gives credit to Fall. The air around you is... not cold, exactly, but crisp. The temperature where it's cold enough to nip at your exposed skin and make your fingers go stiff, but still you feel the throb of heat coursing through your muscles and veins. Your toes clench as a breeze curls over your foot, around your ankles, and you long for a blanket. You stop writing for a moment


to rub your hands together and bring some feeling back to your fingertips. All around you the wind sings and the trees dance and loose leaves pirouette through the rowdy air. There's a chimney fire behind you, whispering secrets in a language only the earth can translate. Eventually, the light slowly fades from the world around...

Oh hair, my closest mortal enemy.

When I was barely out of my toddler years, I watched Tangled. It's incredible how much a movie you watch at four years old can influence the rest of your life. 

Hair is like a timeline. The fresh roots at the top of your head have seen only your latest days. Depending on how far they fall, the ends have gone through many an adventure with you, leaving them split and scraggly. I've cut my own hair three times in my life: an inch when I was six, four inches at 12, three inches at 13. That's eight inches over my entire lifespan. I think you can understand that my hair is considerably long.

My hair is to my waist, thick and naturally wavy, chocolate brown with strands of shiny copper. It's kept me in the shower for three hours, trying to untangle it. It's made me late to school and tardy to events. It's gotten me stuck in trees,...

Don't sunsets inspire all artists?

Looking off a hilltop balcony in mid-west Texas, you never know what you're going to see. Early in the morning, the view provides a deep blue fading slowly into the brightness of the sun trying to sneak into the sky. At midday, you can see the hill country rolling out until the world seemingly drops off. But the true vision is at dusk, when the sun is just a sliver of yellow above the horizon, and the sky has taken on a whole new meaning. The best nights are the cloudy ones, where the clouds seem to be painted on the sky itself, outlined with pink and orange. The bit of sun you can still see is slowly making it's way to the other side of the world, turning the sky blue, pink, and orange. Unfortunately, the best things in life are the fleeting ones, and this beauty can only remain in the sky for about five minutes. But it's...

People Power!

Dear Voters

Dear Eligible Voters,

Oh, I wish I could be in your shoes! You're able to go out and state your opinion, to make a real change in the way our government is run. And here I am, with so many opinions, powerless, because the law has not deemed me old enough to make choices. Tell me, how many of you didn't vote in the last election, just because you didn't want to choose? Well, how did the country turn out in your opinion? Better, worse? Well now, whatever your ballot may read, you have a choice to help change our country or keep it the way you think is right. Remember, your opinion matters.

With hope,
A future voter

Speechwriting Competition 2020

Pro-choice

The world divided is never a good thing, but sometimes these arguments are needed. In this case I'm referring to a topic that directly affects about fifty percent of the planet. Something that the other fifty percent has gotten used to making opinions about. Something that will directly affect the future generations of humanity.

I'm referring to the legality of abortions.

I'm a female, feminist, pro-choice democrat, and I know many people are strongly against my views on this matter. I know this is a touchy subject for most of the world. But I believe this needs to be said, and I'm willing to discuss something I believe in, and could one day affect my future.

The main argument that the pro-life movement is making is that abortions are killing babies, that these poor, helpless children die in agony before their even born. The plain truth is that that's just not true. The fetus cannot feel pain while it's inside...

Why I Write

It begins with a book

It begins with a book.
Bound papers stamped with words of wonder,
Imagination and ideas transported to my
overactive mind.
An escape, of sorts.
To leave my world and enter another.
So many stories,
    epics
        tales
piled up over the years,
a clog of fiction blocking my mind.
How to find release?
A pen.
Drain my mind of the fantasies 
Spill them onto a paper, a screen.
Add some flourish, an adjective or two.
A conflict, a need, 
then a twist to the tale.
And now I have something in front of me that is completely my own.
Not a borrowed thing, not handed to me.
Mine.
My world, my creation,
and it all begins with a book.

A friendly reminder to get some exercise, because I didn't all week and felt terrible

It's been
days
without a spark.
Your neck is cramped in a 
hunched-over
position.
All you taste is stale toothpaste,
all you feel is tense muscles and numb joints.
Now you finally have time to move, to dance, to to stretch.
Your feet have a mind of their own,
wandering this way, that way,
anywhere they choose.
They decide to move faster on their own,
dragging your body away from 
your
life. 
Your ankles seize up, unprepared for action, but it 
doesn't matter.
When you finally come to a stop your asthma-ridden lungs
choke
on the air you cannot collect.
You struggle to breath, but it 
doesn't matter
because your body feels 
so good
after the inactivity it endured.
You laugh through the oxygen still trying to 
fight it's way
into your body.
And when you finally breath in the green October air,
all you taste is
peace.

Speechwriting Competition 2020

Pro-choice

The world divided is never a good thing, but sometimes these arguments are needed. In this case I'm referring to a topic that directly affects about fifty percent of the planet. Something that the other fifty percent has gotten used to making opinions about. Something that will directly affect the future generations of humanity.

I'm referring to the legality of abortions.

I'm a female, feminist, pro-choice democrat, and I know many people are strongly against my views on this matter. I know this is a touchy subject for most of the world. But I believe this needs to be said, and I'm willing to discuss something I believe in.

The main argument that the pro-life movement is making is that abortions are killing babies, that these poor, helpless children die in agony before their even born. The plain truth is that that's just not true. The fetus cannot feel pain while it's inside the mother. A child is not considered...

Heart Places

School's out

Remember those olden days when we were still in school? When the Coronavirus was something we had never heard of, or if we had, it was just a joke: "Fi, did you just sneeze??? You have the cOrOnAvIrUs!!!"

Lock down started the week we were supposed to come back after fall break. The Friday before break started I was walking with my friend. She was teasing me about my TikTok account. I was casually ignoring her. I hugged her goodbye that day, thinking, Hey, I'm not gonna see her for a week, might as well give an extra-mushy goodbye.

Who knew a week could turn into months.

I miss a lot of things: going to the movies with my sister, sniffing out new reads in Barnes & Noble, actually seeing the looks on my teachers faces when I answer a question correct. But what I miss most of all? It's my school, my crazy little school. It's my friends, my...

Futures lost

When we measure a person after they die, it's not just a life we should remember. It's the future they lost.

I never understood where Cancer, the sickness, got it's name. In Latin it means crab, which inspired the classical civilizations to use the word in naming a constellation, which they thought resembled the crustacean. Then the stars became a zodiac, specifically the one that presents itself in June and July. If we look at just the origins of the word and astrology, then it's quite a beautiful idea. Full of philosophy and wonder.

Then of course, years later, it became the thing which we all fear: a sickness not many recover from. 

I've known three people with cancer. Two were my aunts. The other is a good friend, who's my age. Three good people, three types of cancers, three futures hanging in the balance.

As of today, only one is still fighting the disease: my friend. She was diagnosed...

Sleep? No thanks. | Just gonna repost this every time I have insomnia. Don't mind me

The country is buzzing right now. The world is awake.

Why sleep? Why now, when minds everywhere are reeling, judging, calculating? Why sleep when my brain is running full of adrenaline? Why even try?

The earth never sleeps. The cities never sleep. This website never sleeps.

The world is awake.
 

I have no clue what to title this.

I don't know what's changed, what's shifted, what's different. I wonder if I've been thinking about it all along, just never understood.

It's always a she, when I imagine it. I can see myself with a boy, yes, but in my mind it's always a she. She likes books and flannel and her jeans are never intact. She has dark hair, and a wicked smile laced with humor. In my mind, she always moves first. She's always the braver one.

In my mind, she's someone I can be open with. Someone I can feel safe around. Somehow this unknown, made up girl can come to me in dreams and make me feel alive. Once, she and I got stuck at her house because of a snowstorm. We stayed up until 2 AM for a Harry Potter marathon, eating too much popcorn and playing with each other's hair. And then we dragged ourselves upstairs, and fell asleep curled up together in...

Speechwriting Competition 2020

Pro-choice

The world divided is never a good thing, but sometimes these arguments are needed. In this case I'm referring to a topic that directly affects about fifty percent of the planet. Something that the other fifty percent has gotten used to making opinions about. Something that will directly affect the future generations of humanity.

I'm referring to the legality of abortions.

I'm a female, feminist, pro-choice democrat, and I know not many people will be swayed by, agree with, or even listen to this speech. I know this is a touchy subject for most of the world. But I believe this needs to be said, and I'm willing to sacrifice my dignity.

The main argument that the pro-life movement is making is that abortions are killing babies, that these poor, helpless children die in agony before their even born. The plain truth is that that's just not true. The fetus cannot feel pain while it's inside the mother. A child...

"Be heard"

The Speech Writing Competition is one I've looked forward to for a while now. I've wondered and researched and thought about what I should write, and now it's here.

But now I'm looking at a blank screen, a white page of possibility, and my ideas escape my mind. 

The competition guidelines say "Be heard". No one's ever said that to me before. And now, after years pf being pushed away and having my voice overruled, I can't speak. I can't write. I can't use my only weapon against the world.

I recently watched the movie adaptation of Stargirl. You know, that book about the girl who wants to stand out rather than be just like everybody else? That one. In the movie she asked Leo, "Don't you want to universe to hear you?"

I want the universe to hear me. I want to be heard.

YOU in threes

Wait, I have 80 followers???

Hi guys!!!!

Three communities to which I belong to:
- Write the World!
- Theater geeks who can't sing
- Classical League (mythology nerd category)

Three adjectives your peers would use to describe you (I asked my friend): 
- Frank
- Creative
- Nerdy

Three beliefs I hold:
- Equal rights for all
- A family raises you, but they don't choose who you are
- Happiness is something you choose, not something you earn

Three specific physical descriptions:
- My teeth are relatively straight, except for my canine which sticks out a little.
- I have a weird hairline; it's kind of shaped like a cartoon mustache
- I have these little birthmark/freckle things scattered everywhere. Like... everywhere.

Three flaws:
- I'm very headstrong when I feel strongly about something
- I can be very mean sometimes. ngl
- If I don't know someone well I tend to make assumptions about them

Three Pet Peeves:
- The word "gently" (I have...

Shift me into my own mind

Shifting realities.

My reality entraps me like a fly in honey, holding me to the plain truth that I will never change the world, or find my true soulmate, or fly free through the clouds. None of those things are real, and I am completely, stubbornly, ordinary.

But then I was thirst watching Umbrella Academy and Reginald Hargreeves said something to me:
"Not everyone in this world can be powerful. Chasing something unattainable is a recipe for a lifetime of disappointment and resentment."

And I realized something: the Umbrella kids were right, he really was a horrible person.

But here comes an opportunity, a lifeline thrown from high above, into the pit where I'm drowning in my reality.

Shifting realities.

Here's some scientist saying that yes, I can go to Camp Half Blood, and I can attend Hogwarts. Sure, it won't be real, but it can never be real. A dream is enough.

It will take weeks, but I'll get...

Math test.

Just took a math test.

Need an A for my grade.

Studied all week, barely had time to rest.

Who even knows whether a difference was made.

 

this debate... insane.

I'm watching the first presidential debate of 2020 on my battered old Chromebook right now, and I'm laughing so hard I think I'm gonna cry. Not because it's funny, but because I'm so terrified for our future that the only way I can express it is through giggles.

These two men, both intensely flawed, both arguing and talking over each other and insulting the moderator, all for the control of a country.

What's happening to us, huh? How are we going to come back from this?

Remembering RBG

Ruth | Re-post of the piece I posted the day she died

Hello Ruth.

You don't know me, but you know others who are like myself. You know the women who walk this earth, who suffer in silence, who pray for better. You know the women who stand up for themselves, who fight for equality. And you are one of those women.

When you were 21 you went to Harvard Law School. Already you were married, had a young daughter. You were one of less than ten women admitted to a class that previously only took men. You studied there for early four years, held your spot at the top of the class, even came to be the first woman to ever make it into the top 50 students. You balanced school, you daughter, your husband having cancer, and you did it all. But even so, when your husband graduated and you moved away from campus, they wouldn't give you a credit. After four and a half years at Harvard Law school,...

Chapter One of my book.... plz be nice......

Chapter One
Nightmare- Halsey

The school bell hadn’t been fixed in eight years. 
    It had been installed when Rowlen High was first built— in 1902. Since then, it had completely rusted over, the bell pull had snapped, and the old man who used to take care of it in the school’s prime had never been replaced. Now, after years of not-completely fixing it over and over again, the school had given up and let it hang dormant.
    In a way, Rowlen High School’s bell was a metaphor for the school itself. The hallway was lined with smashed lockers, and no one had re-painted the bathroom walls in thirty years. In fact—
    “Son of a…”
    The tip of Hollis’ permanent marker had dried up.
    She punched the faucet and water gushed into the grimy sink. Hollis ran the Sharpie under the stream, then resumed her task. That task in question was proclaiming how much she hated Aaron where every girl could...

Inventory

Intro to my Novel Character!

Name: Hollis Raine
Age: 17
Pronouns: she/her
Status: "Got cheated on, newly single (ex newly beat up)"
Home town: Austin, TX; moved when her parents got divorced.

Her backpack isn't empty, though not much is in there. The front pocket contains a pair of earbuds hastily wrapped around a phone. The phone itself is pristine; she can't afford to break it. There's a battered and forgotten copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone in the depths of the pain compartment. A sharpie rolls around in the water bottle pocket for easy access (her water bottle was left at her dad's house during her mother's week). A little pouch of mascara, chap stick and eyeliner is stuffed into a smaller section. And the backpack itself? It's in a police station in the evidence lockup.

YOU, The Writer

Me, the writer

I was unsure whether or not to use this prompt, because, well, not much happens when I write. Most of my writing time is dedicated to me eating an entire bag of Pita Chips while thinking about writing, then spending half an hour on one three-sentence paragraph.

But then again, I'm suffering from intense writer's block right now, and I want to post something, so why the heck not.

My writing usually comes in 4 stages. Here that are:


Stage 1: Motivation 
    Get. To. Work.

    But don't you remember that one time when Percy and Annabeth--

    Yes, of course I do, that was adorable and perfect, but if you don't finish this chapter then you're never going to finish your book before you turn 14 and then what?

    You're so bossy.

    I'm you. Now write, dummy.

    Okay, okay.

    *types a few sentences*

Stage 2: Distraction from topic at hand
    Ya know, I was thinking, when MC...

The Wonders of Charter Schools, Online Learning, and Microsoft Teams

I go to a charter school, so obviously we have to prove in some way that we're different than the other schools. This year, that means Microsoft Teams instead of Zoom and Google Classroom.

Honestly, it's very organized, but only once you've completely figured it out. And of course all the teachers have to have different setups just to confuse us. Like how we have to go through three different pages just to get to history class. How we have to sign into class on a completely different platform before every class. And how there are two different teams for each science class and you always forget which one to go to.

And then there's Show Your Face Fridays. Unlike normal schools, we are only forced to show our faces at the end of the week, and only in English and Elective. Then we have to deal with looking nice, and not laughing when your friend sends something funny in...

To be an author | PLEASE READ FOOTNOTES!!!

I wonder what it's like, waking up in the morning, knowing that you've changed people's lives.

You're famous, but not celebrity famous, or politician famous. People know you for your words and stories, and not your corrupt ideas or your body or your family.

You go about your day, everything normal, no paparazzi swarming or sweethearts sobbing or people spitting at your feet. Maybe you get someone running up to you for an autograph, and everyone else ignores you. Sounds perfect from this end.

You go too sleep wondering if someone out there is reading a chapter before bed. If some little girl is huddled under her blankets with a flashlight because it's a school night (I used to do that all the time. Now I have glasses).

To be an author isn't exactly being famous. It's being respected, and loved, and admired. You don't have to be known to be those things. Or maybe someone is spitting at your...

Ruth | Guys, please read this. She's one of the most inspirational people in the world.

Hello Ruth.

You don't know me, but you know others who are like myself. You know the women who walk this earth, who suffer in silence, who pray for better. You know the women who stand up for themselves, who fight for equality. And you are one of those women.

When you were 21 you went to Harvard Law School. Already you were married, had a young daughter. You were one of less than ten women admitted to a class that previously only took men. You studied there for early four years, held your spot at the top of the class, even came to be the first woman to ever make it into the top 50 students. You balanced school, you daughter, your husband having cancer, and you did it all. But even so, when your husband graduated and you moved away from campus, they wouldn't give you a credit. After four and a half years at Harvard Law school,...

i have discovered something.

I have discovered something.

Well, a few things.

Here they are:


1) Dreams barely ever come true, and mine probably won't.

2) Writing is a blade you have to sharpen to perfection, and not everyone gets there.

3) I'm never going to get everything I want, and if I if I do it won't be easy to get.


I've also learned...


1) Happiness comes from little things, not big accomplishments.

2) ​You can't force words onto a page, you simply have to listen to yourself and you will be satisfied.

3) Things people want are just the objectified forms of what really make people happy, and in the end everyone is. 


That's all. Thanks for reading

and the world was burned

She stares out the window.
 
One year ago she would have seen a yellow-green field, a quiet breeze disturbing the grasses and the tops of the trees that were huddled off to the side. She would have seen a clear blue sky, maybe speckled with a cloud or two, or an airplane streaking across the heavens leaving a tail of fumes in it's wake. 

Now she can't see the lovely blue sky, and the field has either been burnt or wilted from lack of sun. The sky had been blackened, and ash rains down like the dead flakes of it's former grandeur. She can no longer see the trees, not even the sturdy little oak that she used to climb.

Everything is gone. And there's nothing she can do.

September

She wakes up to a thunderstorm.

Flashes of white light splatter the walls of her bedroom through the rain-stroked window. She can smell the cold grey air outside: water and dirt, growing things. Off to the side, the force of the storm outside makes a fish bob in his steadily swaying water. Inside the protection of her four walls and blanket, she turns in her bed, eyes squeezing together, lips forming a yawn.

She buries her face back into the rumpled pillow. Really only then does she notice the faintly blaring alarm that caused her wakefulness. The thunder outside had previously drowned out the bing bing, bing bing....

Thunder rattles her window as she flops her arm over to turn it off. 


The storm has thinned, now, as she places her fingers on a worn keyboard. The violent manner of the world outside held no leverage over her as she began to type; her mind was completely, utterly calm....

My brain in two lines


The rational part of my brain asks "Fi, are you ever going to finish writing your book?"

and the dumb half replies, "Nah... Imma pace around the house eating cold pizza and fangirling. Yeah, that sounds good."

The days when

Do you remember those days?

The days when desks were arranged in little clusters around the room. The days when grades didn't really matter, you just went to school and did your work. The days when lockers were a fantasy of higher levels. The days when boys and girls didn't mind touching knees when huddled on the rug together for story time. The days when nap time was a given and LEGOs were a subject. The days when we sang in class. The days when prizes meant stickers and candy. The days when the classes were called Social Studies and Reading. The days when recess was a thing. The days when we had cubbies and backpack hangers. The days when you seemed sogrown up if you could watch PG-13 movies. The days when all we had to worry about was who kid-likes who, not who was kissing who, or who said what about who, or who outed who. The...

Who I Am


They say "be sweet, be smart, be outgoing yet composed."
They say to read books, but not the ones I like.
They say to be perfect, but not robotic.
They say "be you!" but criticize your choices.
They say "Follow my example," and nothing else.

I'm not made to be those things, I'm sorry.
I'm the salt to your sugar, the arrow to your heart.
I want to cut my hair short and wear new clothes
Show my colors, fly my flag
learn to skate, go out with friends
buy too much flannel, have too few fears
write too often, get not enough sleep
speak for what I believe in, and not just your ideals
live my own life how I want to be.

But I can't do those things, I'm sorry.
Because that's not who I'm allowed to be.

So until that day when I can be me,
I'll just have to be the same old person.


"Hi! I'm...

Who they are


I'm one of the girls who
holds her head high and
acts like she's
so 
over this.
I'm one of the nerds who
shuns popularity
and
says no to all the boys.
I'm one of the kids who
rolls her eyes
at the adults 
knowing that
if she were included
she could take
them all
down.
But no matter how resigned we seem,
no matter how often we sigh
and how much we block out the noise

all we really want from the world is to be loved.

More than Survive (any other title ideas? cuz that one sucks)

The sun beats down, the air so dry my eyes can't even produce tears. Even if they could, they would only roll off my cheeks to join the expanse of salt water surrounding us on all sides.
    My baby sits in my lap, my tunic balled in her tiny fists. I don't look at her-- I if I do, all I will see is her lost future. 
    That cursed dictator Ptolemy. The pschent had only rested on his ugly head for mere minutes before he rounded us u and banished us from Egypt. Banished us from our homes. And now, because of him, my daughter's reality is this: ten exhausted, hungry, hopeless people, stranded on a single battered skiff in the middle of the ocean.
    My daughter starts crying, and it's like a frozen knife pierces my heart. I know she's hungry, overheated, and parched, but I also know there's nothing I can do...

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

let her go

As I hold her hand, I don't see her faded eyes.
I see a woman, twenty years old, bending hunch-backed over a book, staring at her novel-in-progress with knitted eyebrows, biting her lip as I lace my fingers through hers. I see her again, twenty-five, walking towards me in a white dress. I see her asleep, haggard, tenderly holding a newborn baby in her arms. 
I see her, all of her, everything she ever was, and I love her so much.
And I know that when that monitor stops steadily beeping, I'll have to let go of her hand.

Quarantine

That feeling when you're lying in bed with nothing to do, the emptiness that is born in your chest and spreads to your stomach and creeps into your lungs little by little until you feel like you can't breathe. Not boredom, no, it's hopelessness. The feeling like this will never end, that the rest of your life will be made up of the exact same pointless days repeated over and over again until there's nothing left of you to keep living. Nothing seems appealing anymore; for the first time in your life you're tired of reading, writing feels like a crushing burden, and TV is no longer entertaining. All you feel like doing is lying, watching the light of the day slowly fade away, enveloped in you own thoughts of mediocre things. You don't have the energy to call your family, nor the bandwidth to talk to your friends. You wish to be physically close to someone who isn't related...

Sincerely, Gen Z | tw: politics and American imperfection

Dear America,

There's a reason we're called Generation Z. It's because your injustices will end with us.

Today I watched President Obama speak at John Lewis' funeral. He said that once America was rebuilt, whether it take years, decades, even centuries, John Lewis would be a founding father of this reformed world. I listened to him talk of Mr. Lewis' life, and held back tears as he preached the injustices of America, and how we had to change. And all the while I was listening, a single thought was floating through my mind: This great man used to lead us.

Why, America? We were already so imperfect as it was, why worsen it by electing a white supremacist? Why was this leader forced to step down from his position, and hand it over to a man who tear gassed a peaceful protest just so the message "Black Lives Matter" wouldn't be in the background of his photo shoot? These past...

spies Chapter Four

Continuing amazing grace's story chain


    The voice is smooth and high, and I don't recognize it. I listen intently for a few moments before realizing that I can't understand a word the woman is saying. It's not any language I've heard before, and the jumbled sound to it brings me to the conclusion that it's a code. 
    My feet are beginning to go numb against the wall of the bathroom stall. My skin tingles and my toes begin to sweat. Heels really are the worst shoes to hide in.
    While I try to silently shift myself into a position that's not completely agonizing, I hear the bathroom door open again. I duck my head and see shiny six-inch heels the color blood. They click their way across the room to the stall containing the mystery woman, and the new person leans casually against the door and kicks something underneath the door.
    It's a...

17

Sweet 16 is over, queen of 17 begins.

If you had it your way, my name would be Barbie Princess Ariel Tangerina. You were a strange 3-year old, and somehow an even more distinctive teenager. 

This is your last year of being a child. In 365 days you will be an adult, packing for college and starting you own life. You'll be off to start you own adventures, and I'll be here. Alone, for the first time in my life. But don't worry, I'll join you soon. Not nearly soon enough, but I know from experience that time will go by quickly.

This past year was a hard one, for all of us. So much has changed, and you know I don't like change. But whenever I see you try on three different outfits before school, or hear you laughing at the cat, or even when you yell at me when I "bother you", I know that not everything is...

"Enticing" 2.0

All it takes is the blink of an eye.

You realize you're in a different place before you see it. You're dizzy, you don't know where you are, how you got here. The unfamiliarity makes your senses sharpen. A fresh smell, distinctly green and alive stings your nose. All around is eerily quiet, aside from the rustle of leaves and a unobtrusive, foreign buzzing. Thick warm air fans your face, and when you open your mouth and gasp, you taste humidity on your tongue.

At last you open your eyes, and for a moment your fuzzy vision disorientates you. You lean against something solid to your right; the rough texture tells you it's stone. As the spinning ground comes in to focus, you see rocks jutting up like islands and roots diving into the depths of the sea of soil.

Looking up, the scene dazzles your eyes. It's clearly day, but the foliage high above conceals the sun, giving the...

True Love | tw, i guess: really bear my soul in this one. beware

In all my life, I've never believed in true love. How could it even be possible? If there are 7.6 billion people on this planet, how can only one of them be truly mine? How will I ever find the one I'm meant to be with?

The ancient Greeks believed that humans were first made with two heads, four arms, and four legs. The humans were happy, because they were never lonely. The gods, fearing this would make them too powerful, split them in two. Now the two halves of the human spend their lives looking for their other half. Only when they find them will they be happy.

This can't be real. The idea of soulmates, of there only being one person in the world who's right for you, is impossible. Then billions of people would spend their whole lives searching for a person they'll probably never find.

Maybe there is someone out there for me, but they're not...

Letter Writing Competition 2020

Fifi

July 11, 2020

Dear Fifi,

Gosh, I miss you. It's been seven years, and not an hour goes by where I don't think about your round face and two fishtail braids. You were whole, your days filled to the brim with joy and laughter. You were the best person I ever was, And to this day, to this very minute, I despise the moment I was forced to rid myself of you.

I've realized that half of myself died with you. Our two pigtails merged into one, I dropped half our name. Half my life drifted slowly away from me, so I wasn't aware of it's passing until it was gone, leaving in it's place an empty mass of numbness. And now when I examine your drawings, or read the first short story you ever wrote, I can't recall the inspiration for such happy ideas. 

You were like a skin, Fifi, that we had to shed in order to survive,...

244

July 4th, 1776: the birth of the Nation of Freedom. The nation of Democracy. The nation for a new era.

July 4th, 1776: The birth of a nation of slavery. Prejudice. Injustice. A new nation built on the groundwork of old, false ideas.

July 4th, 1776: The birth of the 13 United States of America. Most of this country's shining examples of freedom are false.

We do not have a democracy. Our country is an oligarchy, ruled under the leadership of a few privileged individuals. Those individuals are not chosen by us, but by a few representatives who vote for us, usually without taking our thoughts into consideration.

The country is not free. In a free country, women would be walking home alone at night without fear. Men and women wouldn't be afraid to be murdered just because of the color of their skin. People wouldn't be discriminated against just because of what the believe in, or who they love....

Flashes

Two blurred years / too many trips to remember / a constant intake of worry 

My father told me. Late in the evening; tears in his eyes. He said it plainly, without warning, not looking at us but his phone. My sister screamed; jumped onto her delicate bed; all the base boards fell out. I was standing, next I was sitting, then I was in my room. Then my fist was bleeding and there was a broken wooden board in front of me. Blood pooled into my palm and I didn't feel a thing.

Then I was in California and a front door was opening. I was prepared to smile and hug my giggling five year old cousin; for one shining minute I had forgotten about the situation. Then my mother answered the door and threw herself into my waiting father's arms. And it all flooded back into my mind so fast I almost cried, there and then.

A saree...

Fae

Moonlight falls upon our pale skin
hard breathing making the air thin
Yellow eyes, green veins
hearts that never felt mortal pain
Skirts swirl with wind and magic and
Hair of yellow, brown, fire-red like a leer
bounce around our pointed ears.
Have some drink, take a pause
Makes you feel content without reason; joyful without cause
Dance with us, have some fun
laugh until the night is done
Forget your troubles
Lose your woes
Feel the grass between your toes
And if you're lucky, if you're sweet

You won't ever have to leave
 

Foreign

I slide my laptop into it's cover, simultaneously shoving down a lump of emotion that's lodged in my throat.

I've lived at that house my whole life, and this place is a recent acquisition. That is my home, this is my house. 

So why does it feel like I'm going to a different planet?

I guess I am, in some ways. Though they often think alike, my mother and father are two different beings, from two different worlds. Her old house that I've lived in my whole life is packed with furniture, paintings, and carpets of all different shapes and sizes. The kitchen always has a smell; biryani, pizza, steak, cookies, kima, cake. There's always ice cream in the freezer and organic vegetables, meat, and dairy stalked in the overflowing fridge. Unfolded blankets and laundry pile on each of the five couches. It's cluttered, but in a way that it feels like home. His apartment has white walls, white floors,...

Writing Streak Challenge Week 13

Circle: Writing Streak Challenge Week 13

*Read footnotes first*


sounds
that assault my
ears
filled with sticky chlorinated 
water
staining my chair from my soaking
hair
clinging to
my face
coated in 
pores
clogged with dried
sunscreen
that is too weak for
my skin
is dry from a
summer breeze
that carries 
 

The Unseen

Chokehold

The two partners in crime, though the woman is feared more, the man is more deadly.
The woman attacks first, paving the way for the man to fill the hearts of the living with pain
He chokes the world, squeezing the life out of the remainder of humanity
and yet
he is never seen because the world's eyes are too clouded by the tears of his making to notice his chokehold
 

The little habits that fail us

The mattress has never been barren.

Up until the Day it had been clothed in patterned sheets, usually azure or lilac, and the lumpy pillows placed neatly at the headboard. She made her bed every day, without fail, school day or weekend, sick or well. Her little habit that no one really understood, since she was otherwise so messy. Even with random objects rolling across the floor, dust bunnies huddled in distant corners, and cobwebs stringing her LED lights, the bed was always immaculate.

Now the floor was empty. So were the drawers and wardrobe, the night table and windowsill. The lumpy pillows were nowhere to be seen, and the comforter had been stripped and shoved in a downstairs closet. All that was left was the bare mattress. 

She would have hated it.

The room was completely still, with no one to disturb the dust that began to settle. It was too simple, the plain white mattress camouflaged into plain...

Writing Streak Challenge Week 11

I wish: Writing Streak Challenge Week 11

I wish I could be remembered.

Every novel has a main character, and every main character is the hero, the one the readers cheer for. Few cheer for the author, and their hard work to provide that hero. 

To change the world is to change ideas, make small minds expand. And yet, no one seems to recognize that writers change the world every day, little by little, by bringing imagination and color to the world. But does the fact that no one appreciates it means it's not changing the world?

My biggest fear? To die unimportant. I don't want to be a celebrity, or a politician. I want to be someone who makes the world better, who gives people hope through her words, who inspires young girls, like I once was, to write down their stories. 

But I'll always take a backseat. My character will always be known better than me. Or maybe, the world won't even know my character. 
...

Journal of Atalanta--- THIS WON A CONTEST

Hi guysss
A few months ago I entered in a country-wide writing contest, and recently I found out that I got third place!
The prompt was to write a journal entry from the perspective of a figure in Greek Mythology. I chose Atalanta.
So, for all you non-Greek-Geeks out there, Atalanta was a princess who was abandoned in the woods as a baby because her father (the king) wanted a son. Instead of dying, she was rescued by a she-bear who raised her as one of her cubs. Atalanta grew up thinking she was a bear, and had no idea she was a princess. One day a hunter spotted and captured her, and brought her back to society. Since she was raised a bear, she was strong and fast and completely unlike all the other women in Greece. Her name, Atalanta, translates to "equal in weight" because she was equal to a man in strength. After that she went on...

Bruises

Tan turns into blue, purple, and green.
The strongest support beams snap under pressure.
Protective barriers ripped open, exposing the weak and delicate within.

Beat away what you don't like until I'm perfect.

You can hurt me, you can threaten me, you can make me do what you say, but you can't make me compliant.

My bruises will fade.
My fractures will heal.
My blood will wash away, and my skin will stitch back together soon.

Just not as soon as you'd like.

Toxic

Her blood was the color of molten glass- a glowing, fiery orange that trickled through her veins like a morphine drip. The doctors said it would kill her, and they were right, it was. But all she knew was that she wanted to use the little life left in her to do what was needed. The toxic unknown element that tainted her blood could be the cure for the world.

They told her she was saving trillions of lives, but at the cost of her own. She didn't mind. Rather one death of courage than billions of deaths as the result of cowardice.

Writing Streak Challenge Week 10

The Possibility: Writing Streak Challenge Week 10

She breathed in the sharp air that blew up the side of the cliff face. Sea-green waves broke on the rocky shore at the foot of the cliff, sending up mist that became rainbows in the light of the setting sun. The wind suddenly became rowdy and snatched the bandanna keeping the girl's hair in place, so that if flew around her head and in her eyes. But even with the wind and recent rainfall that had left the grass splattered with dew, there was not a single cloud in the sky. 
A cloudless sky was the perfect metaphor for possibility.

Proud to be Pride

The rainbow flag means so many things, but to me it means freedom. 

Freedom to be exactly who you are and be that person with pride. Freedom to fly my flag and exclaim to the world "I AM PROUD!"

I am proud. I am proud to be me, and I am proud to be part of a community that doesn't discriminate on gender, race, or wealth. I doesn't matter if you're gay, lesbian, tans, ace, bi, fluid, or anything else. We are all different, and because of that we are one. 

Some people support us, while others hate or just don't understand us. But as long as we're one, we can fight or way through the crushing grip of haters. We are stronger than them.

And because of that, I am so proud to fly the rainbow flag

First Amendment.

I went to a Black Lives Matter protest yesterday.
We walked three miles around the downtown area,
waving our signs and saying his name 
"George Floyd"
Daring the police bystanders to stop us.
I looked at the news today to see articles about the protest
And find that not 
thirty minutes
after we left, the protest turned into a riot. 
Smashed windows and graffiti led to a police barricade
And several were arrested.
Yesterday there was a moment
When everyone
raised a fist
and 
took a knee
and honored the fallen with ten seconds of silence.
It was beautiful.
But all the news is saying is that there was a riot following a protest,
when the only reason there was a riot was because the police tried to stop us
and the police are the reason we're protesting.

Oh, the irony of the world's injustices.

Hellfire (this deals with religion, if that's uncomfortable to u)

I don't have a religion, nor do I want one.

People are always asking what I believe in, and I always say I don't. And they're always confused. They ask "Well you must believe in something. Where do you think you will go when you die?"

And I say I don't know, because it's true.

Once a boy heard me talking to my friend about this, and he tapped my shoulder just to tell me that I'm going to burn in hellfire, because I don't believe in god. 

Later I asked the same boy what he thought about members of the LGBTQIA+ community, and he replied "They're not bad people, their just doing bad things because Satan told them to. They'll hopefully see the error of their ways before they go to hell."

So according to him, I'm going to burn in hell twice over.

I don't believe I'm going to hell. I don't know where I'm going when I...

Auburn

Her hair ripples like a chocolate river down her back, and it's like my gaze is glued to her. She laughs and leans against her friend, the sound sweeter than a summer breeze. I feel anxious watching her from far away, like I'm a bad person. On a whim, I stand up, and start moving toward her table.

My brain yells at me to stop: You are so stupid why are you doing this go back to your table you freaking idiot shes not gonna talk to you!

Shut up. You don't know anything, my heart replies.

I tap her on the shoulder and she turns around, grinning. Sunlight splashes across her eyes and they flash auburn. Her previously chocolate-toned curls now glint with red strands. Her face shines golden in the morning light and for a moment, I'm speechless. 

"Hey," she says. Under her red flannel, she's wearing a black shirt tucked into damaged jeans. I'm suddenly very aware of...

Silence, Solitude, Smile

I close my eyes and let the solemn sound of silence fill my bones
Allow the peace of solitude heal my gaping wounds
Slap a smile on my soaking face
And slip out of the closet, into the battlefield of social interaction.

Fight for Freedom

Did you know you would die today?

You will die for no reason at all. You will die because of how you look. You will die with a white man's knee on your lungs, slowly pushing the life out of you.

You had no reason to die today.

Just like Amadou Diallo.

Just like Alton Sterling.

Just like Gregory Gunn.

Just like Samuel Dubose.

Just like Eric Garner.

You had no reason to die today. You begged for you life. You deserved life.

You died because of small minds, and no apology can make up for that.

The world needs to change. So many people turning a blind eye to the injustice of our so-called free country. The only way it will stop is if we keep fighting. We must keep fighting for freedom. For justice. For the rights of every man, woman, and human on this planet.

Justice for Amadou. Justice for Alton. Justice for Gregory. Justice for Samuel....

I wish I was, but I am

I wish I was a good Slytherin who saves the day

I wish I was a hunter of Artemis without a care in the world

I wish I was a shadowhunter who cares about mundanes

I wish I was a leader of dauntless and lead my faction to greatness

I wish I was someone who actually makes a difference

I wish I had a story

I wish I was free

I wish I was a hero


but I am a writer

I am a reader

I am a fangirl

I am an activist

I am unburdened 

I am a child


And I guess those things are pretty good too.

7th grade

I click submit on my last final exam.

Seventh grade is over.

This year has been the best year of middle school yet. This year was the year I finally got my school life together. I had amazing friends and I didn't get bullied. My teachers were so supportive and kind. I got more than a few awards, including third place in the NJCL creative writing contest. 

I hurts to know that it's over.

Eighth grade is a mystery. I don't know if I'll have good teachers or passing grades. Maybe my friends will leave me and I'll get picked on again.

Or maybe eighth grade will be the height of middle school. Maybe I'll get top 15% and even more awards. Maybe my teachers will be even better than the ones I'm leaving behind. Maybe I'll make new friends and have a steady social life.

Even if I'm walking away from my best year of middle school so far,...

The Picture

The picture hung above my desk, the centerpiece of a cluster of photos and paintings. That black and white image with the splash of red in a place where I could always see it. 

I flash back to that 8-year old-morning. They had curled my hair and let me wear lip gloss. They told me to choose from a number of poofy dresses, and even at eight, I chose the black one. That strapless black mass of tulle was so heavy it kept slipping down my little-girl's chest. They had put a big red flower in my hair. Apparently it matched the one on the waistband of my gown. Good thing too, because the flower was the only thing I really liked.

I remember seeing another girl, a teenager, in the second photo shoot room. Her hair was straight and choppy, and she was clothed in a plain tank top and damaged jeans. Her background was a stained brick wall,...

Attacker

She stood over the man as the dark red stain on his shirt grew steadily wider.

For a moment, she simply stared. Then she stumbled back as though her fear had shoved her away from the body, telling her to run, to hide. But she didn't run. She fell onto the damp earth, her legs unable to support her. 

What had happened? She couldn't seem to remember. The man had asked for help in his cabin... and then turned on her half-way there. He attacked her, that was it. But then why was he the one bleeding on the ground?

She knew she was attacked, but then why couldn't she remember?

No, she couldn't have done this. She would never do this, not even in self defense. But her hands had so much blood on them.

What was she going to do?

Her pale hands seemed to glow under the shine of the full moon.

Hands that had, only a...

Our Perfect Little World

We haven't known each other for long but I could feel the spark at the first moment. We're opposites in so many ways, but we agree on everything. Whenever I was down you would hug me and ask what was wrong, and I would tell you because I trust you that much. I built walls around myself and so did you, the plain grey concrete closing in on all sides. Together we merged our boundaries and became a fortress. Inside our fort we build a home and grew plants, we repainted those plain grey walls, we let light into our worlds, we we're each other's role models and we were happy. We're still closed off and anti-social, but now we are anti-social together. You and our world are one of the few things I love. Even far away from you I still slip into that world when we talk, and there no boundary can separate us. When I feel like...

Cage

I am in a cave
the exit so
far away.
Outside I see the blinding flash of lightning and I 
wish more than anything I was out there.
I wish I was out there
soaked in rain with a 
fighting chance 
of survival 
rather than 
stuck in here waiting
to be
struck 
by 
lightning
and 
buried
alive
by
falling
boulders

Give

NASA launches the first manned space shuttle since 2011 today. 

Astronauts Bob Behnken and Doug Hurley are on board. I wonder how they feel, knowing that they could die, just like that, in half an hour.

In 7.5 billion years, the sun will die. When it dies, it will expand in a supernova that will wipe out the solar system. 

But before Earth gets to die in this glorious supernova, it will choke on plastic and chemicals. 

Maybe even before the earth chokes on pollution, it will burn from global warming.

And humans are the cause of all of all of this.

So instead of putting every effort into saving our home, we are spending trillions to escape it. Earth may be like a prison, with physics as our jailers, but it's our home. We have lived on this planet for nearly 7 million years, and she has provided for us all this time. We humans are so selfish to...

Writing Streak Challenge Week 9

The Glowing Planet: Writing Streak Challenge Week 9

We see the glowing planet from high above, the twinkling lights of an ignorant species.

Extraordinary

I think there's a reason why the word extraordinary is a portmanteau. It's made up of the two words "extra" and "ordinary". So therefore, the people who are extraordinary are completely normal.

Everyone is born the same person. When we take our first breath we are all equal, we are all alike. It's what we grow into that makes us different. What we discover about ourselves changes us from no one to someone. 

So it doesn't matter what you find out about yourself, as long as it's true.

The word "extraordinary" implies that the wonderful people who show themselves are extra ordinary. So it's not the different who are the freaks. It's the ordinary.

We're still kids. Most of us are still finding our place in the world. Few are lucky enough to discern their calling early, but for many, it takes longer. Some never do.

I know some who choose to hide behind the ordinary, to try and blend...

Writing Streak Challenge Week 7

Max: Writing Streak Challenge Week 7

You are my family. My fat, hairy, adorable Maxie.

Once I woke up with your tail on my face. You were purring so much my head was vibrating. All day my eyes itched and stung, and I must've sneezed enough times to create a hurricane.

Right now you're sleeping on my homework. There are so many crinkles that I don't think I'll be able to read the balanced form of photosynthesis.

But you survived when your brother and sister didn't. You always come to me first because I'm your favorite. Because you are my favorite.

So please, shed all over my pillow. Cough hairballs on my carpet. Step on my keyboard when I'm writing.

I will love you anyway.
 

PEOPLE PLZ READ THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hey guys!
So, I know I'm not very well known, but I had an interesting idea that I needed to share. You know how a lot of writers on WtW want to collaborate with each other, so they exchange emails and stuff? Wellllll I'm assuming I'm not the first person who's mother is not cool with her child giving their email to a stranger. So I had a cool thought: what about a chat space? What if WtW had an online chat space where users can talk about their work, collab on pieces, and just hang out with other writers? I think that would be pretty cool.
So if you're on board with this idea, scroll down to that black bar at the bottom of the page. Click the thing that says "Contact Us". Then you can write to WtW and ask for a chat space. Maybe if we had enough people contact them, they'll actually do it!
I've already...

PEOPLE PLZ READ THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hey guys!
So, I know I'm not very well known, but I had an interesting idea that I needed to share. You know how a lot of writers on WtW want to collaborate with each other, so they exchange emails and stuff? Wellllll I'm assuming I'm not the first person who's mother is not cool with her child giving their email to a stranger. So I had a cool thought: what about a chat space? What if WtW had an online chat space where users can talk about their work, collab on pieces, and just hang out with other writers? I think that would be pretty cool.
So if youre on board with this idea, scroll down to that black bar at the bottom of the page. Click the thing that says "Contact Us". Then u can write to WtW and ask for a chat space. Maybe if we had enough people contact them, they'll actually do it!
I've already...

Unfogging the Future

In books, somehow everything works out in the end. The main character survives their hardships, the friends live happily ever after. Even with all the challenges and sorrow, it almost always ends on a happy note. And I love that reliable satisfaction so much that I never stopped looking for it, even reading certain books over and over again because they displayed this so well.

Take Harry Potter for example. I would do way better at Hogwarts than I am at my current school. I know more about quidditch than any other sport. Give me the title of a chapter, and I can give you an analysis of the events of that chapter.

In short, it's almost like I'm growing up in a fantasy world instead of my own.

Every day since I discovered this, I've waited. I've waited for a Hogwarts letter, a sudden ability, a guide to something magical. I know those stories aren't real, and I know...

Writing Streak Challenge Week 4

Winter is almost over

A breeze softly lifts my hair
Like a whisper of comfort during a storm
saying "Winter is almost over."
"Spring will come."

my Escape

Stop.

Walk away. Walk away from the chaos, the drama, the anger. Walk away from the no-mans land. Walk away, and leave the ammo behind.

Go to a happy place. Grab a bag, slip outside. Climb a tree. Thoughts and emotions fade away in the warm embrace of our mother nature.

Breath through the pain. Breath in the sharp air, feel the afternoon breeze. Open the bag, take out a book. Pull in the comforting scent of imagination on paper.

Cool down. Open the book, begin to read. The time slips by as words fill the brain; everything else is insignificant. Escape into someone else's world, someone else's life, someone else's story. Don't try to think about anything else, be swallowed into a place where your problems are nonexistent. Allow yourself to laugh and cry for someone else's fable.

Just let go.

To Those That I Have Lost

I stand at the edge of a chasm, with nothing to stop me from jumping.
The darkness swirls beneath my feet, calling, beckoning, pleading.
Where have you gone? Where could be more important than by my side?
And the darkness pulls me in.

I swim till the my feet no longer touch the sand, and my head begins to go under.
The water churnes with force and power, swirling, tugging, grasping.
What happened to you? What could have torn you away from me?
And the water drags me under.

I sit surrounded by flames, my body soaked in gas.
The fire dances around me, whispering, flickering, roaring.
Why have you left now? Why, when now is when I need you most?
And the fire burns me away.

Where have you gone? What happened to you? Why have you left now?
You abandoned me. You, who I've turned to for comfort.

Please come back to me.

Spring (by my cousin, Azu)

Springtime breeze
Pierces my face
Rolling along the streets
In the cool air
New beginnings
Grow into being

Better Than Last Year

Today, when I blow out my candles, a wish forms in my mind.

Better than last year

I was born on April 2nd, at 9:04 AM. I was born screaming, wondering why I've been wrenched from my mother's warm embrace. It was so happy in there, so quiet, so simple. And now these people have pulled me into the middle of a loud, complicated, unhappy world.

Better than last year

They say my older sister was born a silent, beautiful baby with thick brown hair. They say I was born bald, chubby, and screeching like a pterodactyl. Now we are the opposite. She is the talkative one, the social flower. And I am the one who rarely speaks in groups I'm not familiar with, as if I used up all my voice in the first few hours of my life.

Better than last year.

They say I was meant to be born on April 1st, but I pulled the biggest...

Wake Up Call: #120words

I wake to crisp autumn air tickling my face. Even with my blankets wrapped tight around me, the breeze penetrates my bundle of warmth. I untangle myself from my comforter and stumble to shut the window.

Now that I'm awake, I can't fall back asleep. I shuffle into the kitchen to make cereal. Slowly, the fatigue seeps from my brain.

I'm scrolling through my phone when a text from my friend pops up. She's sent me pictures from our trip to the beach. I open my photos and scroll down... but there's something I don't recognize. 

I see an image of myself, sleeping.

Only then do I realize that I didn't open my bedroom window before I went to sleep.

Miracle

I am so tired.

I didn't want to be there, but I had to put on a brave face for my children. I had lost my mother, but they had lost their Grandma, and at such a young age. It wasn't all about me. I had to make sure they stayed happy. 

We planned the camping trip last week at my husband's suggestion. He said it was for the kids, but he made sure I knew it was for me.

Life was so hard without a mother to turn too, and knowing that I would never see her again, for the rest of my life, was unbearable. I had depended on her my whole life, even after I moved away, got a job, got married. She was there for ever significant moment, every tear and laugh and scream, she was there. And now she wasn't. She was just... gone.

It was so sudden, I never got to say goodbye. 

I...

Her: #LGBTQPersonal

When I see her, all she does is smile and wave. I smile and wave back, and it kills me every time.

I met her years ago, but I only really Met her recently. All we did was talk, but afterward I felt as though my heart might explode.

I once saw her crying, sitting alone in a bathroom stall. When she came out, her eyes bloodshot and her nose crimson, she said she was okay when I asked. This was after I Met her, so naturally I had butterflies rioting in my stomach and words clogged in my throat. All I wanted was to make her feel just a little bit better, help her forget whatever was making her mascara run. But I couldn't. So she left that restroom with her long, dark eyelashes still sparkling with tears.

Another time I saw her laughing like she could never stop. She was slapping the table; other people in the room...

Grow up.

You bring us into this world without our consent, and suddenly we belong to you. We follow you everywhere, we do your bidding. We love you, and you love us, but you created that love.

I once heard someone say that Life is a membership, and childhood is the free trial. It's true in some aspects- you feed us, clothe us, give us shelter, protect us from the monsters under our beds. We owe you the lives we didn't ask for, but hold so dearly.

But that blissful free trial only lasts so long. We grow up, and little by little you expect more from us. You expect us to clean and cook and do well in school. You expect us to be grown up, but at the same time you treat us like toddlers. If we're grown up, don't we have rights to make our own decisions? So when you tell us to grow up, to learn to take care...

Nobody's Perfect

Who are you, to tell me who to be?

At some point in your life, people get one idea of your personality and stick to that, never wavering even once you change. Everyone still thinks I like birds and dresses and pink cat T-shirts, because that's what they want me to be. They want me to be the cute baby sister who does everything for everyone else. They try to shape me, like clay, into a sculpture they're happy with. I am seen as a doll, a slave, an object.

Why should I be kind and happy when you've haven't given me reason to? Why should I smile and be cute when you've given me every reason to be rude? And when I find enough course to be angry at you, you yell at me and call me a b*tch and tell me how awful I can be. Then, five minutes later, you berate me about being overdramatic and aggressive...

Dreaming of a Nightmare

I've never slept well. I lay awake for hours every night, not bothering to count sheep because I know it's hopeless. If I do fall asleep, I am woken by terrible visions my awful mind creates just for me. 

When I was younger, I woke up crying, and ran to my parents bedroom fortress. There, no evil could hurt me, for the shelter of a parent is the stronger than the biggest, best, most beautiful shield ever made. I was safe there, curled up between my mother and father.

Now, I don't run to their sanctuary. I wake with a start but no tears, and I wait for sleep to come again. Alone, in a bedroom housing a lifetime of nightmares.

Every night those visions enlighten me about my forgotten fears; I don't remember the last time I had a good dream. The only thing I can do is wake myself up, and I can rarely do that, only when...

My December Competition 2019

10

Where I come from, December means frozen grass one day and seventy degree hail storms the next.

My favorite subject in school is Latin, and the Latin root of the word "december" is decem, meaning "ten". The ancient Romans had a ten month calendar instead of our modern twelve-month, and December was the tenth month, hence the name. Once we finally figured out that the Romans were wrong and invented two more months, we just must have been too lazy to change the names of the last four months ("Septem" meaning seven, "octo" means eight, and "novem" means nine).

So that's what December is- the almost-forgotten last moth of the year with an old fashioned name and a confusing climate. 

Now, there are upsides to the final month of the year. I get a two week break from school, complete with a major holiday and an occasional snowy surprise (Occasional meaning once every five years or so). But that...