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You wake up and it's spring again.  The kids have all grown up and moved out. Your neighbor needs to mow her lawn but she is too seasoned for long exposure to the southern sun.  It dawns on you one night when you're grilling steaks for your family.  Your daughter calls you over to the table. She's on her third glass of wine. She met a man in graduate school.  He doesn't drink.  They clear their throats in unison and announce that they are engaged and plan to be married next January.  You're happy for them but that is getting further and further from your mind.  Your eyes shift over to the tall weeds growing only feet away from your wife's roses.  You think about the fact that your neighbor never mentioned grandchildren.  She never mentioned anyone.  You think about the boy down the street who died in that car accident this winter.  He always took care of her yard…for a price.  Now, there is crab grass growing so close to your Tall Fescue. The last thing you think about for awhile is that you can't remember how long it's been since you have seen her.  Not since spring began.  You hug your daughter and shake her fiancés hand and walk over to the neighbor's front door.  You ring the bell and continuously knock.  You don't think about why she isn't answering because you already know.
Thought about this during class the other day. The title is still a work in progress. If you can offer constructive feedback on this piece I would appreciate it.
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My childhood home, a gray, old farm house, sat nestled near the small town of McKean Pennsylvania.    My father moved us there from Pittsburgh in 1954 when I was no taller than a limp potato sack.  I was their only child at the time. He said the city was no place to raise a family. We needed room to run and explore and my mother needed a quiet place to work on her writing. However, in three years of living there she gave birth to four of my brothers.  So much for peace and quiet.  There must have been something in the water.

Folks in town liked to whisper about that house like it was some kind of architectural Jezebel.  By the time I could spell my own name I had heard dozens of rumors and stories surrounding our home.  There were certainly enough to keep my young mind racing through many sleepless nights.  Some of the more elaborate stories suggest a mass murder of the previous occupants by their deranged mother. My classmates claimed that this woman then buried the corpses of her husband and three children in the walls and that they walked around at night looking for revenge. I made sure to always keep my door locked.

Another urban legend told that this house was a Union hospital during the Civil War. Although I could see the possibility of truth in this yarn, I never believed the part about the secret chest of gold that a defecting soldier buried somewhere on our property.  My rolling eyes and smart remarks never stopped my younger brothers from searching for it though. God bless them.  Occasionally, when I didn't have a book to read or chores to do, I would humor the little pirates and go hunting with them.

One afternoon, I believe it was in late summer, my brothers and I were out by the old barn just snooping.   My eldest brother, Earl, came across a nest of milk snakes hidden underneath a patch of tall weeds.  The snakes scattered, slithering everywhere as we tried to catch them. Their low, hissing sounds perfectly complimented the summer heat. It sounded like the world was cooking in a skillet.   Earl raced inside to grab two glass jars from the kitchen cabinet. He hurried back and we spent the next hour or so catching the foot long critters.  I lost track after about thirty. We were so proud of our find. I poked a few holes in the top of the jars so that they could breath and we ran inside to show mother.

My brothers trailed after me as I presented mother with our spoils. Always seeking her approval, I crept up to her as she was mending an old quilt. My grin was met only with her disgusted frown. She didn't laugh like I hoped she would.  She didn't marvel at our cleverness and fascination with nature. She just scowled at me and made a noise very similar to the sound of the hissing snakes. She stood up and proceeded to drag me into the kitchen where I was sat down at our large, oak, dinner table.

Mother sat across from me. Whether it was because I was the oldest and should have known better or just because she didn't like me I have never figured out, but I was the only child punished for the serpent concentration camp we had created. I remember almost every word of that lecture. It was the sternest tongue lashing I had ever received. Mother raved about how disgusting and inappropriate it was for a young lady to play with such filthy creatures and how my father would be so ashamed if he found out that his little girl was handling snakes. She fumed about pride and manners: "What would people think if they saw my daughter rolling around in the yard like a hog in shit?"

According to her, it was time to start acting like a young woman. At thirteen I was now expected to spend less time adventuring with my brothers and more time domestically educating myself. If I ever wanted to find a suitable husband I would have to forgo these childish experiments and keep my hands away from those slimy, diseased creatures. However, of all the reasons she found my actions unacceptable, it was the soiling of her glass mason jars that sent her over the top.

It was the most my mother had ever said to me in one sitting and half the conversation was about jars. She never talked to me again as much as she did that sunny afternoon. I often theorize about my mother's secretive reasoning behind her anger.  I knew it was wasteful and slightly disgusting but the jars were only a quarter each. I knew it was wrong to keep God's creatures locked up in such poor conditions, even if they were snakes. I knew it was unhygienic. Yes. I knew all these things. There was just something I wasn't seeing and still to this day don't understand. I could only keep apologizing and asking why what I had done was so horrible and why my brothers weren't getting the same lecture. I could tell when she had grown impatient and fed up with my cluelessness and saw the defeat in her eyes. She stopped talking and sat quietly for a minute, only looking at me.

She broke the silence and asked me to bring her the two jars. I obliged and went into the other room where my brothers were on the ground, staring at our scaly pets. To their dismay I snatched the two jars from the floor and ran into the kitchen.  When I handed her the jars she took them in her hands and smiled at the tangled mass slithering around in their glass prison. It may have been my childhood imagination adding drama to an already dramatic scene but I swear I saw her tongue fork out of her mouth real quick, almost as if mocking the poor critters.

"Burry them." Cheerfully, she stood up and grabbed a small flower basket off of the window sill, placing the jars inside. She walked outside and I hesitantly followed her. Mother handed me a shovel that was leaning against the tool shed and we marched out into the middle of our corn field.  Her finger shook as she pointed at the ground. She was still smiling though. "Bury them."

I begged her to let me release them but she would only shake her head and repeat the same thing over and over again.

"Burry them."

I pleaded that they were just harmless snakes and I would be killing them if I buried them under the ground.

"Burry them or I'll give you such a beating your father will feel it." I reluctantly took the shovel to the dry earth and dug a hole about three feet deep.  She handed me the two jars and I cried as I put them in their grave. She pulled the shovel out of hands and began filling it in, burying them alive.  After she was done, she walked over to me and slapped me hard across the face.  Through the shock and the pain I think I heard the words whore and idiot. It's hard to remember everything after all these years but I can still feel the sting of her hand and hear the sound of dozens of snakes hissing in my ears.

When father came home I begged him to go save the snakes but he only shook his head apologetically and said they were surely dead by now. They would have suffocated.  I remember my parents arguing that night and many nights after. Through the walls I could hear their screams. If there were dead bodies walking around at night they probably would have found somewhere else to live.  I knew my father was enraged by what my mother had said and what she had done to me.  My cheek was bruised for a week and my brothers cried all night long when they learned of what had become of their pets.

I met my husband at sixteen and we married two years later. I loved him and I loved the idea of leaving that small town even more.  I left that town and all those memories behind, only visiting a handful of times. My parent's passed away a few years ago within a month of one another. We inherited the old farm house and my brothers had to beg me not to have it torn down. Occasionally, I go up there for a picnic with the kids and sometimes go looking for those glass jars.  I was certain I had marked the grave and etched the location into my memory but it appears that I forgot the exact location. Every time I go digging I never seem to find them.  Perhaps mother dug them up and hid them in the walls; more bodies to roam the house at night.
This is a story inspired by a story my grandmother told me. It was well received by my creative writing prof and I'm considering entering it into a contest. I would love some feed back on it. What you like or don't like?
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Arthur escaped from the castle again for the who knows my many times with his horse. According to him, life inside the castle sucks as hell, everything gets on your way, not letting you do whatever you please. No matter what you do, you were always get dictated.
He got out from the castle by disguising as a carriage man, thankfully it worked unbelievably, the security inside was so tight. Arthur went out to town to see what his people doing.

'Lively as always...' he thought to himself as he tied his white horse at the fences.

He always loved this town, the smell of the foods and the kind and cheerful people. He walked and walked until he got satisfied, and then, he saw a terribly familiar looking girl with a (h/c) hair and (e/c) eyes. He approached to her and talked to her without a second thought.

"Hey there, can I ask what's your name, miss?" he said with a calm voice. He didn't care what she'll think of him.

"_-_____..." you replied shyly, surprised at the unusual question.

"Your last name, please?"

"I'm sorry but I don't know..." you bowed your head down and slowly walked away. Arthur Kirkland could only watch you.

"Wait!" he ran towards you and took a hold of your hand. The cap on his head fell, revealing his "identity"

An old man saw Arthur and said...
"It's the prince! Prince Arthur is here!"

The people looked at him and the guards that were searching for him... chased him. His face was like 'Oh shit!' as Arthur dragged you to his horse and went to the hills, far away from the town. The guards lost track of him but they were still searching for their prince.

"Why do they need to follow me?!" If only his brothers were there with him, they will ask him where was his common sense.

'This is Prince Arthur?!' you mentally panicked. You've never had the chance to see him before because you're always working but now he's here on your side. Alone.

"Well... I'm so sorry for dragging you here" he smiled a bit while scratching the back of his head.

"I-It's okay... Oh, I should get to work now, the landlady will get mad at me" you ran away once again.

"Hold back your horses!" he commanded sternly.

"W-what is it?" you were now more pressured than ever.

"I still have tons of things to ask you"

"But I have to go now, I still have works to do. Please, just let me go."

"I'll talk to that landlady, so please just stay here with me for a moment." he talked like a complete commoner without this "prince-aura" on him.

"O-okay..."

"You said you don't know your last name right?" you nodded "Can I ask what's the name of your parents?"

"I don't remember... I'm just an orphan..." you mumbled, never wanting to hear that bitter childhood with no parents.

"I see," was just the only thing you received.

"Can I go now?" you asked once again.

"Let's bring you to the castle, shall we?" he brought you up on his horse and went back to the castle in a jiffy.

A Prince always get what he wants, it's useless to oppose

'I'm so dead if I come back alive to the shop'
you sighed, deciding to face the consequences later.

"Are you okay?" he questioned, worrying about your almost-pale face. "To be honest, No"

"Haha, you're different from the other girls there, Eh...?" he sometimes talked like a pirate...

"What do you mean?"

"You see, if the young gals there see me, they are squealing, it's so irritating like they're going to break my bloody eardrums!"

He was fun to talk to, it felt like you're only talking to a commoner. He was kind more than you thought, you thought he was cruel. Night came, You both arrived at the castle, he went down and kicked the gate open (as a greeting?), he was freaking strong, breaking the big gate and its lock because the guards were still on search and he didn't have a key with him. He brought you down by your waist and led you inside. It was big, of course. His servants were lined up and greeted him.

"Dinner is ready, Prince Arthur" said the maid

"Yeah, I'll eat later" you two went upstairs, to his room. He left you there without a saying a thing.

'What am I doing here? And why did he bring me here at first place...?' you banged your head on the wall. 'And why this place is so familiar to me...?' you thought

"My lady, please come with me" said the maid. She led you to the bathroom, the tub was waiting for you. She suddenly removed your clothes and gently guided you to the tub with bubbles in it.

"Are you Prince Arthur's woman?" she asked while delicately scrubbing your hair with shampoo.

"Eh? No way... He just brought me here."

"Really? How rare"

"What part of it is 'rare'?"

"Prince Arthur don't bring women here in the castle except for his ball date; He even mentioned that he's not interested with them," the maid stated disappointingly.

"Is that so...?" You were so puzzled why he brought you here...

It was your turn to ask, "Oh, what's your name?"

"It's Mary, my Lady"

She told you to wear the white fluffy dress there on the hanger for "bedtime"

"Hey, what do you mean bedtime? I'm going to sleep here?!"

"Didn't Prince Arthur told you?"

"No, he didn't."

"Anyways, please wait at his room, I'll bring your dinner there" she left while you went back to his room.

You found the prince sitting on the window while drinking tea.

"How's the bath?" he asked and smiled brightly.

"Leave that aside and Please excuse my rudeness, please tell me the reason why you brought me here" you said with a serious look.

"You'll find that out soon" was only his reply.

"Now, just eat dinner and sleep"

The maid came with a tray on hands and she placed the plates on the table. You ate without hesitating, you're so hungry after all~

"Thanks for the food"

Arthur yawned "I'm so tired..." he picked you up and laid you down.

'?!' was your reaction

"Just rest, I won't do anything..." he said and pulled the blankets for you.

"Well then, Goodnight my princess" he kissed your forehead.

It was so confusing.
Hmm... I might continue writing lemons because of this :iconcreepyonionplz:

Should I continue? Well... even though you don't want to~ I'll continue this :lol:
(I wrote this with my iPod so... tell me if there's some missing words ^^ yoroshiku na!)

Sugi! > [link]
--

Image by this awesome dudette! [link]
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Sera's searched the cooridors of the mansion, trying to find any information on Raven. The archives just repeated what she already knew. No, she had to confront him and meet him in person. Grabbing her coat and tieing her hair behind her head in the pony tail that was forced on her to wear for formal events, she put her hand on the door knob when Cynthia's hand touched her shoulder.

"Were are you going Sera's?" she asked.
"Did i disturb your slumber, sorry Ma'am, i was uhm going to feed." Sera's quickily thought up at the last second. Cynthia bought into the lie and smiled.
"So young and innocent. It is truely a crime to make someone as young as yourself a true vampire." Cynthia said walking up the stairwell and disappearing around a corner. Letting out a sigh of pressure release, Sera's closed the door and walked out into the cold night, in search of Raven.

The empty buildings was the first place she searched but to no aveil, Raven did not seem to be anywhere she looked. The back alleys, the parks, it seemed as if he hadn't existed at all. She feared dark places, oddly she feared many things no vampire would actually fear. But she was  orphan and was found by a Vampire and was raised as royalty and soon found herself at Cynthia's side. In her heart, she knew Raven was in the dark forest but she wouldn't dare go inside. Until she was approached by a group of humans. Drunken teenagers, possibly from some frat party had been zig zagging down the streets. To them, Sera's looked like someone they could easily capture and rape, the alchol sort of gave them the extra uhmph they need to actually try. They kept their distance, whistling and saying profoun and disgusting sexual comments until she turned a corner where they knew no one would see.

They began to chase her, fearing the worst, she had no choice but to take her chances with the darkness of the forest. A couple of branches cut her face but healed as she continued to run from the drunken teenagers. She came to a gian round opening with a stump in the center. Running past it, her foot stopped by a root, causing her to fall and screamed as a large gash on her leg appeared, she was very sensitive to pain and other senses but she wasn't a hundred percent on what she was or how she came to be. Her chasers approach and they formered a circle around her.

"No way I'm first." said a teen with a football jersey as he unhooked his belt. A firce growl echoed in the giant area around them. The teens shivered in fright and looked all around trying to find the source. "What the hell was that man?" asked one of the teens.

" Humans, your all sick in the head. Evening letting the slightest thought into your head about what your about to do to that young girl is enough for me to kill each and everyone of you." Raven's voice seemed omnisent, it was coming from every angle.Sera's glanced around as well, she feared him more then the teens would. Her eye's met his as they shined through one of the bushes. Firery and glowing brightly. "It's....It's him.." she said to herself. Being the Wolf Raven is, he could sense fear, it gave him a sense of power, knowing his prey was afraid. He emerged from the bushes, being he was recently asleep, he only had on his boxers.

"What the hell is that?" asked one of the teens staggering. "He must be some wild homeless guy." said another. "Get out of here freak-o, let us do our buisness and we might let you have some too." The jersey teen said kneeling next to Sera's and trying to forcefully kiss her. But before he could, Raven's leg connected with his temple, nearly crushing his skull. He turned towards another teen and shoved his arm through his chest, the blood spraying on the tree's around them. He savagly ripped two teen's apart, piece by piece. He was sickened by their thoughts, he couldn't read minds but it doesnt take a genius to figure out what was going to happen. He lifted the last teen in the air and impaled him onto a tree branch and let him scream and suffer. He licked the blood off his hand and grinned. "Scream all you want, the Lord himself will not hear you."

Sera's dusted herself off and stared at Raven who was still trying to get the blood off his body.She blushed and looked over his half naked body but was still afraid because he could kill her any minute."Th-thank you." she said shyly. Raven looked up and smiled."No problem, those sick basterds deserved to die." He grinned licking off the last bit of blood. Sera's slowly inched her way toward's him."I'm not going to kill you." He said looking directly into her eye's. She strangely began to cry and she wrapped her arms around him."DONT KILL ME PLEASE!!" she cried.Raven picked her up and swung her over his back in a sort of piggy back ride. "You don't need to worry. Your far too beautiful and far too young for me to kill you." Raven said carrying her back toward's his little hideout. "But, everyone talks about you, how you spare no one. You kill every Vampire you see. Your the King of Death, The No Life King." She said in his ear. Raven laughed and was proud of the fact that Vampire's saw him a force to be reckoned with. He set her down outside his carved out tree that was clearly where he slept. He phased into his second stage, he seemed to sleep better in his wolf form then in human. Sera's marveled at his size and he lazily slumped against the tree. "Is this where you sleep?" she asked curiously looking over the tree."I always figured that you slept in a mansion with a large bed." she continued, refering to one of her dreams. Raven lifted his head and laughed."Sorry to disapoint but the "No Life King" likes to sleep outside." he said tossing and turning.

Sera's didn't feel safe walking all the way back to the mansion, especially after the ordeal of being chased and nearly forced into sexual acts."Uhm...Raven...?" she whispered. Raven opened his eye's and they returned to the calm amber color from before."Can I stay with you tonight?" she asked shyly. Raven sighed deeply. "Yeah but you have to sleep on that side of the tree." he said shifting his paw to show her were she could lay. After a few hours, she fell asleep. But Raven was still awake and he looked over at her. She was shivering violently, he had forgotten how used to the cold he was. Still in his Wolf Form, Quitely standing up, he walked over to her and layed next to her. She quickily put her head on his  shoulder, he was extrmely warm. He gently put his paw over her body. He soon fell asleep as she slept in his arms.
I really wanted to write this earilier but i did but now i did so yay. So Sera's wants to actually meet Raven and searches for him, she runs into a group of drunken teens who plan to rape her. she runs into the woods and trips, Raven emerges from the bushes and kills all them. He kindly brings her back to his hideout and he notices shes cold so he uses his fur to help her. Their are Hellsing referances but dont mention cuz that'll make me angery.

Can Raven really be this nice to a Vampire? Is there a Future for the No Life King?
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the search for truth in the universe,
is not a denial, but an affirmation -
that there is a mysterious 'godliness'
in the way the cosmos proceeds in
its endless evolution:

- 'bending toward justice'.

- spiritual, not religious, pervading
every atom, therefore pervading us.

- common to everything.

- connecting everyone.

- a patient faint consciousness,
in touch with all sentient awareness.

- no 'one' answer; each of us connects
in our own way... or fails to.

not having a need to believe in 'a' God,
leaves one open to have common faith
with everyone, to think of all others
as brothers and sisters.

we are all 'of' the universe.

if, there comes a time when one feels
a connection to a special religion
or concept of a God, then one may,
without dogmatically condemning others,
'decide' to accept that as one's own form
of 'truth'.

it must be done voluntarily... and
with true humility, in that one keeps
in mind that faith is a personal choice,
that there is absolutely no honest way
one can 'know' this type of 'truth'.

to 'know', is to delude oneself,
to massage one's ego.

thus, it is self delusional arrogance to
attempt to force a belief on anyone.

after decades of consideration, i conclude
that these precepts are the only truly
just and peaceful way.

evolution is a nonzero function.

there is science based logic in nonzero evolution.
my faith is in this universal bent... toward justice.

llp - jan2012 - dA
the man with the backwards baseball cap
visits the same grocery store
every thursday, buys exactly three items,
and then leaves quietly. he doesn't want
to cause any problems.

"always the same old thing", he says to
the undercover cop posing as the
lady at the check out counter - it's quite odd
for him to tell her this because he's been gone already
for over five hours and she doesn't speak
english anyway.

meanwhile, on the other side of aisle six,
a woman discovers something is very
wrong.

"this won't be the last you hear from me." she
yells defiantly into the camera. the director
yells cut, but going through the motions
has become all too natural and unfortunately
the caterer has brought only egg salad sandwiches
for lunch. they wash this down with ink from a nearby
quill and, though the timing is perfect, no one seems too
happy about it.

I can't say I blame them. But secretly, I do and,
publicly, it's all their fault anyway. It was, of course,
the fourth and final time we ever heard from the
women on the other side of the aisle. We write
her letters every week, but the man at the post
office says he won't deliver them.

"I won't deliver them", says the man at the post office.

Who is this man? Does he work here? Jim's head
swirled with questions. I, myself, had already finished
that portion of the test and had exited the room,
carrying my own books, and coughing discreetly
at intervals of two.
resubmitting this because it was very much placed in the wrong category and, also, because I rather enjoy it.

originally submitted 12/19/05


very slightly edited but
not a single word
added
or deleted
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Momma,

I couldn't fall asleep last night. As my hands wandered aimlessly over the wrinkled topography of my bed sheets, my fingers drunkenly ambled their way into the crevice at the head of my bed, and I pretended that your dream spirit was there. I took your transparent glimmer of a hand, and I whispered to you. I said, "I miss you. Although I've fallen in love with the frozen wasteland surrounding me, the familiar memory of your warmth is fading, and my first goal upon getting home will be to throw my arms around your shoulders."

I talked about how I wish I could have known you as a teenager, young and spunky and beautiful as the butterflies that flit though our backyard, the butterflies you're so very fond of. I imagine you in tattered jean overalls, a "country girl" with hair as golden as the sun-soaked wheat you'd help your father harvest every summer. You'd have two brothers, but you'd have more balls than the two of them put together and then some, and you'd work just as hard as them in raising the animals and harvesting crops on your family's homey acre (or two).
Your left knee would be torn from a recent scuttle in the pebble-littered dirt road snaking its way through the corn field up to your house—the little wood cabin in the middle of [your] everywhere—but your chapped-lip smile would stretch wider than any stone could ever tear you. And your best friends would be the butterflies that fawn over the lavender that you'd grow in a small plot beside the barn, your favorite butterflies being the monarchs that would always seem to find themselves beneath the welcome fingers of your scuffled, gentle hands…
…the monarchs, like all lives you touch, that fly effortlessly and willingly into your earth-bound,
dirty-blond, honest,
innocent
heart.



And I knew that if I didn't write all this down, I would not sleep easy. Haha.


I love you, Mommy of mine,
More than the night's shining freckles
Or his jagged, silver smile.




I'll be home soon.
Full title: "P.S. I've taken you for granted."


A real ass-kisser, ehh? Haha.
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have you, like i,
used up too many words?
has inspiration slipped away,
no verbal thrift
to gift that rainy day?

where look to find
a case to plead,
the field to harvest
hearty seed?
this is not selfishness
nor greed,
our souls require release,
crave space to play.


llp - may'10 - dA
thank you for beginning
this thought, Rosie - [leyghan]

[swapped a few words, 05-20-10]
[more edits, and retitled, 07-15-10]

:)pip
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          [Age: 5]
     Everybody's talking, but the room is quiet.
     The lights above glow with the warmth and luster of a dozen plump candles. Soft, yet radiant enough for me to see the nebulae in my father's eyes, even from so far away. There were neither props nor backgrounds, save for the children in costumes and the little STOP sign choking in my nervous grip. I had no choice. The show had begun.
     My class sat in squealing tin chairs as we took turns prancing up to the mic to say our lines, just how we remembered them. The boy in the full-body milk carton had the most lines, the proud prick. But it was after his fifth when I was the next up. I squeezed hard and tried not to trip as I stood and made my way to my five seconds of fame. Mouth before mic, I held up the sign: STOP. The world seized spinning and the air was shot dead.
     All eyes on me.
     The words trickled from my lips...
     "Wait, wait, don't forget me. I'm just as important as they are, you see."
     The words that would define the rest of my shy, lonely life, for more and ever.

          [Age: 9]
     The playfield was vast at recess. But it was Chan(my Cambodian friend) who took me to the edges of it, where we claimed forts in the forest. Sections of the woods would be all ours, and we'd mark our territory with the jelly of crushed berries that we picked from the trees. We had a rock perfect for sitting, in our main base, only accessible by crossing a log bridge that had pricker bushes below. Deeper in, down a steep incline, we had a tree reserved specifically for pissing.
     And it was weeks after playing in our one fort-- after teachers banning us from the woods multiple times, after getting cuts where Chan would then rub leaves over the wound until the pain went away, after games where we could see how many curse words I could say in a minute –that's when we knew we needed to find clubs. Strip clubs.
     And we did.
     Being the leader of the outcasts, I had set out word for my buddies to find new territory (and girls that would be our strippers).
     When they brought me into our new found grounds, my friend Tyler pointed, "Look. We can sit there, while girls take their clothes off there. It's perfect." Then Dan proceeded to fake dance like the ladies would, saying, "Look at my boobies!" and we all laughed.
     Merely minutes later, we actually went out to search for strippers, when Dan threatened to ask a girl who reminded me of a crush from the last school I'd been in. I told them don't, so they didn't, but...
     ...In class, I often found myself daydreaming of that one girl shedding all her clothes in the new club, even pulling off her socks for her bare toes to crunch the forest's dead leaves. Finger gesturing for me to come to her, where she'd then give me a lap dance and kiss me with her tongue.
     She was the first girl I ever imagined naked, and I don't even remember her name.


          [Age: 7 & 17]
     "One...Two...Three...GO!"
     And I blasted my foot off the pavement. Didn't even look back at my best friend who had started twenty yards behind, and shoeless.
     Oh I flew down the concrete hill, conscious of the broken glass I was protected from; but what about Frankie?
     I was five seconds from 'go' and had one-third of the slope covered when the wind began to whip my face; because I was giving it all I had in me; but what about Frankie?
     Halfway down and there he was by my side, and blistering even further. So I laughed because I was doing this for fun...but what about Frankie?
     It didn't really matter that he won because we had something to remember. We had a story to bring up when we met again years later. Nothing changed, except maybe we had bigger noses.
     It was our second visit in a long time, coming from the basketball court, when we decided to have another race like the hood ol' days.
     His sister counted: "Ready...Set...Go!"
     I remember running, but I don't remember racing.
     I remember escaping everyone behind us (my mother, my sister, the rest who I considered family), and above all, the past.
     I remember me and my best friend side by side, darting through the dark, into the night and the unknown of life.
     I remember never stopping, even when our shoes came to a halt on the asphalt;
     ...but what about Frankie?


          [Age: 6]
     We jumped.
     And for just..
                          a small..
                                        second...!

     We glided.

     When our feet hit the floor, we did it again.
     Up the staircase. Garbage bag in both hands. Arms lifted.
     Jump!
     It felt like discovering a new planet.
     Even better;
     It felt like discovering love is real.
     Magic is real.
     Flying..
               without..
                                 wings..

     Is real.


          [Age: 8]
     Twin girls died in a burning house. My sister was babysitting them.
     My sister, and their sister, Alicia, survived. The girls, Not-Alicia and Not-Alicia (one of whom was prescribed sleeping pills), had been put to bed in their separate rooms upstairs, on opposite ends of the house. The cat knocked over a candle. By the time my sister smelled the smoke and went to investigate the dryer, flames had covered the walls and ceiling around her. The only option in her mind, at the time, was to escape through the front door that was luckily right beside her.
     My sister pounded on the door of our aunt's house across the street.
     Firefighters came and doused the fire, but never the memory.
     They discovered the bodies of the twins in the same bed, lying on top of each other.
     Was one trying to wake the other?
     Were they frightened and holding one another?
     The house is still damaged to this day. So is Alicia's heart.
     Only a few years after the incident, Alicia's mother began to babysit my younger sister and I. I had met the twins once. And I remember thinking they would have grown to be much nicer than Alicia. She was a brat. I hated her.
     Though she was the first person who made me really think of death. It was when we were fooling around once. My sister and I threw a blanket over her head, and she screamed, but we laughed.
     "It's not funny!" she screeched, pulling at the blanket. "I can't breathe!"
     I stopped and grumpily asked why she was freaking out.
     "I could have died!"
     "No you couldn't."
     "Yes I can." She told us, "I'll suffocate and die, then my soul will float to heaven."
     Me and my sister looked at each other, the universe gaining weight on our brains. Alicia was also the first person who made me really think of heaven.
     "The blanket has holes in it." I mentioned.
     "That doesn't matter, you can still suffocate."
     I threw the blanket over myself, "Oh, I'm gonna die! Help! Somebody help!" I shook my sister's arm. Alicia screamed, but we laughed.
     "It's not funny, guys!"
     Now I wonder...Why was she so afraid of death when she had two beautiful sisters waiting for her in heaven?
     And why was I so not?



          [Age: 10]
     My father, me, and my sister had just been in a car crash.
     We sat on the curb, conveniently right at the corner of the hospital.
     My mom said she'd be there in five minutes.
     The police sprinkled salt over the gas around the glass on the pavement, glimmering like it had been the night sky we crashed into. And they called for an officer who knew spanish, to speak to the other driver.
     I held my hand out in front of me. "Daddy?" "What is it, Vin?" "Look. Why am I shaking?" "You're scared." "No I'm not."
     Five minutes went by. The driver only had a permit and was borrowing his brother's car without his permission.
     "Dad?" "Yeah." "My hand is still shaking." He chuckled, "you're scared, Vinnie." "But I'm not scared." "Your body is scared. You're in shock." No I'm not.
     Thirty minutes later,  the woman who birthed me showed up. Didn't hug us or kiss us. Said she was worried, loud enough for the police to hear. And after walking to the hospital and getting checked out, after taking photos of my purple knees that I don't remember hitting, after suing and collecting money, she took it all from us.
     The money paid for bruises, but it could never pay for a good mother.

          [Age: 8 or 9]
     "Yeah, the police? I shot a man. 'Cause the motha fucka owed me like, five dollas!"
     My uncle hung up the phone. Little had little me known he had fake dialed.
     But I was young, laughing, thinking prank calling the cops was the most brilliant thing in the world, and wondering why I'd never thought of it before.
     So I did it. Two days later...
     "Hello."
     "911, what's your emergency?"
     "A guy was shot."
     "A man was shot?"
     "Yes. He's bleeding all over the place."
     "Where did he get shot?"
     "At the gas station."
     "What gas station?"
     "...The one in town."
     "What one? Can you take a look and find out?"
     "No, just...the one right in town."
     "Where in town, son. We need to know exactly where it is so we can get this guy some help. You said a man was shot."
     "Yeah, but I don't know what gas station."
     "We can't help this man if you can't find out where it is."

          *Click*   

     I ran upstairs and into my mother's room. I laid on the floor and crawled under her bed legs first, so I could see when the police came in to get me. It was after two slow minutes of heavy thought and sudden tears when I crawled back out. I had to be brave enough to fake it better so that they wouldn't come to the house and take my father away...whyever the hell I got that idea.

     I ran downstairs.

     "911, what's your emergency?"
     "Okay I'll tell you. I know the gas station."
     "What is it?"
     "It's the one with the wolf on the sign."
     "That doesn't help. We need the name of the gas station. What's the street it's on?"
     "I don't know!" here I am in tears again.
     "We can't help this guy who's been shot if we don't know where to go, son."


          *Click*

     I was sitting on my brother's bed, watching him play Sega Genesis when my father called me downstairs. When I saw the cop I thought my father was being arrested. I grabbed his arm as the officer spoke to me, asking if I'd called 911, and squeezing his hand as I replied no, a guy wasn't shot at a gas station. And so, after yap that sounded like an annoying fly's buzzing, my father and I were free to live in our casual, unstriped clothes.
     In the end, you always learn something from your mistakes, and I realised what I had done wrong.

     ...I should have called from a payphone.



          [Age: 10]
     My elementary school had a psychiatrist.
     I visited her often.
     I imagined it was because I was a bad kid and they thought I was traumatically disturbed from domestic troubles; they'd have been right to believe so.
     Though, when I was called in, I wouldn't say a thing. She'd ask me questions. I'd be silent. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. Answer her questions? It didn't seem like what I was supposed to do. She would ask and ask. I stayed quiet. She'd begin to be silent with me.
     Then she would start asking, "What's wrong?"
     Nothing was wrong. Why was she asking what's wrong?
     "What's wrong?"
     Nothing.
     "Come on, what's the matter."
     Nothing.
     "You have to tell me. What's wrong."
     My silence rebirthed. It was no longer a stubborn, indifferent silence. But a hard-thinking, sad silence. My parts were suddenly breaking. I started to cry. I don't know why.
     "What's wrong?"
     Crying.
     "What's the matter?"
     Crying.
     "You have to tell me what's wrong."
     Cry Cry Cry.
     She'd pull me into her shoulder, a child's face drenched into her sleeve.
     I visited her often.
     I was quiet every session. I cried every other session. On her shoulder. Or her arm. Every question was an icepick chipping at my skin that never broke. That woman didn't teach me to let the bad out; that bitch taught me to let the bad hurt. But last night, the last flake of paint from off my surface was finally peeled.
     My skin is back, and I am new again.


          [Age: 11]
     "Come on, we're going to meet your father."
     She had no idea. And neither did my sister and I.
     Or maybe, deep in our chests, we did. Why else would we have packed bags of clothes?
     Mother's hands on the wheel. Would she have gripped harder if she knew?
     Us two kids in the back, watching the light pour into the van at that perfect time of day where the whole world slips into a pretty gold dress. Shadows play like hands grabbing at the hems. My thoughts grabbing at 'why's.
     We pull off the road to a small area with one coffee table and a familiar pickup truck waiting for us. We hop out. There's our daddy. He talks with our mom, who we will soon come to rather know as the woman who birthed us. Their quiet discussion turns into a silent argument, right next to us.
     Only minutes later do we hear the question we've been seemingly subconsciously waiting for our whole lives.
     "Do you guys want to come live with me?"
     "Yes!" "Yeah!" without hesitation.
     Though it wasn't a desperate, get-me-out-of-here answer.
     Our words were the sound of the trains of our lives jumping off the tracks, changing the course of our stories, for better, forever. We wanted this. And we got it.
     We put our bags in the back of the truck and piled in.
     Yes, the woman who birthed us said, No.
     And she grabbed my bag. No.
     You're staying with me. No.
     No.
     Yes, Mom. I want to do this. I want to go.
     Put his bag back.
     Put my bag back, Mom. I want to go.

     I looked into her eyes, but I can tell you, she wasn't looking into mine.
     She was looking into the eyes of her landlord.
     She was staring into the eyes of her deceased parents.
     The eyes of her friends.
     Her brother and sister.
     Her own eyes.
     God's.

     She had no one.
     And I can tell you,
     there wasn't one drop of sorrow in those fucking eyes.
full title: Mail-Order Childhood: A Lullaby

another concept collab with the absolutely lovely Kira (:iconspongexd:)
true stories.........

please read hers: [link]
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drug company ad:

take these little pills; you'll feel
better, stronger, sexier... whatever.

legal disclaimer:

if they don't destroy your kidneys,
drive you flat out of your mind,
or just outright happen to kill you.


llp - aug2012 - dA
thank you so much, corporate congress;
i enjoy tremendously being inundated
with this manipulative advertising -
since you've made it legal, and paid
back their campaign contributions by
not taxing those huge new profits.


it's a win-win, if you disregard the
disservice to your non-millionaire
fellow citizens.

see the money and jobs trickle down...

pip
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