The Song/Poem/Writing Thread

[Emergency32]

Ok here is a story I wrote. It doesn't have a title yet. I hope you guys like it.

 

A man woke up from a deep sleep. He feels his head; it’s throbbing, like if someone kicked him. He hears a scream from inside the forest. He jumps up in fear. He calls out, “Who’s there?” No answer. Another scream, it sounds like a little girl. The man runs in the direction of the screaming. He yells out, “Where are you?” The man runs faster and faster. Tree branches scratch his face but it doesn’t seem to bother him.

 

The screaming gets louder and louder as he runs towards it. “I’m coming”, the man screams. Almost out of breath, he is determined to find the little girl. He comes to a place where the trees are surrounding a patch of grass. A little girl stands in the middle of green grass. He walks up to her, she seems to be crying. Her face buried in her hands. “Are you ok”, he asked, “Are you alone?”

 

“Why did you have to leave me”, the girls asked him. “What does she mean”, the man questioned himself. “Do you know who I am” he asked. “Of course I know you, you are my father,” she said looking up at him with tears in her eyes. The man could not believe it, she was his little Mandy.

 

He went to hug her but she turned away. “Why did you leave me,” she asked again. “What do you mean, I’m right here,” he said trying to comfort her. “No! You left me and mommy,” she yelled. “If I’m gone then where did I go,” he asked. She told him, “Mommy said you’re with God.” Mandy walked toward the trees and then she was gone.

 

“What did she mean I’m with God,” he asked himself. Then he remembered his throbbing head. He touched the back of his head, and then brought his hand to his eyes. There was blood on it. Everything was clear to him now. He was shot in the head by a man robbing a mini mart. He sat there crying in his blood filled hands. He remembered kissing his wife before he left the house that morning. He remembered Mandy’s smile, oh how it always brightened his day.

 

He was laughing now, thinking about all the great memories he had with his family. He was glad he had the chance to say goodbye to his baby girl. He stood up and looked to the sky. “I’m ready to be with you now,” he said to God.

 

I love this!!!

[Guest haunted_dreams55]

^Thank you!! I love your songs too!!

[Emergency32]

You're welcome!

Yay!!! thank you!!

[Guest haunted_dreams55]

Your welcome too!!! haha

[Rogue Ninja]

I have a lot of stuff written since the last time I was here. I guess I'll post it little by little.

 

Francisco had always had trouble with stairs. It didn’t happen every time he tried to climb them, but in the days when he least expected it, he would misstep and fall. If he was holding the handrail, he could catch himself stumbling and getting away with only looking stupid, but on the off-chance his hands were occupied elsewhere, he’d take a fall.

 

He had been lucky so far. In his few weeks going up and down the seven flights of stairs in Maple Residence hall, he was yet to fall. He supposed he was paying extra attention to his footing because he was always walking with Garret and Jimmy. The last thing he wanted to do was to give Jim another excuse to take shots at him.

 

It so happened that Paco was now so confident in climbing stairs that he had taken to climbing them backwards. Not downstairs of course—that would have been just asking for bodily harm—but upstairs. It was easy enough. With one hand on the handrail for insurance, he could feel each new step with the back of his foot then step up onto it. He didn’t do it on his own, because then he’s just look ridiculous, but did it only when Garret was forcing him into conversation. He would be a few steps ahead of Garret, and when Garret spoke, Francisco would turn around and answer him, all the while climbing up the stairs backwards.

 

It was, of course, when he was fully convinced of his mastery of stair climbing that Paco finally fell. He was in the process of telling Garret how dead-wrong he was about some one or another meaningless issue when he misstepped and fell right into a sitting position. He stood up quickly before Garret could say anything and before it even registered that it had hurt, and continued up the stairs and with the conversation as if nothing had happened. Though it showed in Garret’s face that he wanted to ask if he was all right, Francisco didn’t give him the chance, and Garret finally just accepted that he was. It was a while before Paco took the stairs backwards again.

[SmithRawks]

Was depressed when i wrote this one

 

Words wont make this any better

Trying to explain is a waste of time

You can never understand

How i really feel inside

Unless you take a walk in my shoes

And good luck if you do

Cause the soles are gone

And every pebble feels like a knife

Cutting through to bone

Eventually you'll get used to the pain

Like i did

But thats not the half of it

Wake up every morning

Hating the world

Knowing the one person that keeps you sane

Will never feel the same about you

Thinking f**k this

But pushing through

The pain of the pebbles

Stuck in my shoes.

 

And this is one that i made fun of people being so scene and stuff:

 

The note passed from his hand to hers

They were madly in love

With the scene they were a part of

Perfect because they were the same

Meant to be for eternity

 

Two weeks later...

 

The note thrust from his hand to hers

They had nothing but hate

For the people they were

Alone because they were the same

Torn apart by the love of their scene

[Rogue Ninja]

Paquito leaned his head back against the wall as he tried to calm himself where he sat on the floor. He shouldn’t be afraid, he told himself. He shouldn’t be afraid. Afraid of being caught, maybe, but not of what he was going to do. When he was as calm as he figured he’d get, he slouched forward so he would have a good view of the thing he was holding: a simple kitchen knife. Looking at it got Paquito’s heart rate up again, and he had trouble keeping his breathing steady. He had to get control of himself. He had to do this.

 

“It’s in your blood,” his father told him. “You can’t get away from it. From me. I’m in your blood.”

 

Paquito held the knife tightly, squeezing it as if he was worried it would get scared, too, and run off. He needed it. Needed it to get out the bad blood.

 

He wasn’t going to bleed it all out, he assured himself. Just some of it. Half of it. The half that was his father’s. He would get his father out of him. He would finally get away. Body shaking, he pressed the knife against his exposed wrist, just like the people in the movies, then he paused. The rest of his blood, the blood that would be left once his father’s had poured out, it would be his mother’s. He didn’t want that, either. He’d have to bleed it all.

 

With a cry of despair he flung the knife across the room. He couldn’t bleed it all. He wasn’t brave enough. He brought his knees up to his chest and gripped them tightly, crying into the fabric of his faded jeans. His father was right; he couldn’t get away.

[conspiracy]

Today I found that folded up piece of newspaper

the one we drew on with a pink hiliter

in the corner of a Carls Jr.

Today I found those drawings we drew

had washed away, like anything else between me and you

but the article remained the same.

Ironic that I was distant but in the end, you pushed me away.

And today I sucked up my luck in a vacuum

in the form of a scroll from a fortune cookie months ago

I sucked up my pride and I wrote this song about you.

Despite the fact I tell my friends that I'm so over you.

[Ive seen love die_]

Paquito leaned his head back against the wall as he tried to calm himself where he sat on the floor. He shouldn’t be afraid, he told himself. He shouldn’t be afraid. Afraid of being caught, maybe, but not of what he was going to do. When he was as calm as he figured he’d get, he slouched forward so he would have a good view of the thing he was holding: a simple kitchen knife. Looking at it got Paquito’s heart rate up again, and he had trouble keeping his breathing steady. He had to get control of himself. He had to do this.

 

“It’s in your blood,” his father told him. “You can’t get away from it. From me. I’m in your blood.”

 

Paquito held the knife tightly, squeezing it as if he was worried it would get scared, too, and run off. He needed it. Needed it to get out the bad blood.

 

He wasn’t going to bleed it all out, he assured himself. Just some of it. Half of it. The half that was his father’s. He would get his father out of him. He would finally get away. Body shaking, he pressed the knife against his exposed wrist, just like the people in the movies, then he paused. The rest of his blood, the blood that would be left once his father’s had poured out, it would be his mother’s. He didn’t want that, either. He’d have to bleed it all.

 

With a cry of despair he flung the knife across the room. He couldn’t bleed it all. He wasn’t brave enough. He brought his knees up to his chest and gripped them tightly, crying into the fabric of his faded jeans. His father was right; he couldn’t get away.

 

Whoaaa...that was awesome and really deep. :] I loved it.

[Ive seen love die_]

I wrote this last year...looking back it can use some work, but eh...found it on my hard drive at school so here it goes.

 

A ball of fire erupted in the east.

A lone boat sat in the water, solitary. The man is small, old and graying, and he pulls up an empty fishing pole, re-bating it before dropping it into the darkened depths again.

The water is black and still, as if hushed by the wonders of the fleeting night skies mixed with the crimson beginnings of a new day. The man was there long before the sky exploded; long before the horizon erupted in flames.

There were no fish today.

He wasn’t dismayed by this lack of fish, though. He would keep on fishing. The chill of the night air was slowly dying; his breath was crystallized less and less as the shadowed sky wore on. Pulling the fishing line up again, he checked. He re-bated his line with fresh fish and dropped it, never losing hope.

He had been waiting all night for this, for the end of the world. He rowed out at the birth of the twilight, guided by the glow of the stars. One by one they appeared, engulfing the shadows. They came slowly, each claiming their place among their comrades. The man would often stop and watch as new ones came, greeting the world with a warmly glow. Together they held up the sky.

The moon did not appear until last, bathing the world in a silver blanket. Now, among the stars, the night sky was truly complete, a picturesque brilliance in this upended world. The man found peace here, peace where his graying hair mingled playfully with the silver bath of the moon, turning back time. Turning back to the days when he would row out along the smooth waters, with her beside him. She was always radiant, always as beautiful as the petals of a cherry blossom tree. He remembered it vividly. Her fragrant smell, her daisy dress. She had her bangs pulled back in a bow that night, her brunette hair blowing slightly with the soft wind. They had watched the night sky become one with the world that night, their knuckles interlocked. He had shown her how to bait a hook, and even though she found it repulsive she did it anyway. She wasn’t afraid. There was always an intensity in her eyes, something that kept him going and made him feel alive.

He could never forget that about her, above all else. Her beautiful blue eyes. Much like the sky on a day when clouds looked like white, fluffy marshmallows, her eyes held brilliance. He was alive in those eyes, every time she glanced his way he found one more reason to live. He could always hold on for one more day.

And now here he was. He was small, old and graying, his hair playing with the silver moon. There were no fish tonight, but he didn’t mind. He would keep fishing. He had no reason not to. He would see her today.

Today was the end of the world.

Her blue eyes would shine for him again; all he needed to do was wait. Just a little longer, just a little longer.

A ball of fire erupted in the east.

The horizon was on fire, spreading rapidly, coming closer to his lone boat. He remembered that night, the night when they sat, fingers interlocked.

“The sky…it looks like it is bleeding.” She had said.

And so he would wait, just a little longer.

[Rogue Ninja]

I wrote this last year...looking back it can use some work, but eh...found it on my hard drive at school so here it goes.

 

A ball of fire erupted in the east.

A lone boat sat in the water, solitary. The man is small, old and graying, and he pulls up an empty fishing pole, re-bating it before dropping it into the darkened depths again.

The water is black and still, as if hushed by the wonders of the fleeting night skies mixed with the crimson beginnings of a new day. The man was there long before the sky exploded; long before the horizon erupted in flames.

There were no fish today.

He wasn’t dismayed by this lack of fish, though. He would keep on fishing. The chill of the night air was slowly dying; his breath was crystallized less and less as the shadowed sky wore on. Pulling the fishing line up again, he checked. He re-bated his line with fresh fish and dropped it, never losing hope.

He had been waiting all night for this, for the end of the world. He rowed out at the birth of the twilight, guided by the glow of the stars. One by one they appeared, engulfing the shadows. They came slowly, each claiming their place among their comrades. The man would often stop and watch as new ones came, greeting the world with a warmly glow. Together they held up the sky.

The moon did not appear until last, bathing the world in a silver blanket. Now, among the stars, the night sky was truly complete, a picturesque brilliance in this upended world. The man found peace here, peace where his graying hair mingled playfully with the silver bath of the moon, turning back time. Turning back to the days when he would row out along the smooth waters, with her beside him. She was always radiant, always as beautiful as the petals of a cherry blossom tree. He remembered it vividly. Her fragrant smell, her daisy dress. She had her bangs pulled back in a bow that night, her brunette hair blowing slightly with the soft wind. They had watched the night sky become one with the world that night, their knuckles interlocked. He had shown her how to bait a hook, and even though she found it repulsive she did it anyway. She wasn’t afraid. There was always an intensity in her eyes, something that kept him going and made him feel alive.

He could never forget that about her, above all else. Her beautiful blue eyes. Much like the sky on a day when clouds looked like white, fluffy marshmallows, her eyes held brilliance. He was alive in those eyes, every time she glanced his way he found one more reason to live. He could always hold on for one more day.

And now here he was. He was small, old and graying, his hair playing with the silver moon. There were no fish tonight, but he didn’t mind. He would keep fishing. He had no reason not to. He would see her today.

Today was the end of the world.

Her blue eyes would shine for him again; all he needed to do was wait. Just a little longer, just a little longer.

A ball of fire erupted in the east.

The horizon was on fire, spreading rapidly, coming closer to his lone boat. He remembered that night, the night when they sat, fingers interlocked.

“The sky…it looks like it is bleeding.” She had said.

And so he would wait, just a little longer.

 

That was beautiful. The imagry and word choice were amazing. The only problem was that you changed tenses a few times. Other than that, absolutley stunning.

 

I'm glad you liked my piece. He's such a sad kid, and I want people to connect with him.

[Rogue Ninja]

I don’t watch scary movies anymore. I like to be able to sleep at night. I like being able to get up in the middle of the night if I need to use the restroom. I like being able to stay home alone without jumping at every sound, shadow, or movement out of the corner of my eye. I like not being afraid.

 

It’s not that scary movies are actually scary. It’s all cheap tricks: loud noises and frantic camera moves. Scary movies aren’t really scary, but some of the images are. The creepy children, the ghostly apparitions, the masked murderers. I don’t think they’re sneaking around my house, but just seeing the images in my head is enough to put me on edge.

 

You’d think someone like me wouldn’t be afraid of something like that. You’d think that I’d be immune to it, since I know what’s really worthy of fear. Failure. Tomorrow. The man asleep in the other room, bottle within reach. And worse than even that, becoming that man. I already have enough to be afraid of, and that’s why I don’t watch scary movies anymore.

[Ive seen love die_]

That was beautiful. The imagry and word choice were amazing. The only problem was that you changed tenses a few times. Other than that, absolutley stunning.

 

I'm glad you liked my piece. He's such a sad kid, and I want people to connect with him.

 

Aww, well thank you. :] And yeah, my grammar isn't exactly the best, I have trouble realizing that I am doing it because often I will just write how I talk. I usually just start writing and don't stop and don't pay attention. Thanks for the constructive criticism and praise. :]

 

Oh yeah, I really liked it. So true in so many cases. And you really were able to capture his character well. Do you bring him back in any other stories, or was he just for that one short part?

[Rogue Ninja]

I write about him a lot. He's actually the speaker in the last thing I posted. I dont' write from his point of view very often. I jump around when writing about him. Sometimes he'll be a kid and soemtime's he'll be in college. I rarely write about him in high school for some reason.

[Ive seen love die_]

Wow that's really interesting that you jump him around like that. Pretty neat. :] I have characters I create that I like but somehow end up dropping somewhere along the line. I like your character, keep him. :] Haha.

[Rogue Ninja]

I'm glad you like him. I love my characters. Here's another piece.

 

It was his grandfather Arturo who first called him Paco, or rather at first, Paquito. No one in his family called him by his full name, his mother instead calling him hijo, son, and his father calling him every Spanish word for boy. Niño. Muchacho. Chavalo. His grandfather could have followed the trend and called him nieto, but he wanted his grandson to be addressed in a way that allowed him a personality and a place outside of his role in the family.

 

Arturo felt that the name Francisco was too harsh for such a small boy and opted instead to call him Paquito. It was just as long in terms of syllables, but was much less severe. As the child grew, Arturo decided, the suffix meaning "little" would be dropped, and he’d cease to be Paquito the boy and become Paco the man. Arturo hoped to God that Paco would be a good man. That his failure with his own son would not result in his son’s failure with his grandson.

 

So far it seemed that Arturo had little to worry about. Paco had done well in high school and was now attending a fairly prestigious private university on a full-ride scholarship. He had a decent job which he worked whenever he was home, and more importantly than that, he had dreams, goals, and plans for the future.

 

Still, despite how well he was doing for himself, the young man was not happy, and Arturo could see that. Every since he was very young, Paquito had borne a sadness in his eyes that he tried to hide with weak smiles. He hid it better now, with angry looks instead of attempts at happy ones, but Arturo knew it was still there. He wished he could do something to take it away, but it was not in his power, or even in his son’s. It was in Paco himself.

[Ive seen love die_]

Ahhh a background piece. :] Gives him a lot of depth. I like it.

[Rogue Ninja]

Thank you. Here's a bit about him in college. It's kind of rambly.

 

Click click clack went Garret’s keyboard as Francisco lay on his bunk, and somewhere outside there were sirens. Out in the hall giddy Caucasian girls with loud, high-pitched voices talked about some boy who lived on the third floor. There was no way their voices were just that loud. They had to be a few doors down from each other, too lazy to move closer, yet with enough energy to raise their voices in both volume and pitch. There was a steady beeping sound as Jimmy pressed buttons on his cell phone, sending a text message. Every once in a while he’d cough. Damn smoker. Former smoker, Francisco should have been able to say, since Jimmy was supposed to have quit before school even started, but there was no way that guy had quit. Not completely. Just like the floor was never completely quiet, not even now, at two AM on a Wednesday night.

 

He supposed he could complain. Tell Garret to get the hell off his computer, and tell Jimmy that whatever slut-faced whore he was texting could wait until the sun was up. No, he couldn’t do that. He was usually the one on the computer while Garret was looking for silence, and for all Francisco knew, Jimmy could be texting his basketball coach. The sirens had already passed, so maybe if he could just get the white girls to quiet down, he could sleep. No, he couldn’t do that either. The room was dark and the hallway bright, so stepping out, he’d be squinting like a kid in the back of the class. He was wearing his “fag boxers,” too. The rainbow heart ones that were on sale for a buck at the student store and that Jimmy constantly made fun of. No shirt, either, and he wasn’t quite sure where his hat was. He usually wasn’t one to care about how he looked or what people thought of him, but these girls were shouting down the hall at each other about that boy on the third floor, who had apparently dropped a thong when he was carrying his laundry. He didn’t need the topic of their conversation to ever be that creepy Mexican guy who doesn’t talk to people but tells them off at two in the morning wearing nothing but gay-man underwear, and what the hell was up with those scars on his chest?

 

Francisco turned onto his stomach and groaned into his pillow. It was going to be a very short night, and tomorrow was going to be a very long day.

[Ive seen love die_]

I really like that too. Scars on his chest? Totally interested now. I like this character a lot! :]

[Ive seen love die_]

I wrote this last year from the point of view of an Autistic child. A lot of the elements of his character deal with Autism, so don't think he's cold hearted or ignorant or something. Lack of emotion and naiivety is a common thing found in Autistic children.

Blank

My Mommy said I should write a story one day.

But my Mommy is dead, so I don’t really have to listen to her anymore.

I live with lynn now. They say I should call her mommy, but I don’t really like calling her that. I already have a mommy, and I call her Mommy, even though she’s dead, and simple laws of science tell us that we can only have one biological Real Mommy, so I can’t have another one just because my Real Mommy is dead. Why don’t they understand that? It just doesn’t make any sense.

When I was at Mommy’s funeral, she was in a brown coffin in a pretty black dress. She looked very nice. I don’t understand why they buried her in the ground. She doesn’t like the cold, and when I looked into the big dirt hole it looked cold. I told them this and asked if they could put her somewhere warmer, but they just cried and hugged me and told me that I was just confused and that one day I would understand. I don’t like it when people hug me, and that didn’t answer my question.

Mommy used to hug me all the time. She was the only person who I let hug me, so when she died all these people were trying to hug me and I would get mad and push them off and start listing all of Jupiter’s moons in order from largest to smallest, and then in alphabetical order, and in alphabetical order they look like this: Adrastea, Amalthea, Ananke, Callisto, Carme, Elara, Europa, Ganymede, Himalia, Io, Leda, Lysithea, Metis, Pasiphae, Sinope and Thebe. That makes me feel better when I don’t like what is going on. Then they said to each other that I needed time and that with time I will feel better, but I don’t understand what that means, because I was just fine then as long as they didn’t touch me.

I couldn’t think of a title, so I am just going to leave it as blank. I am writing this because even though Mommy is dead, and I don’t really have to listen to her anymore, I like to write and maybe now they will read this and know that I don’t like to be hugged and they will stop trying to make me call lynn Mommy and stop making me talk to mr. phillips, who is old and has a weird accent with a big white mustache and big white bushy eyebrows and makes me say why I am sad that Mommy is dead. But I am not sad that Mommy is dead, I am only sad that they put her in a cold place. I told them she didn’t like that, but they didn’t listen.

Also, they said that Mommy was in heaven, and that god is with her. I said I have never seen god, and that how can he exist if I can’t see him? They said I shouldn’t say such things, and that god was watching, and they said he’s invisible but is always with us and is taking care of Mommy. That just can’t be true, because what is real that cannot be seen?

So now they are making me live with lynn, but I don’t like her. She doesn’t know that I don’t eat anything green, because that is the color of my green math textbook, and I don’t like math at all. So she makes me eat green things, like vegetables, which I don’t like whether they are green or not. But she doesn’t listen to me, and when I get mad and start talking about the planet’s rotation around the sun, she gets angry and says I have to behave better and that I won’t grow up big and strong if I don’t eat my vegetables. Well, I eat meat, like chicken and cow, because Mommy used to make me mini hot dogs, and I loved them, and I get protein from meat so that is healthy. And I happen to know that many of the vitamins in vegetables are found in other foods, so I asked lynn if I could just eat those. She said that I should stop being such a smart ass. That’s what she said. And then she sent me to my room without dinner. Mommy never did that to me, and I don’t like cursing.

My daddy used to curse. He also used to hit Mommy, and I know that that is not a very nice thing to do. So when lynn curses, it makes me scared and I feel like going in a corner like I did when daddy would come home and start hitting Mommy. I always wanted to help Mommy, but Mommy said that I was never to come out of my hiding spot when daddy was around, so because she was alive back then so I could listen to her, I did what she said. Sometimes he would find me and hurt me, and I cried because I didn’t like it, and I would start yelling the diameter of all the planets, in order from largest to smallest. That would only make him angrier, and he would hit me more. One day Mommy took me and I left that house. She said I was safe now and that daddy would never find us again. That was the first time I ever saw Mommy cry, and she was beautiful.

Mommy and I were happy for a long time after that. We were gone for two years and 94 days before daddy came back. Mommy and I were eating dinner, and it was mini hot dogs because I loved those. And she would shoot them like a rocket ship into the ketchup, and then fly them into my mouth, and I didn’t care that I was 11 years old, I still thought it was funny. But daddy came in through the front door, screaming and yelling and smelling like he did all the time, all sour and like alcohol. Now, I know it’s illegal to come into somebody’s house without their permission, and I wanted Mommy to call the police, because daddy was trespassing, and I knew that because I saw it on a show called Law and Order once. So I was going to tell her to call them, but I didn’t even get a chance, because daddy pulled out a gun and shot Mommy in the forehead. I ran and hid and he was too drunk to find me, and so he left. I hid for a long time, until I was sure he was gone because that is what Mommy always told me to do. So when I was sure he was gone, I came out and saw Mommy and saw that she had a lot of blood on her. She used to say that whenever you see an emergency, you call 911. So I did that and said that daddy shot my Mommy to the lady on the phone and they came and took Mommy away, and I got to ride in a police car which was fun.

The next time I saw Mommy she was in a coffin, and I only saw her because I opened it up a little at the funeral and saw the hole where the bullet had hit her. Then someone came and grabbed me and said I didn’t need to see that, and then the crying started again and they hugged me, and I got mad again. It’s not very nice that I never got to say goodbye to my Mommy, because it is always polite to say goodbye to someone when they are going away.

So Mommy is in the cold place now, which I don’t like, but they didn’t listen to me so I guess there is nothing I can do. And I live with lynn, who makes me eat green things like my math textbook is and she curses, so I don’t like her. They don’t know where daddy is, but the police said they will keep looking. I know they might find him one day, because he will get drunk and do something stupid and get himself caught. He was always getting arrested, so this time should be no different. They always catch the bad guy on Law and Order.

I have to go to church now every Sunday, because lynn makes me. But I don’t like going to church, because I know that god is fake and that it’s all brainwashing and jesus could never have turned water into wine, because that is physically impossible, unless maybe if you’re a Chemistry genius. A regular guy can’t do that, and I know jesus isn’t a Chemistry genius, so religion is a lie. Every time I go to church, I tell lynn that, but she just yells some more and maybe calls me a stupid child or an ignorant ass or something. But I know god isn’t real, because they are always saying that god helps those who help themselves, and I know my Mommy was the best person in the world.

Then how come she is dead?

[Rogue Ninja]

I've never read anything with a point of view like that. It pretty much broke my heart.

 

The thing about astronomy was interesting. Something for him to hold on to, I guess. I really don't know a lot about autism.

[Rogue Ninja]

Some things in life you can always count on. There were many things that Francisco could count on, and none of them were good. His father would always get drunk, his mother would never come home, and Mexico would always be dusty. It was unreal, that dust. Ever since Francisco could remember, he and his grandfather had made the trip down to Mexico each summer to stay with his grandfather's nephew. He had thought it through once, and determined what relation he himself held with Rojelio Jimenez, but he had promptly forgotten it. What he did remember was the dust. Every morning Rojelio's wife would sweep the kitchen. It took her hours, and yet there never seemed to be any less. It blew in through the windows, crept in under the doors, clung to your clothes when you walked outside and fell to the stone floor when you walked in. It was in your hair, on your skin, in your lungs. It was one of the many things Francisco hated about Mexico. One of the many things that left him longing to return to his home in the States. However, as soon as he was back home, he always found himself wishing for Mexico, because as long as Mexico remained dusty, his father would always get drunk and his mother would never come home.

 

 

 

Note: Not all parts of Mexico are the same. It's just his experience that Mexico sucks. I personlly had a blast at San Felipe when I was... four. Just depends on where you go, and on what you like. So no offense meant.

[Ive seen love die_]

I've never read anything with a point of view like that. It pretty much broke my heart.

 

The thing about astronomy was interesting. Something for him to hold on to, I guess. I really don't know a lot about autism.

 

My little cousin has Autism, and I plan on going into a field where I can work with children like that.

 

Yeah it's very sad. Because they don't understand a lot of what goes on around them, they sometimes seem "cold hearted" but they're really not. They have trouble piecing together a whole picture, and really just look at it as a bunch of seperate pieces, causing them a lot of trouble in understanding completely a situation, such as his mothers death.

 

The reason he also seems to not believe in God and stuff is because Autistic children take things quite literally, like everything must be based on factual evidence and it's hard for them to have an imagination.

 

Autistic children oftentime will pick a topic that really interestes them and learn EVERYTHING about it. I mean down the littlest detail. A lot of times they start repeating facts out loud to anyone who will listen, or sometimes just to themselves, like what the little boy in my story does.

 

You'll also see that he does not like vegetables because his math textbook is green and so were the vegetables, and he doesn't like math. I've seen my cousin react negatively to objects/events/etc that remind him of something he does not enjoy.

 

So yeah...there's more but that's all that comes off the top of my head. The child is actually very complex. :]

[conspiracy]

I wrote this in text messages to myself on the trolley

there's no point.

haha

 

 

I watch my hand form a fist in the relection of the trolley window.

I hope it whispers I am strong, and not to bother me.

There's an empty pepsi sitting next to me, a young girl across.

When she gets off, I'll take her seat.

My ears are lonely, besides the repetitious hissing of a neon sign -

I forgot my headphones.

The buzzing atoms read "Orange Line"

My face reads "alone"

 

We can't break free until we destroy our own bars.

Mine are my avoidant eyes -

ignoring new faces for the same passing buildings and parked cars.

 

Another stranger takes the opposite seat.

He smiles and says "Hi" to me.

I can't recall how I replied.

I swear I'm friendly, but I'm nervous and tired.

I have my feet up next to him.

As the trolley continues down the tracks

It shakes and his leg touches my calf.

It gets awkward, and he starts tapping his knee.

I change my footing on the orange seat.

He looks at his phone and mutters "Shit"

An invitation for conversation is a miss, not a hit.

His stop arrives.

[Carla]

its pretty good!