I definitely forgot word-count Wednesday?

There is so much going on, I think I'm going in a little insane trying to play catch up. I'm only playing catch up because I procrastinated too much. And I think I procrastinated too much because I'm going insane. Lately things, these things are going hand in hand. I can usual keep them both at bay, they haven't crossed paths until now.

My brain is fried. 
Sorry Bradford. 

Part 1: How to Know You're Inlove for Dummies

I saw him cry for the first time, and I swear it was the most beautiful and painful thing I had ever seen. It was like watching rainfall for the first time in months. When the rain fell, it poured, it ripped and tore apart everything in its path, it caused so much destruction in its wake that you wished it was gone, but its aftermath was just as beautiful as watching this boy cry. The mountain sides are green, the rivers and washes are filled with rushing water. There was always a sense of stillness when the rain stopped, the stillness that uncovered the rainbow hiding behind the clouds.. that sense of stillness was absent today. The worst part of it all, I took the stillness away, I made this boy cry. 

I always thought he had big brown eyes. He always hid them behind thick glasses on the account that he could not see very well without them. But since he broke them, it was like looking at a new person, but with the same Brandy coloured eyes I fell in love with from the start. Looking into his eyes were like looking into the bottom of a glass with cheap cognac. You stir the glass some, and the colour shifts. The longer you look at it and stir it feels like you're swimming in a pool it. That is how I felt staring into his eyes. This boy's eyes were the size of the moon, this boy's eyes were a familiar home for me, this boy's eyes today did not look the same. They widened and panic struck his faces hearing my sniffles. I watched his eyes fade from brown to black as quick as a blink of the eye. The sparkle he had in them whenever he looked at me was gone. Tears swelled up in his eyes, he tried to blink them away instead they spilled from the corner of his eyes. "How many reasons do I have to cry?"

His voice broke mid-sentence, it was low and stern, the same voice he uses whenever I'm having a meltdown, but he couldn't keep his composure all the way through. My own voice was gone, it had disappeared somewhere into the bottom of my stomach. The words were at the very tip of my tongue but no matter how hard I tried, they wouldn't come out. "No reason." I thought to myself. He couldn't hear what was going on in my head... so why weren't words coming out of my mouth? My natural instinct was to hide underneath a blanket somewhere and cry until I couldn't breath anymore. But what good would two people doing the same thing do? None. The best thing I could do is hide my face into the crook of his neck and hope that this would muffle some of the tears from my eyes. I breathed heavily into his neck, his scent filled my nose. He smelled like stale Newports, and expense cologne - as much as I hated the smell of cigarettes, I loved the smell of his. He waited as long as I needed for me to say something. A minute went by in completely silence. I only heard our quiet sniffles. 

"None." I managed to get out. He heard my voice and quickly scooped his hands around my face and lift mine to his. I felt so disgusted with myself. His cheeks were damp with tears, around his eyes were already beginning to show a little pink. I had never seen a boy cry. It was a lot different than watching a girl cry. They cried in silence, always alone. This was a rare moment I'd have to remember. I scanned his face in silence for a moment, admiring every inch my eyes would take in before another tear would fall. 

"My girlfriend doesn't cry because she's strong like me." His thumb grazed my cheek back and forth, wiping away the tears as they came. I nodded my head slowly and lifted my hand to wipe away the tears from my face. I wiped my nose with my sleeve. "I know..." I said, my voice trailing off into a oblivion. He said he would always know if I was crying. "How do you know? I could just say it's allergies?" I asked with a little smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. His puts his hand over his heart and says, "I can feel it here when you're sad." I did not want to ask how that felt. I could only imagine how that felt. 

* * *

These are going to be like short excerpts I guess??? That would be the best way I can describe it. It'll be like a 10 part installment of "How to Know You're Inlove for Dummies". Stay tuned. 😅 

Experiment #4 - "Mad House"

The only time I remember being this scared was when I was little and I thought I lost my mother in the fairgrounds at an amusement park. She left me  outside the womens' restroom while she went inside to clean up. It was one of those days where it was so hot it felt like you were swimming through the heat to get anywhere; it was still a beautiful day. The sun was shinning, and it touch every part of the park. There was a light breeze that washed over our skin as the sun melted away at our energy to be outside. We kept going though, my mother wanted me to have a good time. I guess I had wandered off to far when my mother had gone into the bathroom. I was five... maybe six, I wanted to explore that is all I knew. Everything above me felt like it was in a different universe, and so far away. These giants walking around me with their strollers and massive purses were so much... bigger than me. None of their faces looked familiar. I lost my mother. She was no where to be found. I was so scared, I began to cry. Tears ran down my face quietly as I tried to retrace my steps back to the bathroom but I could not remember. "I passed by that, and that, and that... mommy...?" 

I felt that same rush of fear in this moment as I opened my eyes to more black. This last thing I remember hearing with a soft clicking noise coming from the corner of my bedroom where I last was. Tick-tick-tick, it stopped, tick-tick-tick, tick-tick-  I slowly slipped into a deep sleep. I woke up in a black room. The stench of rotting flesh filled my nostrils. I could only imagine where that smeEvery corner and crack was sealed so no light would come through. I don't even think there's any windows in here. I moved my head slowly... it hurt so much. My muscles were working so hard for nothing since I knew everywhere I tried looking would be met with more black.. and more black.. black, black, black. I felt blood fill my mouth as I opened my mouth to yell for help. I coughed, and spat out some blood next to me. I tried lifting my head from the floor but couldn't, my body felt so heavy it dropped down to the floor with a heavy thud. I couldn't move and I didn't know why. I tried sliding my arm underneath me to push myself up. Every time I tried my arm....

(W.I.P)

Not My President (my first attempt at slam poetry?)

A Cheeto in a suit and a toupee to match.
A man that is too small to fit his big suit.
A man with no obligation to his country.
A man who speaks for those who fill his pockets.
Not those people who fill the polls.
Green spills from this man's veins.
Red.
White.
Blue.
Those colours bleed from the immigrants at the wall.
The colours that his country was founded on.

(W.I.P)

I know politics is a touchy subject to really talk about. We are still forming our ideas since this is the first time most of us were allowed to vote in the polls. The year I was finally able to vote when I came of age I was left with two choices... both I wasn't entirely thrilled about.

Word-count Wednesday

What am I working on? 

Nothing. I miss writing. If a put a notebook in front of me and start to write I get this feeling of nostalgia but it isn't the same heart warming feeling I would get early in my life. I'm hoping this class would spark that interest in writing I had. Hopefully this little assignments of "experiments" and writing prompts would force me to start sitting down with some good ole fashion pen and paper and start writing! I'm leaving a lot of my faith in your assignments Wade, don't let me down. 

How do I feel about the process? 

I have a lot of respect for this specific process. I really appreciate people who dedicate their time for classes like this. Creative Writing is not something that is taught to somebody if you ask me. It's something you have and you want to perfect. I have that skill I'm just hoping to fine tune it. 

What am I reading now? 

I found a comic book behind the mall by the dumpsters. It's a pretty thick comic book with beautiful illustrations. "From Hell" was written by Alan Moore and illustrated by Eddie Campbell. I have yet to start it... it's just sitting on my desk under some text books... eventually going to be opened. Otherwise I'm reading through some classmates' blog.