Splash

I've never been friends with someone who's dying before.

It feels weird, and very unsure, like when you're testing the temperature of water in a lake or pond to see what it's like, but you know in the back of your mind that you'll end up jumping no matter what the temperature is. It'll be really cold at first, almost shocking. But you'll get used to it, and keep swimming for a while. Still, there will always be that voice in the back of your head telling you it's still really cold, and the odd time it will win over. You'll get out, and jump right back in again to do it all over again.

I'm still testing the water, not willing to believe the cold and shocking truth: my friend is going to die.

Daren Bello is going to die. He's only 18 years old--but he's going to die.

I don't really understand how it happened; the kid was always really healthy. He's been on the town's swim team for as long as anyone can remember, and he's a damn good diver too. He had this crazy dream to go to the Olympics, which earned him the nickname, 'little Phelps'. We used to joke around about it and tease him about his big dream, even though we all knew that he could at least qualify.

Dammit. I wipe a stray, salty tear from my worried eyes as I try and focus on the road.

"Save the crying for later." I say to myself, "Can't see the road with water in your eyes."

Ten minutes later I'm at the hospital, sitting in the parking lot.

This is all so unreal.

My best friend, my confidant and companion since the day we could communicate, is leaving and never coming back.

I'm walking through the front doors of the hospital now, hands in my pockets and staring straight ahead, not really focused on anything in particular. Normally I would be taken aback by the size and beauty of a building like the several-stories-high-hospital--but not today.

I walk like a dark zombie towards the receptionist and say in a bleak, defeated voice, "Daren Bello please" the lady nods and gives me his room number, handing me a sanitary mask, gloves and shoes while doing so. They're probably the newest--and cleanest--pieces of clothing on me as I slowly make my way to Daren's room.

My heart flutters nervously as I begin to realise that this may be the last time I ever see my dear friend. What am I supposed to say? How do you say goodbye forever?

I'm preparing to jump into the water.

I could tell him I'm sorry, and start blaming things like the government and poverty, probably shouldn't do that with guards around though.

I feel a wetness on my cheek and reach up to realise that I've drenched my sanitary mask with tears. The reality of the situation is really starting to hit me: I'm in the middle of my first jump into the icy cold water, somewhere in mid-air probably. I can see Daren's room from here, and I'm hit by a sudden wave of anger and questions.

Why did we have to be born here? Why do we live in poverty? Why is there third world countries like this one? This small, stupid country of Liberia. If it wasn't for this country, Daren wouldn't have malaria, and he probably wouldn't die from it either.

Splash.

Beauty and the Disney

Once upon a time I was a perfectly happy feminine member of the royal family of some royal and perfect kingdom somewhere, living in a beautiful castle in a beautiful kingdom. I had this amazing ability to communicate and make harmony with animals--which, I might add, no one ever questioned--and my beastial friends led me to the most handsome and dreamy man in the land.

He was perfect, and ten times better looking than any other man around--literally. Seeing as I am a woman and my only ambition in life is to marry a handsome man/prince/pauper-soon-to-become-prince, I set out to marry him...despite the fact that I had never even made eye contact with him.

We met the next day by me disguising myself as a lowly peasant, and fell in love immediately.

The next DAY we were about to be married, when this really mean and evil person decided that it would be the perfect moment to hatch their evil plan to take over the kingdom. My new love was apparently an amazing swordsman, and after about ten to twenty minutes of swordplay, he triumphed with a great huzzah and boasting of his chest.

The nasty evil person was immediately sent to prison--rather than be executed realistically--but he(for women are rarely evil) will probably escape someday so that we can have a sequel and make more money despite the fact that the sequel will be twice as bad as the original.

But, for now, we'll all(me, my prince, the animals, and my aging weak father) just live happily ever after--right after I get a boob-job so that my prince will appreciate me more.

The End

Solitude

Wrote this at 2 this morning...couldn't sleep cuz I had this idea...then if just kind of flowed out onto the paper :P. Enjoy.
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Humans are indeed remarkable.

Some days all we long for is companionship, to be able to love and be loved, to communicate and to be known.

Other days we're not so sure what we want, we know we want something...but what? We cannot begin to elaborate on what it is, and neither can we give the slightest hint to its description...because we simply don't know.

And on those rare days, we simply want to be alone. Away from distractions, away from enjoyments, away from friends, and away from family.

Alone.

It was on the latter of these three types of days that I found myself perched in a massive and grotesquely knotted old oak tree which looked out onto the peaceful and flowing hayfields of my grandparent's farm. I was fourteen years old, and had recently been denied the love of my first crush.

Her name was Alexia, and she was barely a year above me in age. She always hung out with the older kids, which made it harder for me to spend time with her, so I suppose I didn't know her as well as I would have liked. One thing I did know was her beauty--and what a beauty it was indeed. She had beautiful jet-black hair, which flowed across her smooth-skinned face and down to her back. Every time she glanced my way, I caught a heavenly glimpse of her stunning grey-green eyes, and her pale red lips.

I still don't understand how any of my peers could have ever disagreed with me. Some even tried to discourage me by saying things such as, "She's out of your league" or, "She's too popular dude". These phrases of course meant nothing to me at the time, but later on I would learn to take them as a challenge.

As I sat in that beautiful oak tree overlooking that beautiful field in that beautiful moment of solitude on that beautifully peaceful day, I began to tell myself that one rejection wasn't enough. Hell, five-hundred rejections wouldn't be enough to deter me: I loved this girl and I wasn't about to let her stop me from having her. I looked out into the field once more and considered the irony of my last thought.

I then considered the quiet solitude I was enjoying so much. I imagined what it would be like with Alexia there...probably not so quiet, and probably not so peaceful either. She would gab on and on about trivial matters while I rested myself in one of the many crooks of the old oak tree, watching the sunset and not having a care in the world.

So I sat and watched the sunset from the old oak in the old field owned by my old grandparents, and still do so every day of my life. Lately I am almost always joined by a special guest: a beautiful woman by the name of Jade. She is quiet, like myself, and we often sit arm in arm watching the glorious sunset, enjoying the wonderful feeling of solitude--together.


(deleted paragraph?...wasn't sure whether or not to add this part)
For as I said, humans are remarkable and do not always know what they want: solitude or companionship. On these most troublesome of days we tend to make the best of both worlds, and simply combine the two. Slightly ironic, wouldn't you think?

Half hour

A half hour gone. A half hour away. A half hour leaving me to sit some more. A half hour of thinking. A half hour of contemplating. A half hour of wondering and wishing. A half hour of listening. A half hour of talking. A half hour of going insane.
I sit and I think and I wonder and I contemplate. I sit up and slouch down and even turn around. I moan, I groan, I rack my brain. So many questions but only one answer, am I really going insane?
I thought I knew the answer, thought I knew it well. I figured this would be a breeze, but it turned out to be a near living hell. This desk is so bland and boring. Nothing but a sheet of paper and a raw chewed up pencil. Wait a minute, somethings missing! O yea, the eraser fell on the floor last time I moved.
Should I pick it up? Nah, what's there to erase? I haven't written much. A few scribbles here and there, nothing I need to touch.
I glance around the eerily quiet room with a tired sigh. A voice says, 'Shut up!' and I do my best to comply.
As turn to face the horrible paper again my eyes catch the old grandfather clock. Another half hour before the horrible song.
I'm tired and bored; what am I doing this for? I stand up to walk away. It's not that simple.
'What are you doing?'
'I'll be on my way.'
'Sit down! I think you'll find it best to stay.'
The voice is commanding and intimidating some how.
So I sit. And continue to look around.
It's all one color, this grotesque little room. A stark white, with nothing on the walls or ceiling. Look up, look down, look all around, nothing but the color of snow.
The few others in the room slowly begin to move. They stand and slump towards a certain corner of the ugly space. One, two, three, and four...there aren't anymore.
Save for me; the fifth; the odd one out. Left sitting here to pout.
'Can I leave?'
'Oh no. Stay till your finished, then it will be time to go.'
What an odd person.
I finally see them now, the source of the voice. With frizzled Grey hair and a large poofy mustache. Their eyebrows are really thick too...kind of scary...like someone who would go boo.
They're staring at me intently. Why not? I'm the only one in the room.
What do they want me to do? Oh right, the paper, woohoo.
I glance back at the clock, about a quarter to. Fifteen more minutes, before the awful thing goes coo.
You'd almost think I'm crazy, not knowing where I am, but I start to wonder how I got here, and where my story began. Why am I afraid of the clock, or this creepy old man? I stand up once again.
'SIT DOWN!'
Oh right, that's why.
But how'd this start? Where did my story begin? Furthermore, how did it lead here, to this place where I can't win?
I look back at the paper, covered in scribbles, but just that, no letters. Or maybe they are, I just am unable to read.
My heart starts to beat; what happened to me? Am I really going crazy, or perhaps just insane?
I try to make out the words, but I try in vain: I'm stuck in this room, unable to leave. I can't finish the paper, because I can't read. Maybe I can write, but turns out I can't even draw.
The man just keeps staring, boring through me like a drill. I'm a piece of dumb wood, stuck in wood hell. I look around once more, at the clock I so dread. One more minute, and then I'll be dead.
How do I know? What makes me so sure? If I know not how I came here, how do I know where I go?
Something is telling me. It's that man in the corner. He must be controlling me, having some kind of order.
I stand up again. This time with valor. That man wants to kill me, and he's been waiting half an hour.
But as I get up, he makes a move too. The clock has now struck, and the crowd is yelling boo.
There's a crowd? Come from where?
'No where really, they're suddenly...just there.' says the man
'How do you know?'
'I just do' he replies
'Fair enough I suppose.'
We're both standing now, with weapons in hand. I've a sharp pencil, and he a hot brand.
He won't try to kill me, he'll make me his own. Some kind of slave I guess, depressed and alone. I lunge and he moves, swinging at me with a fist full of rage.
He seemed so calm a moment ago, but now a new person all his own.
I trip and I fall, but I don't hit the ground. I just keep going through nothing. No sights, and no sound.
It's all white you see, the walls, and the floor, and the ceiling above me.
But were they ever even there? Who knows? I don't care.
I look back up to see the man there, far away with his desk and his chair.
He's still holding his iron, looking down upon me. What world am I in, that fills me with such glee?
I have not a care as I continue to float--for that's what it is. There is no air rushing past me and no ground to hit. I'll stay here forever I suppose, alone but free. Better than being held in captivity.
How did I know he would take me a slave? Perhaps he was helping me, or trying to be brave.
I'll never know though, because he is long gone. I'll just float here forever, looking on and on.
Someday I may meet another, one as fortunate as me. To have left the cruel world and come soaring through the breeze.
But until then I'll just float, forever and ever, here in my happy boat.

***

'Jimmy? Jimmy! WAKE UP JIMMY! That's better. Have you finished your test yet? No? What were you doing all this time? Day dreaming? You'll just have to finish it tomorrow then. We only have a half hour class though so you'll have to be quick. See you tomorrow. What do I think of slavery? It's wrong and it's illegal, now be on your way. No I don't have a branding iron! What's wrong with you child? Are you going insane?'

'I think I am.'

So much little time

Drip, Drip, Drip. The old tap continues to cry out for attention from the other side of the room. I’ve had the plumber in several times to fix it. Apparently I should have hired a different plumber.

Drip, Drip, Drip. Jesus that’s annoying. Suppose I’ll call the plumber again…maybe a different one this time.

Drop, Drip, Drip. What’s that? A different noise? Wow. I must be really bored if I can tell the difference between the various noises drops of water make.

Drip, Drop, Drip, Drip. Almost sounds like morse code. As if the tap is trying to talk to me. I laugh. What a ridiculous thought.

Drop, Drop, Drop…Drip. Seriously? I really need to call the plumber. The phone’s all the way over at the counter though. God I’m lazy.

Drop, Drop, Drop…Drop. I wonder if that actually says anything in morse code? There might be a translator online somewhere. The computer’s even farther than the phone. Who cares? This is actually important.

Drop, Drop…Drip, Drip. Let’s see…google…morse code…translator. Here it is. Now how do I substitute dripping water for an electronic noise? This is stupid. I’m just paranoid.

Drip, Drip…Drop,Drip. I guess it’s still worth a try. I’ll just put all the drops of water in as dots, and any pauses as, ‘stops’. There.

Drip, Drip, Drip…Drop. Nothing. I knew it. But maybe if I make drips be dots and drops be dashes. It probably won’t be anything though. Still…

Drop, Drop…Drip, Drop. Hello John. Must just be coincidence. My name isn’t John; it’s James. I’ll try once more and then I’ll know for sure it’s nothing.

Drip…Drip, Drop, Drip. Sorry? Why would the tap apologize? It didn’t do anything to me. This is crazy.

Drip, Drop, Drip…Drop. Sorry what? Finish your sentence you stupid piece of metal! Listen to me! I’m talking to a tap!

Drop, Drop, Drop……Drip. Sorry James. How do you know my name? That’s right. I said it earlier. No I didn’t. It was in my head. Just like everything else right now. This is all just happening in my head.

Drop, Drip…Drop, Drop, Drop. No. No what? Do you ever finish you sentences? Maybe I’ll fix this thing myself.

Drip, Drip…Drop. No it. That’s not a complete sentence! Of course it’s not…the sink isn’t actually talking, it’s just coincidence.

Drip, Drip, Drip……Drop, Drip. No it’s not. What’s not? Did I even ask you a question in the first place? Where is my wrench?

Drop, Drip, Drip…Drip, Drop, Drip. Drawer. What about the drawer? I have several which one are you talking about?

Drip, Drop…Drip, Drop, Drop. I heard you the first time! You want me to look through my drawers? Fine! You see? I’m searching my drawers! Are you happy?

Drip…Drip, Drop, Drip. Stop saying that! God what do you want me to find?

Oh. A wrench.

Yes, a wrench. Use it. Fix me. This leak is driving me crazy.

It’s driving YOU crazy? I’ve been on a computer translating your stupid little leaks for the past twenty minutes because I thought you were talking to me in morse code.

Yea, I guess that’s pretty crazy.

I know.

Since when do sinks talk right?

Yea…hey!

What?

STOP IT! I am crazy! Sinks don’t talk! You’re a figment of my imagination! Leave me alone!

How can I be a figment of your imagination? I’ve been here longer than you. You use me every day to clean your dishes and such.

But I don’t carry on conversations with you!

Well now you do.

No, no, no, stop it! Go away PLEASE!

Okay.

What? Hello? Where did you go? So you’re gone just like that? Well jeez…this is boring.

Drop, Drop, Drip…Drop, Drop, Drop…Drop, Drop, Drop…Drop, Drip, Drip…Drop, Drip, Drip, Drip…Drop, Drip, Drop, Drop…Drip.

Yea, see you later.

The Porcelain Doll

They first met in a grocery store.

He was buying onions, she was buying asparagus. He first noticed her when she knocked a whole row of asparagus on the floor. He chucked and went to help her clean them up. His pant leg caught on the shelf of onions, and he found himself with a similar dilemma to that of the woman across the isle.

She let out a muffled giggle, and he gave a sheepish smile.

The vegetables rolled across the floor and scrambled together. They tried to carefully sort the onion from the greens, but ended up grabbing armfuls of both and hastily trying to shove them back on their respectable shelves before someone noticed.

They failed.

First it was a young teenage employee of the run-down grocery store. He thought about telling the manager, but decided he was too lazy.

Next it was an old lady who lived down the street. She scolded the young man and woman but forgot about the event several minutes later.

After that a dedicated employee who had been working at the store for nearly 20 years witnessed the chaos in section 1C, isle 13.4. She stormed towards the now-laughing couple and promptly informed them that they would now have to purchase every damaged item, and were never allowed in the facility again.

"What am I going to do with fifty plus onions?" he asked

"What am I going to do with so much asparagus?" she replied

They glanced back at the several employees pushing a number of full grocery carts across the parking lot in their direction.

"Let's have a feast." He said as he watched the employees slowly make their way towards them.

"Excuse me?"

"We'll cook onions and asparagus in every way conceivable, and then some."

"Um....okay....but I'm going to need you address and phone number so we can arrange a date for this, 'feast'".

The meal was set for a Tuesday night at four o' clock PM. She arrived exactly eight minutes late, and they began cooking immediately.

They deep-fried, sauteed, marinated, baked, seasoned, grilled, fried, boiled, and steamed for several hours, and at last with great satisfaction placed the last onion into a boiling pot of water.

"Now," he said, "we get to eat it all."

She laughed.

They kept in touch for the next year and quickly became close friends. On a friday of the next year they went to a local baseball game together. After several minutes of laughing and talking while they absent-mindedly watched the game he asked if this counted as a date.

She said yes.

Most would call them an odd couple: He was an artist and she was a businesswoman. He had a condo and she lived in an apartment building. He had a sports cards collection and she fancied porcelain and china dolls. She drove a brand new sports car and he drove what some would call a piece of junk while others would say it was an antique. She was energetic and active, he was down to earth and somewhat active.
Nonetheless, they fell in love and on their first, 'official' date he made her a porcelain doll. It wore a beautiful smile on its face and was wearing a lovely satin red dress. In its hands was placed a slab of porcelain with the phrase, 'love never fails' inscribed upon it.

She loved it.

They continued to see each other for almost another year, spending almost every moment they could together. She supported his artistry, and convinced the company she worked for to invest in his work.

He made her sculptures and paintings, and dedicated his car to her after he transformed it into an impression of the goddess of love: Aphrodite. They were happy together, and he came up with a grand scheme to ask her to marry him.

He planned a trip to Paris with money that he had been saving since before he met her. They were going to climb the Eiffel tower, and he would make sure it was timed so that when they reached the top the sun would be setting. Then he would ask her.
















And then she left him.
















They were at her apartment, arguing about something. It was late. She was angry at him, and he didn't know why. She told him to leave and come back in the morning so she could sort out her thoughts.

He went home and tried to sleep, but couldn't get his mind off of the argument. He was confused.

"What did I do?" kept running through his head.

He left the next morning in a hurry, and didn't think twice about eating breakfast.
When he arrived at her apartment, she was hesitant to let him in. They sat in silence for nearly half an hour, when he finally asked her what was wrong.

She told him she needed to move on, and that she couldn't see a future for them. She said she was sorry, and that it was fun while it lasted.

He said nothing, and stormed out the door. He slammed the thing shut so hard that several of her dolls fell off their shelves and shattered on the floor. She burst into tears as she began cleaning up the shards: The first doll he had ever made for her was one that had fallen. It was barely recognizable, save for the porcelain slab containing the phrase, "Love never fails". It was almost completely intact but for one chip which quite resembled a messy pile of asparagus and onions.

The elevator seemed to take forever in reaching the main floor. The satisfying, 'ding' finally came and the doors slid open. He walked quickly through the main lobby, his eyes misty with tears. He snaked through a small crowd of people and through the front doors of the fancy apartment building. He didn't bother to look before crossing the street: it wasn't usually busy. He didn't even hear the blaring horn of the oncoming bus, and barely felt the impact as he was thrown into the air by the fast moving vehicle. He felt cool air rushing through his hair, and opened his eyes one last time to see the ground moving towards him at an alarming rate.

Damn.

First Impressions

Dedicated to Mark Butler
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A first impression is a horrible thing.

It is almost always wrong, and can often cause one to miss out on some of the greatest experiences of their life.

Kind of like that new guy on the bus. He moved into your small town from Toronto halfway through the semester because his parents were helping him quit the numerous drugs he was on. For the first few days he's on the bus all he does is talk about how different small town life is than in the city. He seems like a typical inner city drugee: spaced out, weird, thinks too much about life, etc. He always wears the same thing: black jeans, a plaid jacket, and a toque...even in the middle of summer. He's seventeen and he doesn't even have is G1 license. Your first impression is not a good one.

During his ranting about the city, he tells stories about all these different undergournd metal bands he used to play guitar for. One of them got kinda big. They even did the circuit tour of Toronto. They were thinking about trying to sign for a record deal, but then the drummer--a girl--quit because she broke up with the lead singer. Through casual talking, you tell him you play the drums. He asks if you want to jam.

The panic alarms begin to sound in your head: 'This guy is weird and kind of a loser, I don't want him coming to my house.' you make something up: "Can't man; family thing tonight." he buys it.

A few das later, he asks again. Suddenly you have a test to study for. Another time it's your only night to relax that week.

It's amazing what kind of excuses one can come up with on the spot.

Eventually you run out of ideas and a date to jam is set. He will arrive at seven on Tuesday, and you have to introduce him to your parents. What will they think of you if this is supposed to be one of your friends?

Seven o' clock Tuesday rolls around and the guy shows up ten minutes late. You've warned your parents about his weirdness so that they don't think any less of you.

After a quick hello you head to the basement for what turns out to be an amazing jam. If this guy has any talent it's guitar. He picks and sweeps and strums so fast and so well that there is almost no need for you to do anything.

More jams follow, and it becomes a weekly thing. This guy isn't completely as bad as he seemed the first time you met him. Still, the first impression stays: he does still spend lunch at the smoker's pit with the, 'tough', dirty, and poor crowd. And he does still wear the same clothes all the time.

A year passes, and not much changes. However it does seem that he always has his, 'meaning of life' chats with you whenever you need it most. The other night you had a three hour phone conversation about God. The day before he talked about how much drugs had screwed him over in life. It changed your mind about the party.

Today he told you he planned on going shopping over the weekend because he's absolutely sick of wearing the same thing every day. He's also getting out of the, 'star program' and being reinserted into the academic learning system. On top of all that, he quit everything, including smoking and drinking, for good. Finally, after three years.

The Monday after said weekend this new kid gets on the bus. He's wearing a brand new purple and white ecko sweater with snazzy blue jeans and a bright white toque. It appears he just got his haircut. He laughs at your open mouth stare: "I told you I was changing man." He says as he sits in his usual seat--across from you, "I'm just sick of living this stupid, no-brainer crap life. I need to do something with myself."

More time goes by.

Today you had a semi-serious argument with your girlfriend at school. It ended on a bad note, and millions of angry thoughts are racing through your head as you sit quietly on the bus ride home.

One of the drugees who the Toronto kid used to hang out with is sitting with him now, and they appear to be having a heated discussion. The drugee's stop comes first, and when he gets off the Toronto kid comes and sits with you.

"What was that all about?" you ask

"He's mad because I quit his band."

"Why'd you quit?"

"I told you man, I'm changing: starting over, gettin' a clean slate and all that jazz. Everyone in that band leads the lifestyle I just left. I can't hang out with them anymore. It's just not who I am."

"Oh."

"Yeah, and we were also talking about our opinions of life."

You roll your eyes: of course that's what they were talking about: "He seems to think that the only way to be happy in life is if you depend on no one and are the strongest. Basically survival of the fittest."

Here we go again, a lecture about life. You look out the window to see how much further your stop is.

"I totally disagree though. I think that happiness in life is found through, well," he pauses for a second, trying to find words: "you love your girlfriend right? I mean you guys have been together for like 3 years or some shit like that right?" he's waiting for a reply.

"Yea...of course I love her." suddenly the angry thoughts in your head stop.

"Yea, I mean you'd take a bullet for cuz she's the reason you wake up every morning right?"

"Yea...yea she is." you're starting to realize that where to go for a date is kind of a stupid thing to argue about.

"And I mean nothing would make you more happy--literally nothing--than to wake up every morning lying next to her and look into her eyes and tell her you love her right?"

"Right." You have an apologetic phone call to make when you get home.

"And whenever she says the same thing to you, or when she gives you a kiss on the cheek or whatever man that means the world to you doesn't it? That amazing feeling of having someone you can love and hold just makes your day right?"

"Yea."

"And whenever you're with her you're happy right? Like even if you're having a bad day just seeing her lightens your mood right?"

"Definitely." What were you even mad at her for?

"Yea that's what I was trying to tell that guy man: happiness isn't about dominating and being the toughest and strongest around. Happiness is about finding that special someone who makes you feel like no one else can feel man. I honestly envy you two and I'm sure that like a whole bunch of other people in the school do to because you guys have somethin special, especially for high school man I've never seen a couple that's so happy in my life before."

"Thanks man."

"Yea no problem. you see what I'm sayin though, right?"

"Yea man I definitely see what you're gettin at."

"Ok cool. Anyway that's my rant for the day." He laughs, "Hey man you free to jam tonight? Since I don't have a band anymore we'll be able to jam more often."

"Yea man for sure, what time do you think you'll be over?"

A first impression is a horrible thing.