pss:memories amid cornfields.

pss:it's a leg story, baby just say yes.

a/n: hey guys, i'm back. obviously here to make my friend feel bad about not writing. (no, i'm not. pick up a piece of paper and a pen and write away! pun intended.)

pss:love, ironically.

a/n: sorry i've been away for so long, life is just consuming me. oh, and senioritis is too.

pss:stealin' the strawberries.

a/n: okay, finally trying my hand at something potentially more lighthearted and whatnot. we'll see how well this thingit goes.

pss:erasure.

a/n: wow, i'm sorry. i just honestly cannot write anything other than hurt slash angst slash heartbreak slash whatever. i should get better at that.

pss:right back to square one.

a/n: so this is a different sort of pss. some people send in e-mails, so i'm using one of those this time instead of the photo of the postcard.


prompt: i'm afraid that i'll lose one of the best friends that i've ever had. just because i can't say hi to him outside of school when we see each other in person.

pss:smile

a/n: sorry for being so inconsistent with the postsecret stories! some weeks it is just hard to find one that isn't too overly depressing and whatnot to write about. i can't really exactly write a story from the silly ones, although i promise i shall try. one day.
but in the meantime, enjoy the schmoop.

pss:not so between the lines.

pss:start, i don't want to live. stop, i don't want to die. (limbo)

another one.

this one i think is very applicable to teenagers--sometimes we just fall into a rut but we're too scared to take any definite action. if any of y'all need someone to talk to, please know that i am here for you.

pss:alternate title:limbo
drake wasn't sure about anything, ever. he was one of the most indecisive of people. his hair was cut strangely because he decided halfway through his haircut that no, he didn't want his hair cut like that. people don't cut him any slack for it, especially since the "people" are just every day high school students. the shirts he wears are always draped over his shoulders haphazardly--a strong wind could shake them off. he walks slowly in his tight jeans, head down and not really taking in any information. his right shoe is black, the other is orange, simply because he can't decide which pair he wants to wear. but they're both the same size, so he just puts one of each on. people make fun of him for that too.

drake doesn't have any headphones to drown out all of the outside noise. he just shuffles around, eyes staring holes in the ground, and always by himself. he never lets anyone get too close, because drake has a secret (or so he thinks): he's going to commit suicide one of these days. he doesn't want to hurt anyone, so he doesn't talk to a single soul for fear of pressing the stop button on his plans.

but drake can't really ever fully go through with his plan--he always chickens out. each night, as he stands facing his lopsided reflection in his dirty mirror, he takes the pills out of his cabinet. he's pressed the start button, and it's just such a habit. he takes out double the dose recommended (they're painkillers) and the small milky orange-red pills spill into his hand. he's about to down them all when his hand involuntarily slaps the stop button repeatedly. it's almost as if he's just spelling out a message for himself: i don't want to die, i don't want to die, i DON'T WANT TO DIE. it's cryptic and it's scary, and the little bits of death fly out of his hand onto the floor. he collapses in a tearful heap on the tiled bathroom floor to be heard by nobody. his mother has long since left his family, and his father is never home.

i don't want to live, he always says to himself. but i don't want to die, either.

pss that i want to write... someone do it?

ok, i swear this is the last post from me today. 
maybe.
i'll try? 


i want to do a pss for this, but... yeah. that'll be for tomorrow. or something. 
someone can take it if they want?

pss (postsecret story): when i make clothes for my mom, i hide secret messages in the seams.

this is because someone said on their blog that it would be fun to make stories from postsecret. so, for that person, here is my attempt.

pss:
linda was just an ordinary seamstress at an ordinary textile factory. her short brown hair was always up in a neat little bun, tucked under the hairnet that protocol ordered each worker wear. her big blue eyes had long since dulled. the only time that they really got their liveliness back was when she was making clothing. and not just any clothing, but clothing for her mother. this didn't happen often. it was only when linda was the last of the workers left in the factory for the day.the floor supervisor always left at around 3, and the women all left shortly after. if anyone walked by linda's floor, they would have just seen a single, small stout lady working diligently on a small piece of clothing.

that particular monday, linda was working on a blouse for her mother. the ladies had all left, and linda's eyes were excitedly lit up. she pulled a length of lime green cloth from the roll, humming as the fabric extended itself over her work station. eyeing the material, she drums her left hand on the table. bopbopbopbopCLANK. bopbopbopbopCLANK. the thimble voices its protest loudly as her thumb meets the table. tossing the fabric away, she rotates the cloth rack. the huge machine rumbles, turning and groaning as if trying to resist being awoken from its hour-long nap. linda quietly stops the machine, selecting a roll of lime green material. it's almost the same as the other material she had before, but this one is just perfect. she smiles and giggles, using her petite scissors to snip some material off the roll. the seamstress starts whistling now, quickly piecing together the cloth into the familiar shape of a blouse. she's so happy that she even adds some ruffles in the front. but before she sews the parts together, she takes a small piece of felt and attaches it to where the seam places itself. in her small, slanty seamstress handwriting, she writes several messages, one for each seam.

hi mom, it's linda!

the bodice goes together as the sewing machines whirs.

i really hope you like this blouse--i made it when thinking of you today at work.

the right sleeve is on now.

the ruffle is something special. i know that you love to wear clothing with ruffles, so... i know you'll like it.


the left sleeve attaches itself.

i hope that we can talk eventually...


the fancy side-to-side ruffles are on now. the sewing machine is making the squeaking sound it does when it's right about to shut off. linda wipes her brow, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth. she squints her eyes, writes a final message, and packs the blouse into a box.

i miss you. love you. -linda


as she walks out the doorway, the lights shut themselves off. her footsteps echo in the empty hallway. she pushes the huge metal door open, cringing as she hears the loud metallic screech. she places the box tenderly into the passenger seat of her car before buckling herself in. turning the key, she starts the car, switches into reverse, and pulls out of the parking lot.