pss:memories amid cornfields.

pss:dating one person simultaneously.

a/n: so, this should be interesting as i'm not good at developing characters that are different from each other.

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: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:ebay, the best revenge.

a/n: i think i'm getting progressively worse at writing these thingits. this one looked fun... mao mao.

pss:bye, freak.

a/n: my first try at an angry piece. let me know what you think.

pss:secrets.

a/n: well that title is super redundant, isn't it. i forgot to do one this sunday, so here it is. it is mucho late. 

pss:on one knee

so i really should go to bed, but not before your weekly pss makes it up! :)

pss:
it had been way too long since charlie had last seen grace. since high school, if he remembered correctly. they had spent a romantic evening after prom sitting at the boardwalk near the beach, talking about a life together. a future together. where they would both conquer their worst fears and emerge the heroes of all, triumphant over life's struggles. but when charlie had woken up that morning in his too-empty bed with no note of where grace had gone, he knew that it was the end. the end of them.

yeah, it had been way too long. he had met other women, tried to fall in love, and just fell flat on his face. maybe grace was the one. no. he shook the doubt out of his head as he stepped off the plane and into the bustling parisian airport. he glanced at the notecard in his hand before using his broken high school french to try and call a taxi to get him to where he needed to be. he knew that grace was the one for him. the taxi puttered to a stop in front of a humble looking building. the driver gestured for him to get out. as charlie clumsily stumbled out of the small yellow car, he looked wistfully at the door of the house. behind it laid his future, his happiness, his true love. he took a deep breath, walked up to the door, and knocked. a man answered it.

"bonjour?"

"hi... i'm looking for grace."

the silvery band on the man's finger didn't stop catching charlie's eye.

"grace? you mean grace, my wife?" the man replied in a thick french accent.

charlie looked around him, wondering at the strange sound of his world collapsing.

ze swimmer. ;)

to all of you who know my secrets, this one was a fun one. well... at least the title was, hahahaha. :) (you know who you are~)

i liked this story. even though ned was kinduva delusional person who crashed random people's yards to swim in their pools (i'm in your yard, swimmin' in yo' pool). also, crash their parties. i really liked how cheever didn't just give us all there was to know about ned as the story opened--the reader gradually learns more and more about the character until we can finally figure out what happened in the end. that's why i love stories! they're like mysteries and i love mysteries so much. maybe that's why i like psych and bones question mark? the ending was kinda sad too. also, i was questioning reality the more that i learned about ned OHNOINCEPTIONATTACKAHHHHHHHH and yeah. zat is all.

muse:martin.

the little post cards! they were so fun to write. i read mine aloud in class but yeah, i wanted to post it here because it was fun to write and yeah. i want to remember it question mark.

muse:
running through the woods, breathless, briars reaching with insistent hands at her clothing almost whispering, "slow down, my sweet, slow down." she screams before something trips her and makes her fall on her bad leg. the pain jerks her awake, and janet eyes the sterile white hospital room around her. her ankle throbs in rhythm with the heart monitor. sighing, she clutches her head. what got her in here? oh, right. martin.

honestly, it had started out like any other day. she woke up grumpy, ate breakfast grumpy, and went to school grumpy. all the previous night before going to bed, she had vowed that she wouldn't do anything stupid in front of him (and hopefully, this didn't count). martin had said "hi" to her from across the courtyard and janet had been so happy and enthralled that she missed the first step of the descending stairs. then the next, and the next, and suddenly she was close friends with pain and the ground. martin, being the nice guy he was, offered to drive her to the hospital. yes, this was all his fault.

muse:static hearts

muse:
the soft, piano and stringed music rolls out of my speakers. a beautiful female voice sings of how math cannot possibly compare with an infinite love, and i find myself agreeing. as her voice vaults higher and higher into the star-laden night sky, the speakers fizz, static is the accompaniment to my whispered singing for a moment. my heart races, the metallic ruby splash comes to life--but only for about a second, merely announcing The Great Coming of Nothing. my heart falls, my face darkens to match the velvet heavens. my downcast stare is met by the blank gaze of my white desk. i ponder a moment before trying to turn my attention back to my book. the words don't leap off the page like they used to. i keep trying to tell myself that i don't need you to top off my night cap, but maybe i do. the static buzz that makes my heart race echoes again, and i glance at my phone. it's...

kuh-kuh-kuh-crazy. (pov practice)

side 1:

a crashing echoes through the house. i can instantly feel adrenaline rush from the tips of my kidneys to my head and to the nails on my toes.

'nobody's home, nobody's home with me, what in the bejeezus was that?!' i think, as my fingers start to tremble.

time slows down, seconds seem like an eternity, and the clock hands seem to have cast some sort of spell as i'm glued to my chair. the rest of my cluttered room seems to go dark--the only thing i can see is the little island of light created by my small, blue desk lamp. i glance around madly, trying to find some way of defending myself. nothing.

footsteps start up the stairs, ringing as loudly in my ears as my thunderous beating heart. who knew that a stranger walking up the stairs could sound like the end of the world?

my chair continues to hold me captive, as i start breathing rapidly. as i hear the safety click into the "off" position, my racing mind finally decides to let me know that the intruder has a gun. and then my brain switches into overdrive and i can't seem to think clearly anymore. everything has a foggy haze to it.

thunder crashes outside, and i finally realize that there's a humongous storm outside. 'maybe it's not someone,' i think, slowing down a bit. 'maybe i'm still safe.'

the report of feet in the all-too-empty hallway prove me wrong. my vision snaps to different places in my room, the hairs on my arm are standing on end, my heart decides that it's going too slow and the speedometer reads a thousand miles per hour. so much for fight-or-flight, i'm about as ready to move as a brick.

a knocking on my door. my eyes jerk towards the source, and i swear they start to bug out as the knob turns. a few, wispy, long and stringy white hairs blow in from the gradually opening doorway. my heart is still keeping way over race pace, and the door continues to inch its way open. a black trenchcoat, knee high leather boots, pale hands, ghost-white hair...

"holy shit!" i scream. "you're--"

the other side. the crazier one.

the house is empty, but he can still see the vibrating of a single soul through the closed window. thunder rolls through the heavens as rain continues to pour down in a relentless stream. the moon has vanished from the skies tonight, as has his sanity. his wild, unruly, long white hair billows behind him in an animalistic manner, even though it's sopping wet. he clenches his gun tightly. life's vibration needs to be stopped in that house.

raising his weapon, he brings it down hard against the door. it splinters all too easily, announcing his entrance with a cacophony of breaking wood. he can feel fear rush through the house like a tidal wave. perfect. he steps in, his tall, black leather boots echoing on the marble tile like heartbeats. too neat, too orderly. he releases the safety on his gun and continues his seven-step climb. his wet hand has sullied the elegant white of the railing and he smiles maniacally.

"truly," he whispers crazily to himself, "disorder and chaos are beautiful."

he clomps through the empty hallway, footsteps resonating and leaving even the walls trembling. a sliver of light from under a door. he knocks (for courtesy's sake, though she's been dead to him for some time) and opens the door. light spills onto his face. he raises his weapon and takes aim, but not before, "holy shit! you're--" breaks the silence. the gun screams, and once again, all is quiet.

required reading for children of the world.

it is very nice to have this handy guide to identify certain people as being Nice Guys. it is in rant format, so be prepared! also, if you find yourself falling on the Nice Guy side of the spectrum (or are just curious as to what in the world a Nice Guy is), read this. and then improve yourself, please.
http://divalion.livejournal.com/163615.html

reflections on girl. why is there no boy? muse:human

so, girl. (SO, GURRRRRRRL.)
no, but this was an interesting story. it was from a "teacher" point of view, telling a girl how to be a girl. kinda. which was just hilarious to read because kincaid was constantly like "don't be a slut like i know you wanna be" and i'm just over here laughing my head off. 'scuse me, i'm a boy. write a story for me please? :) in other words, i liked this one.

muse:
as i stare at his retreating figure, i finally feel some trace of regret. but not much, just a sliver. the wind blows my hair, and some strands flow across my eyes. i hate it when that happens. he's finally out of sight, but i think i can still see him from my vantage point up here on this beautiful hill. this beautiful hill that i'm going to hate for the rest of my life, simply because every time i come here, it'll remind me of what happened here. who knows, later, it might make me cry or smile, but for now it makes me angry. and sad. and all sorts of other emotions, but that's for another time. but... to risk my heart and put it on the line. that's not being stupid is it? isn't it just the same as just living, just being human?

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.