Happy Birthday :D (I'M JUST QUICKLY GONNA CHUCK COMMENT RESPONSES UP HERE FIRST.
Cheers, everyone, for being so nice :) I get a little self-conscious nowadays with posting stuff, such as the vid above, so it's always a good feeling when I see positive comments from you guys like with my last post. I'm lucky to know such people. Thankyou. *a lot of hugs to everyone*
S'nice to know that you guys either related or just understood what I wrote. And most of my stuff is confusing and doesn't often make sense, soooo :P
Don't worry about missing my bday, Mar. I've missed a lot of birthdays, sorta including this one, so it all evens out :) Plus, hey- you're not just a quirky reoccurring character. You're unique and slightly quirky, yes, it's just that we don't see you around often :P I think I figured out a while ago that everyone is a main-character Mary Sue around here and even though the rule is normally 1-per-story, this blog's big enough for the lot of us.
Well now, that did not take long at all to get cheesy :S
It's awesome to hear that you guys like these songs as well. I've just been singing them every day and I taught the words to my younger sibs so they join in as well XD Midnight Crew is just so well sung and always makes me feel instantly nice listening to it.
Skyril don't you dare post that many comments again XD You're scaring me just thinking about it.
OK ALL GOOD CONTINUE READING)
I know I'm about a day late, but I hope that you had a good one :) Although, I feel as if I haven’t done you justice. I guess I just don’t know how to
write a happy-go-lucky story anymore. Four friends meet up and go visit an
author? But where’s the action? Where’s the sharp wit, the horrifying deaths,
the smoking barrels? I’m not saying I could write a story so perfectly with all
of the above criteria, no; I could only try, and know it wouldn't be right for
a birthday.
Maybe it’s time to start writing a little realistically.
Lean away from Israel and Kallista and Skyril and Raven and such. Even if
nothing ever happens in real life, maybe I should begin to start writing about
it. Like I did in Kal’s story, but I think that was a once off sort of thing. I
set myself this huge unending storyline of dreams and “ooOOoooh, is it reality
or not?” and it’s proven to be difficult and tiresome to write.
So, I do apologize :l I did try, good lord, did I try. I think it went something like:
Happy Birthday to me... She sighs inwardly and stares upwards at the utterly overcast sky. A dull yet painful throb emanates from the wound in her abdomen and she tries applying pressure with her left arm. It doesn't respond, and upon inspection she sees it's twisted at an odd angle. Are arms meant to point that way? She can't quite remember.
Tires too tired to even screech come to a halt a few feet away from her head. She closes her eyes and relies on sound for now. Thunk-clunk goes the door as someone exits. Crunch, crunch, crunch goes the footsteps of the driver as they near closer on the pavement. There's something in the way he walks that sets off distant alarm bells in her head. He walks without haste; he doesn't care about her current wounds.
Ka-click goes the semi-auto pistol as he reaches her prone form.
Happy Birthday Dear Skyril, she thinks and waits to die, Happy Birthday to me...
See? Morbid. Too morbid.
I think I'd much rather just have a joint story with maybe that starting paragraph and see where it goes from there. I'll keep it in mind.
Ah yes, and here's a short video for me to personally say happy birthday to ya.
FRIGGING HELL, BLOGGER! CAN YOU PLEASE STOP PUTTING VIDEOS IN LOW QUALITY
Ok, so it turns out that Blogger has to automatically compress vids to 240p etc. and that's why no matter how high the quality is it will always look bad. Solution? I'll just email the nice version. Dammit Blogger -.-
So Happy Birthday, Sky :)
Yeah, I got a new coat and it's ten different kinds of awesome :D
Alright, it's about time I got some shut-eye anyways. Goodnight, people. *cracks open a butterbeer and nudges the eski towards you lot* Enjoy. 1 each, and return the eski when you're done. I'll be around here somewhere, so don't you all go crazy...
Just biding time. Update post, I suppose. I found a couple nice songs because of Homestuck, but you don't have to have read/watched it to understand them. They're just nice anyways. I think I'll post them first. The first is actually a song from 1908, I'm pretty sure. It was then redone by David Ko, and used in Homestuck which is how I found it and...yeah. I love it. I can't stop singing it, even if I'm terrible at it.
Brilliant, isn't it? :) Just my kind of song. The second one isn't an official song, it's a fansong by...Phemie? Now there's a name I'd like to know more about. Kinda like 'Phoebe'? Anyways:
Also quite beautiful. And the awesome thing is, I started playing this in Art at school today and a complete random turned around and knew what it was :D Which is cool, because I only know a couple of other people at school who have watched Hs, and none of them know this song. \ Anyways. Responses to comments: ROSELLA HEY Thankyou for being awesome :D I swear to keep writing then, just cos you were so nice :P Unfortunately, no amazing stories this post. I've kinda been stuck recently and it's not a nice feeling. I think there should be...what, eleven posts left now? This is #89, so yeah, 11 more to go. Wonder how long it'll take me to post just 11 simple posts though :L OCTABOONA WHAT'S UP I did end up buying TFiOS, although I'm not sure if I told people. And yeah, it's just kinda...sitting there on my shelf...looking shy... Not today, TFiOS. Not today. Thanks for commenting, once again, and I hope you move out of house smoothly enough :) SKYRIL HOW'RE YA Could you like, not post thirty-odd comments overnight XD I can't even begin to praise you for your awesomeness, let alone come close to your commenting addiction. It was appreciated so much though. Each comment was a little nugget of nostalgic gold. I'm glad you liked the story :) I had a lot of fun writing it. Not sure when/if I'll get back to it though. A lot on my mind atm. KALLISTASISTA WHAT'S THE HAPS make sure i never say that again Thanks for the birthday wishes :D Yours is coming up pretty soon, isn't it? ;P You're growing up too fast, I swear. I will finish your bday story sooner or later, I swear! THRUST, HEY Thanks for the wishes and compliments. The characters used in the story weren't mine, actually, but I thought they were rather brilliantly created, right down to their powers and names :) DEATH ROSE, YO! Thanks for the birthday wishes :) It's ok that it got lost, I don't hold it against ya :P I guess to make up for the lack of stories or poetry in this post, I'm going to post 'something' that doesn't quite fit under story or poem. I guess more story than poem. I wrote it a few weeks ago after a frustrating day. Or during it, actually. It doesn't really matter. I wring my hands and stare at my hands and wonder if anyone else just looks at their own hands- not the fingers or knuckles, but just the back of the hand, leading up to the knuckles. Look at that thumb. Why are thumbs like that, do you reckon? Just clasp your hands as if you're arm wrestling yourself. Wouldn't you just love to sit down and draw it, instead of typing this post at 11pm? Why yes, Inner-Voice, I would. Yeah, don't worry about anything I just said, the relevance probably won't make much sense anyways. I'm sorry if the capitalization of 'You' gets annoying. Here:
You stare at it. The sheen of fogged up glass catches Your
eye and challenges You to look away. But at what else? It’s only You, Your
reflection, and the glass shower door.
The water’s there, in the back of Your mind and on the back
of Your head. It courses down and tries to prepare You for today, but it
couldn’t begin to try. Nothing that special about today; it’s just school. But
maybe that’s it. Just school is bad
enough on its own, You think, so for now there’s nothing extra to be anxious
about.
Anxious. You hate it, because that’s what You feel. The
coiling worms of anger and helplessness and worry devour Your will as easily as
the water courses down Your back. Despite hoping otherwise You know that the anxiety will not be cured
by any amount of showering or reflection-staring.
You are trapped, plain and simple. The bathroom door, the
shower door, the water, nakedness. You could not leave if You wanted to. You could not disappear or become a better
person. You could not, even if You wanted to. And You so very badly want to.
Your hands come together again without You realizing. They
clasp each other and within seconds of their embrace they wring, rigid fingers
becoming the very worms of anxiety that You are trying Your best not to think about.
They twist and wring and rotate until You have to force Yourself to stop by
pushing them against each other, battling opponents of equal force. The
standstill ends it. Large hands. Not calloused, but large and pockmarked with
the tiny pale ghosts of a hundred childhood scabs, papercuts and stupid
mistakes.
Stupid mistakes. Not many, considering. Considering what?
Well, people You know. Considering that Your life could be worse. But You know,
as with many things, that You don’t talk about those people anymore. No-one
takes You seriously about them. Rude and unsympathetic, but that’s not anyone’s
fault. After all, they’re all just People.
Friends. Right?
“I have no need of
friendship; friendship causes pain. It’s laughter and it’s loving I disdain.”
The same song loops through Your head. Alright, that’s
enough feeling sorry for Yourself. You’ll
be back, the water hisses when You sharply turn the hot and cold taps off. Your
reflection glumly returns Your stare as the glass demists without haste. You
blink. You guess the reflection did too, but You’ll never really know.
One by one, You let Yourself out of the imprisonments. The
shower door, the nakedness, the bathroom door. The anxiety’s Your Friend by
now, coaxing You back into the real world where You belong. Where You can be
hurt and where anxiety thrives.
So then You’re at school.
And You realize that You were right to be anxious.
After all that worrying while You told Your reflection that You’ll be ok, it turns out that You
actually weren’t.
Nothing went right from the word ‘Go’. And if You could ever
meet the sideliner who even announced Go
in Your life You’d like to go punch him a bit.
The anxiety was no longer Your friend by that point, it was You. Your voice cracked when You told
the teacher You were sick, and You fumbled with each of Your books as You made Your
way out of class.
And then You were here, in the sickbay. Even then, there was
no respite. No-one to pick You up or take You out of this hellhole.
So You sat and tried to get rid of that anxiety. It was
still there an hour later, but it wasn’t as strong. Just the constant questions
circling the bloody waters in Your mind- What will I do? How will I do it? What
if no-one listens? Why now, why me, why anyone?
Food break. You don’t think about the food, You just eat it.
Mechanical. Piece by piece. You don’t enjoy it. Crumbs spill onto the bed, but
it’s not Your bed, so why should You care? It’s No-one’s bed, and No-one looks
after it anyway. Plastic covered mattress smothered with cherry red sheet,
yelling at You to sleep and get better. Better luck next time, No-one’s bed. You
can’t yell me to sleep.
The break’s over. Back to sitting and thinking and waiting
to be saved.
And then You get picked up.
You go home.
You avoid.
You sleep.
You sit.
You do everything that You could possibly do except face the
problem that’s sitting there. You try to write about You but the words about You
just turn to sludge, and so You can no longer write.
You eat. Watch T.V. Try reading. Try doing homework. Try
doing something practical. Try. And Fail.
‘Ok,’ You say, giving up. ‘If that’s what it’ll take, I
guess I’ll go do it.’ Only You know what You’re talking about. You and the
coiling anxiety.
So You type up a letter with the person’s name on it. Piss
off, it says, plus a lot more.
You rewrite it, a little less ‘loud’ than before.
You cut it up into segments, compose it into a message, and
hit send.
And then it’s not You anymore, it’s Them, Their, They.
They start typing back, and apologize instantly.
How could Their mind know it?
They Completely Understand,
And You sigh
It’s done.
It’s not all over, but at least now You’ve crushed one of
those worms of anxiety under Your heel, which sends all the rest scurrying into
Your depths.
Back to the bathroom.
The shower.
And stare into the eyes of Your reflection, just a little
less glum than before.
'K. I'm off for now. Sorry to those who've sent me emails recently- I'll get around to it. You just gotta trust me.
