RedLilly
Metro. Another word for train, subway. I was once waiting for the metro. I was maybe twelve at the time. A riot broke out in the station. I remember lots of yelling and shoving and my parents and grandparents getting worried. I can't recall much else.
"Can we go live in the cave now?" I ask, wiping my eyes. That line has been a long-running joke between me and my group of friends. It's our way of saying "People suck. Let's avoid them for life." My friends start joking about how we'll furnish our rocky home away from civilization, and the crying stops.
His jacket was black and sleek, leathery. She slipped it onto herself and enjoyed its warmth and familiarity. It was his, but it was also hers.
I remember the first time I got up on stage and performed. There were plenty of other actors and actresses, but I was one of the youngest. I was part of the ensemble, but apparently I was good enough to be moved to two small roles. I sang my heart out during every song and put my all into every line. It's been a while since I was in a show, but none will ever compare to "Guys and Dolls."
Today, it rained. And all I could think of was how funny it was that it started raining as I started to cry. The rain came down harder as my crying turned to sobbing. But you comforted me. You made me feel better. We stopped fighting. You made me stop crying. Then the rain stopped. I thought it was funny. I really did. And I don't really know why I did.
My boyfriend is extremely religious, and his parents are those stereotypical "Jesus freaks." He's not as bad as them, but he's still very, very religious. I, on the other hand, am not. I believe in God, the Lord, and I believe I'm a good Christian. But I can't help but be terrified that his parents will hate the day he proposes to me just because I'm not like them.
"Officers! Officers, come quickly!" the young man shouted, dashing down the street. Rain fell steadily. It wasn't a heavy rain, just enough to fill dips in the cobblestone streets and create puddles for the worried men to stomp through. The young man led the officers to the scene of the crime where a young woman lay breathless, her dress slashed open by a blade just over her heart.
He knows. He knows how much I still love him. Both of them do. But I can't let him go. I don't care if he thinks I deserve better. I don't care that he wants me to hate him. I love him, and we all know it. There's nothing I can do about it. And I don't want to do anything about it. And he knows that. He knows how I feel.
It's five o'clock right now, actually. I'm listening to music as loud as I can. Anything to drown out my brother and sister yelling downstairs. I'm so sick of this house. All you ever hear is yelling anymore. It really sucks. The guy I love said he'd rescue me, but lately he's been distant. So I'm stuck being the oldest child in this family of five until I'm old enough to run on my own.
I had three essays this semester, and I forgot them all. I've got a "D" in the class, so I'm not failing, but I need at least a "C" to transfer. A "C!" There's no way I can possibly make up all those points. My final's tomorrow. I guess I'll have to take the class again. This is what happens when you forget due dates... Oh, well. It's my own fault.
writing since 2012 · 11 entries · 10 days shown up
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duerainyellingloveofficersyoungparentscryinghomeworkclassfivenowcarebetterhateworried