blueberrykissa
I stood awkwardly craning my neck over my best friends shoulder. "Give it back!" My arms flailed around her torso, trying to take back the phone she had stolen from me. She cackled and began typing.
"OMG I am ttly in luv w/u, jsyk!" She enunciated each letter before hitting send to the cute boy in my calculus class. I shrieked.
Revenge is a bitch.
I live upstairs. It's weird, because I can hear the garage door. Every time someone needs to leave or come home, I can hear the low rumble of the door opening, and the floor shakes ever-so-slightly; almost like the house is trying to tell me that my loved ones are leaving.
The beaten road stood before me, a long entryway into the city I knew I was destined to be in. I'd spent so much time, so much effort, and so many tears on this dream. I knew I had to get there, so I'd packed up my bags, wrote a note to my parents and kissed my sister on the forehead, turning out the lights as I left and praying the jingling of my keys as I locked the front door didn't wake anyone. That night seemed so far away now, a distant memory in what felt like years, even though it had only been weeks. I ached to know how my family was doing, to have seen their faces when they woke up to find their little girl's bed empty. But I knew there was nothing left in the small town for me. Everything I wanted was here, just up this beaten road. I knew I had to get there.
I just completed a Very Potter Sequel.
It made me wish I was half as talented as the writers of the show are.
It's right there. Everytime I pass it I have to touch it, in some way. One day it's a brush of the shoulder. A brush of the hand. Sometimes, when I have the time, I'll just lean against it, without worrying what others think. It doesn't really matter, does it? It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, all that matters is the small heart carved into the tree, our initials with a + sign between them, reminding me forever of you, the only thing you left with me on this earth, you bastard.
It didn't take very long. The bleach came right out of the box in a little bottle, along with some gloves and various other things I'd never seen before. My mother put on the gloves before mixing the dye. She looked at me.
"You sure?" she asked critically. I could only nod. This was my one chance to stand out in my little town where for once in my life, being smart meant being stuck up. Being talented meant being a show off. Being a girl meant being weak. Being white meant being a minority.
I closed my eyes and felt the first squirt of the magic goo on my head.
I was ready to be blonde.
One two three One two three
The time is simple. A 3/4 to make the lives of the dancers simpler. The musicians though, we're the ones who have to suffer. We sit in the back of the stage as the dancers have all eyes on them, have all the fun. They don't understand what it's like to be the force behind the art. Without us, they wouldn't know what to do, there'd be no beat to keep going, keep dancing, one two three.
Oh how I loathe the waltz.