danutcha
"Psst. Number 13."
In the hush of the room, the whisper seemed to be a shout in my ears.
My eyes snapped to my right, a clear warning to her to stop talking.
"13," she mouthed.
Sighing I scribbled the multiple choice answer on the upper left corner of my exam sheet. Cheating isn't my thing, and I can't help but feel tainted when I participate even in the slightest.
Her brow furrowed as she focused her thought energy on the elastic band 50 cm away from her.
Beads of sweat popped on her skin, and the air crackled with tension.
"Snap," she muttered under her breath.
In her mind: "Snap!!"
Eyes like daggers she threw her energy towards the elastic band, the roar in her ears drowned all sound when....
*snap*.... the elastic band tightened, released...and skid across the floor.
This word reminds me of the Incubus song: 'Drive'.
I can already hear the opening riffs and the strumming of the guitar. More importantly though, the song talks about taking your life in your hands. Choosing to be responsible or reckless.
I love brick walls that are covered in ivy, the russet colour a perfect complement for the fresh greens and browns that wrap around as it climbs for the sun.
I often climbed brick walls when I was younger, my friend stayed on the other side of the wall. Scaling up the wall was a simple pleasure of childhood that I miss during moments of reflection. It took but a few minutes to meet her. To meet a friend now takes days of texts and planning.
A blank canvas.
I could do anything I wanted! How exciting! But as I dipped my fingers into the paint, others started adding their own thoughts, words and actions on it.
Hmmm... how do I work around this now? My blank canvas was becoming limited. Do I paint, weave over the pre-painted parts or work around it?
I started out as a blank canvas, and slowly weaved in different textures, painted over past preconceptions, smeared some areas, with a mistaken blotch here and there. But also, I have beautiful etchings, and steady hands which guided when mine trembled.
*blip*
The bulb flickered on, casting a naked yellow light across the floorboards and reflecting miniature crystals as dust motes swirled around my feet.
"Its somewhere back here," I muttered as I made my way across the room, covering my nose and mouth with the back of my hand.
The bulb swayed slightly, creating and dispersing shadows as it moved.
Lock the dreams you once had, in a star spangled box.
Pick it up and feel its warmth, the possibilities and potential you once had.
Now walk to the edge of your mind, say a prayer and let it go.
The dreams you once had do not fit into the reality of what is.
Start the dreams again, this time with a clear eye and more power than before.
Sticks stack up, as his brow furrows in concentration.
I watch his tongue slowly poke out of the corner of his mouth, focus on his finger work as it slowly builds higher, defying gravity.
The sticks are of a varied hue, each an individual with nooks, furrows, smooth and rough edges. While they are separate in their features, with the right person, they come together to reach for the sky.
His smile is sudden, like a firework , bubbling from the depths and shooting across his eyes, making them sparkle.
I can't help but smile in return. He has so many ways of showing his joy, a cheeky grin as he grabs the last grape, or the slow sleepy smile that comes from the dream world into the morning sun.
writing since 2011 · 10 entries · 9 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Mama showed up.
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the words Mama reaches for
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