Friends are are like a wonderful sweet nectar that sometimes in spring are sweet but when time comes they become bitter and inedible. They are there like a cloud in the sky so peaceful and calm but sometimes rain down on you with their harsh words. They are like lemonade on a hot summer day but are also like the brain freeze that follows. They are like angels but are devils at times. They are like glue always sticking to you but are also like water slipping away from you. They are like water to your to a plant and your fire. They are like grass to a giraffe but are also lions at times. They are like the snow that softly covers your branches protecting you from the cold winter. They are a blessing but also a burden. They are the ones who cherish, respect, and support you through good times and bad. They are the ones that tell you that you are never alone. They are the ones that help you grow stronger to endure the hard journey of your life.To be alone is to be cursed. Friends are life. You cannot live without them. Remember that.
‘Chapter One : I had fought the dragon and won.’
Benjamin Murray lay on his side, the side that hurt less, holding his breath as long as he could before the piss attacked his nostrils. 13 seconds, and he went again.
84 years later, one manuscript and one wasted life. Well, almost.
Where were they, his beautiful seeds? Kurt, Leo and Virginia… just fictional characters. Shit.
Ahh, immortality. Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! He coughed up more blood.
What was this for? Any of it? This hellhole, loneliness, this shit he called writing…
No. No! He tried escaping, but the piss had won again. He looked up at the wall. Little monkeys swinging on their branches, smiling. Taunting. What a stupid wallpaper. Benjamin Murray; father of three, writer… wallpaper guardian. All he was.
But then came the grin. He struggled up on his knees and climbed on the deflating mattress, smooth slab of charcoal in grasp. His jaundiced nails peeled down the wallpaper.
Maybe the landlord would love him. Maybe he wouldn’t.
He pushed the coal into the wall, and started scribbling his novel, grinning like a maniac.
‘Chapter One : I had fought the dragon and won.’
the gold that shines around a winner's neck.
it means more than a trip to the podium,
or the payback of a winning goal or run.
it's the fruit of four hard years of work,
four years of sweat and blood;
driven by a determined recovery,
or the disappointment of a silver medal,
or even a missed chance at the podium.
it's also the result of pushing themselves beyond their limits,
practicing new tricks and finding their edges,
controlling the blades on slippery ice,
or forcing that last burst of speed in their legs,
propelling themselves through pain and anguish.
it's another aftermath of fortifying their minds to never leave the track,
to score, to take risks, to stay solid, to be aggressive, to expect-- that the outcome will reach beyond their hopes.
Flashing colors
Red, blue, and green.
My body vibrates violently
Everywhere it goes.
The voices in my head
They won't stop
Haunting me.
My head
Throbbing in pain
From thinking too much.
Is there a way
To get out of the mess
I've gotten into?
Is there a way
To stop all this from happening
In the first place?
Is there a way
Any way
To erase my existence?
I just want to
Close my eyes
And fall.
And so I did.
They gave me only 8 minutes.
The doctor gave me only 8 minutes.
8 minutes to think about how I ended up in this place.
8 minutes to look at my mother’s beautifully stained eyes instead of the fluorescent lights.
8 minutes to look at my father’s sincerely sad smile instead of the IV attached to my arm.
8 minutes to listen to them weep delicately instead of the hostile heart monitor.
8 minutes to hold them tight instead of the crumpled bed sheets.
8 minutes to tell them it truly is going to be okay.
8 minutes to tell them I am finally ready.
The doctor gave me only 8 minutes.
8 minutes to say goodbye.
I live in a house made of Legos. I built it all by myself. I made it to protect myself from all the nasty remarks that have been hurled at me. I created this home to shield my heart from the hell outside my plastic door. Whenever someone insults my hair or makes fun of my voice, the walls of my Lego shack grow taller. Every time you threaten me or say to go die, my sanctuary grows darker and the colors start to fade, being replaced with new ones. Don't be deluded by the glossy facade, for the interior is anything but. The walls develop new layers every time I find your merciless notes shoved in my locker or crammed into my school bag. My den may look silly, but for me it's my shelter from your storm. The polished bricks are closing in on me but at this point I could not care less. It just means I'll have more of a barrier. My Lego layout is my safe haven, and no one will penetrate its walls.
My chest tightens, and I suddenly become aware of my entire existence. Am I sitting normally? Do I have something on my face? I try to casually adjust my unruly hair, suddenly hating my morning self for not combing it.
“T-thanks.” I finally muster, taking my dropped pencil back. Jeez, even my voice is unsteady. She smiles, and I find myself practically melting. Is that weird? I’m being weird.
“See you next hour, then,” she tells me. I can feel my entire face turning red as I nod. There’s no way she doesn’t notice.
She leaves to join her friends, and I immediately bury my burning face in my arms.
I must be crazy.
Şakir and Alton were waiting for Suzana.
“She’s late. That’s not like her,” commented Alton.
“Maybe we should go help,” commented Şakir.
Let’s,” said Alton. “But remember who we’re up against. Mastermind drug dealers and their associates. We never know what they’ll do next.”
Across town, Suzana and her driver, Quinton, were chasing the drug dealers. “We’re catching up,” said Suzana.
“Uh oh,” said Quinton.
Smash! Crash! The cars collided. Suzana jumped out. She saw drug dealers running away. Just then, a black Mercedes pulled up.
“Hop in,” said Şakir and Alton. “We’re on a chase.” Their car quickly caught up.
“Hands up,” said Quinton.
“I’m Hugo, and I do what I want,” retorted Hugo.
“You might as well turn yourselves in,” said Suzana.
“No,” said Hugo firmly. “You’ll never get us.”
Suzana and Alton barely saw Hugo push a button.
“Duck,” screamed Suzana, as she and Alton dove down. Suddenly, an explosion rocked the earth. When Suzana and Alton got up, they saw four bodies lying on the ground. Alton said, “This will be a sad report .”
“Yes,” agreed Suzana. “Very sad.”
The Voices
These are the voices. The ones you that whisper in your ear.
First, is joy.
Then there is cheer.
One that makes you sad.
Another that makes you mad.
One for pleasure.
Another for those jitters that are beyond measure.
One for trust.
A second for lust.
One for anticipation.
One for all these expectations.
One is a voice of betrayal.
One is a voice for those not-so-good days, an act of portrayal.
One is for compassion.
Another is for when our faces start to ashen.
One for kindness.
Another for society’s blindness.
We all hear them,
So why do we all fear them?
One summer day, a flock of sheep was grazing happily in fresh pasture. The bright sun gave the grass a delicious, bitter-sweet taste. “This is sweeter than the sweetest grass,” thought a lamb, upon finding a tender patch of clover. When the sun began to set, the lamb did not notice her flock returning to the barn.
The lamb heard the snap of a twig. With a mouth full of clover, the lamb looked up to see a puma stalking her! The lamb froze in terror. The cat’s eyes were the color of death, piercing. Its paws were as silent as the grave.
The puma was about to pounce, when suddenly, an enormous, majestic dog lunged towards the puma. The cat felt the air move, dodged instinctively, and then fled with all of its strength. The dog was only a whisker away when the cat scaled the fence and escaped.
It took a moment for the lamb to realize that the livestock guardian had been stalking the puma!
With great relief, the lamb was escorted home by the dog -- her guardian, her friend.