I have noticed lately that my life has become suspiciously like the song 'Shy' by Ani di Franco. I am not sure how I should feel about this, other than I do so enjoy the song. I am also worried about my math class tomorrow, as I have missed the last one because of a migraine. Waking up with migraines, I must confess, is one of the greatest pleasures life has ever given me (I hope that you can see the sarcasm dripping from that sentence). We are learning about annuities and such things, but we have probably moved on already to something new. It's something that no one really teaches you, college classes move so fast compared to high school, being taught something new each and every class. I must confess it is exhilarating, but if you miss a class you are so fucked it's almost funny.
I'm currently taking a break from my catch-up maths homework, writing this and talking to a friend of mine (the one who is currently making my life seem like that song I mentioned earlier) about his troubles and doubts. I wish I was human at times like this, instead of just acting it. When I say 'I wish I was human' I don't mean that I am some type of cryptid (although that would be pretty cool, I think). What I mean is that I don't feel emotions the same way others seem to, I can understand other species more than I can understand my own, which is kinda sorta sad. I know the underlying motives for people, group dynamics and herd/pack instinct and all that, but interacting with humans? Ha. Been on my own, lost among pages and fur, for to long. I can hold a conversation and I've even had a boyfriend, which I suppose makes me a damn good actress, but I just wish that all these feelings and emotions and all the things I pretend were real and I didn't have to pretend anymore... If I didn't have morals, I think I would make a damn good psychopath.
Anyway, I think that's enough for a little while, hahahaha. Hope I haven't scared any readers off (if I actually have any). The next bit of Ghost Girl should be up soon!
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Ghost Girl; Chapter 5, Part 2
Chapter Five, Part Two: Between Idea and Reality
It is the weekend. He has no business being awake this early on a Saturday, but he can't go back to sleep. After about an hour he gives up on sleep and gets dressed. Downstairs he make breakfast for himself, his parents are already at work. Five eggs, scrambled with cheese and tobasco. Two pieces of toast with butter. Six strips of crispy bacon. A large glass of milk. It takes him approximately five minutes to polish everything off, another ten to clean the pan and put things in the dishwasher, and then he is out the door. He knows, at least subconsciously, where he is going. He is going to the place he should not go, trying to find the girl that he should not talk to. The woods are cool, a reminder that winter will soon be there. He walks quickly, hoping to see the silent girl with coppery brown hair, surrounded by dogs. He wants to ask her who she is, tell her about the Ghost Girl in his school. He wants to hear her speak, he wants to know what class she is in, if she goes to his school. He wants to know why he has only seen her the one time and why he can't get her out of his mind. His feet move quicker as the questions build in his mind, imaginary conversation playing out and ending and starting again. He can see paw prints frozen in the mud, and he thinks he will see her again before the reality hits him. Disappointment, for something he hadn't know he was looking forward to, makes his breakfast sit like lead in his stomach. She is not here. He has combed the woods almost daily since he saw her, looking for her, wanting to see her again. He has neither seen nor heard a trace of her or her mismatched pack. He keeps coming back here in hopes that she will be there again one day. It will be two and a half more years before that day comes.
It is the weekend. He has no business being awake this early on a Saturday, but he can't go back to sleep. After about an hour he gives up on sleep and gets dressed. Downstairs he make breakfast for himself, his parents are already at work. Five eggs, scrambled with cheese and tobasco. Two pieces of toast with butter. Six strips of crispy bacon. A large glass of milk. It takes him approximately five minutes to polish everything off, another ten to clean the pan and put things in the dishwasher, and then he is out the door. He knows, at least subconsciously, where he is going. He is going to the place he should not go, trying to find the girl that he should not talk to. The woods are cool, a reminder that winter will soon be there. He walks quickly, hoping to see the silent girl with coppery brown hair, surrounded by dogs. He wants to ask her who she is, tell her about the Ghost Girl in his school. He wants to hear her speak, he wants to know what class she is in, if she goes to his school. He wants to know why he has only seen her the one time and why he can't get her out of his mind. His feet move quicker as the questions build in his mind, imaginary conversation playing out and ending and starting again. He can see paw prints frozen in the mud, and he thinks he will see her again before the reality hits him. Disappointment, for something he hadn't know he was looking forward to, makes his breakfast sit like lead in his stomach. She is not here. He has combed the woods almost daily since he saw her, looking for her, wanting to see her again. He has neither seen nor heard a trace of her or her mismatched pack. He keeps coming back here in hopes that she will be there again one day. It will be two and a half more years before that day comes.
Ghost Girl; Chapter 5, Part 1
Chapter Five, Part One: Sand and Blood
She hates days like this. When she opens her eyes it feels like all the sands of the Sahara Desert have found their way between her eyelids. When she tries to move pain flares in every corner of her body. She curses at the people she didn't know who thought it would be sooooo hilarious to push her down some stairs. The fingers on her left hand hurt because some random person stepped on them while she was trying to peel herself off the floor at the bottom of said stairs. The nurse had questioned her about how she had gotten hurt, and all she had told the nurse was the truth. She had fallen down the stairs.
It is a Saturday morning and the alarm doesn't go off on Saturdays. She can feel Whisper at her side, warmth radiating from the dog like heat from a woodstove. Two other dogs are draped across the foot of her bed, she doesn't want to move to see which ones they are because the pain has only just started to subside. She sighs and feels Whisper sigh along with her, before snuggling closer to her human's bruised side. The dog's heat makes the constant ache there fade a little. She sighs again.
She thinks back to the day, two days ago, a Thursday, when she had been licking her wounds (so to speak) in the library. She hadn't realized that he went to the same school as her, which was stupid, considering that this school was the only high school in the district. She still doesn't know his name, still doesn't know why he interrupted her thoughts so often. Still doesn't know why he helped her. If she concentrates hard enough she can still feel his hand taking hers, warm and dry and real. Human contact that she, other than her parents, has never had. She is craving it now, like she imagines a junkie craves the next fix.
And suddenly she misses her old school, her old life; where she was ignored, but not hated. Where she didn't think of a boy she had only seen twice, crave the feeling of his hand in hers. She wishes that she had never come here, wishes for her old house, her old woods. She feels tears start to slid down her face, falling from the corners of her eyes into her hair and ears. She raises an arm, oblivious to the pain that shrieks down her side, to cover her eyes as silent sobs shake her.
Yeah, she definitely hates days like this...
She hates days like this. When she opens her eyes it feels like all the sands of the Sahara Desert have found their way between her eyelids. When she tries to move pain flares in every corner of her body. She curses at the people she didn't know who thought it would be sooooo hilarious to push her down some stairs. The fingers on her left hand hurt because some random person stepped on them while she was trying to peel herself off the floor at the bottom of said stairs. The nurse had questioned her about how she had gotten hurt, and all she had told the nurse was the truth. She had fallen down the stairs.
It is a Saturday morning and the alarm doesn't go off on Saturdays. She can feel Whisper at her side, warmth radiating from the dog like heat from a woodstove. Two other dogs are draped across the foot of her bed, she doesn't want to move to see which ones they are because the pain has only just started to subside. She sighs and feels Whisper sigh along with her, before snuggling closer to her human's bruised side. The dog's heat makes the constant ache there fade a little. She sighs again.
She thinks back to the day, two days ago, a Thursday, when she had been licking her wounds (so to speak) in the library. She hadn't realized that he went to the same school as her, which was stupid, considering that this school was the only high school in the district. She still doesn't know his name, still doesn't know why he interrupted her thoughts so often. Still doesn't know why he helped her. If she concentrates hard enough she can still feel his hand taking hers, warm and dry and real. Human contact that she, other than her parents, has never had. She is craving it now, like she imagines a junkie craves the next fix.
And suddenly she misses her old school, her old life; where she was ignored, but not hated. Where she didn't think of a boy she had only seen twice, crave the feeling of his hand in hers. She wishes that she had never come here, wishes for her old house, her old woods. She feels tears start to slid down her face, falling from the corners of her eyes into her hair and ears. She raises an arm, oblivious to the pain that shrieks down her side, to cover her eyes as silent sobs shake her.
Yeah, she definitely hates days like this...
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