my eyes on the prize
sorry soil falling from my sorrier hands
the long haul has been going well
the cold dirt in your hands reminds you of another night
one spent with people
not spent by your lonesome
there's a flame in front of me and in order to extinguish it, i have to run through to get to the fire extinguisher. the fire is luke on my scorching body. sweat. at the very core of each droplet of distress is concentrated passion for an out of reach prize. said trophy is first place material while i'm at the back of the pack. you channel your integrity into the belief that passing this obstacle will attain you your irrelevant wish. this application is present in everything you do. everything is tainted by a saucy, thick film.
no way to compete if the competition is already over. especially when there is always someone better than you, you should never try. you tried once. you've tasted hope and now that it disgusts you, regurgitate your feelings and hope it gets mopped up by the janitorial spirits. they will consume you if you do not hold it together. no one can see you cry because we are taught to be emotionless. i once felt that i was the only one capable of feeling emotion. nothing yet has convinced me otherwise. in the darkness, the illuminations of the television on my blank, white walls inform me of the errors in my ways. they tell me how i should fix them. i'm obliged to follow.
your eyes are on the prize but you are looking through the wrong kaleidoscope. look and see what your goal should be.
don't let a victim preach to you. don't be impressionable because impressions lead to sick, mixed messages. and those only lead to self-deprivation on so many levels. you'll fall from where you were once sitting pretty into a catacomb. you will get lost and trapped. you wanted to live forever and this is where you will stay.
oh, fortunado. how did you last as long as you did. so blind to the clues. so blind to the obvious. things shrouded your sense of perception and i can relate. we can relate.
there's a storm coming and it will end humanity. there's one thing i want to do before my life ends. how would you feel? how would you feel if you couldn't? if the key that opens up all doors is guarded by a mirror, how can we tell if the key is really there? we rely on faith. because obviously looking at ourselves is no proof of a key. maybe we just don't have an answer so we make one up. and that myth becomes fact over time simply because the children who grew up with their beliefs based firmly on wife’s tails will explain to their children that there is a god and if you don't go to bed this instant, you will break a commandment.
i prefer to think that just mindless praying is a sin - if there are sins. i mean, technically sin has to do with good and evil. and that good and evil can be broken down, also, into morals which are based on opinions. so what's right to me is not always right for another. what i felt was right for me told me i had to leave. breathing. believing. an unexpected expectancy.
your eyes can be on the prize. but sometimes it takes your sidekick to explain to you that there is more to life. never underestimate someone that means a lot to you. i would say that when the shit hits the fan, they will be the ones that will have your back. other times, you have to suck it up. buckle down, get your work done, go to sleep, wake up early, go to work, come home, do work, eat, sleep, rinse and repeat. stop feeling emotions, man. don't do it. it'd be nice to think that being stoic would eliminate sadness. but without a sadness, there is no happiness. and without either, there is emptiness. so by feeling emotions, we take a risk. the goal is to have more positive feelings than negative. when there is an imbalance, you drop everything you are doing and leave this fucking place and delete your messages, and throw out everything, and take only the people that you need with you. you laugh now. but when the times come, you won't know what to do.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
have you ever unburied buried treasure?
I'm Still the Optimist, Though it is Hard, When All Your Want to be is In a Dream
Just to keep the forum/blog going:
What does everyone want out of their lives?
What does everyone want out of their lives?
Relay, bitches
Hark! I see a Relay on the horizon...
Since I enjoy the company of the Garage Trolls, enjoy this link, and thus enjoy the Relay in the company of those you love:
http://www.acsevents.org/faf/search/searchTeamPart.asp?ievent=205659&lis=1&kntae205659=34E3A76D2E7A480288C0B149E12C13C0&team=1780925
Do NOT, I repeat, DO NOT give anybody else this link. It's a secret best kept by those who are deemed by worthy by myself and the overlord and, of course, John and Nick.
Since I enjoy the company of the Garage Trolls, enjoy this link, and thus enjoy the Relay in the company of those you love:
http://www.acsevents.org/faf/search/searchTeamPart.asp?ievent=205659&lis=1&kntae205659=34E3A76D2E7A480288C0B149E12C13C0&team=1780925
Do NOT, I repeat, DO NOT give anybody else this link. It's a secret best kept by those who are deemed by worthy by myself and the overlord and, of course, John and Nick.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
THE CRUSADE HAS BEGUN
THE SONS OF KORHAL
Prepare to enter the survival horror. The preparations for the crusade has begun. Do not compromise your safety. We will keep you safe. Mobilize while you still can.
Prepare to enter the survival horror. The preparations for the crusade has begun. Do not compromise your safety. We will keep you safe. Mobilize while you still can.
enough hogwash
time for a change of pace. and by change of pace, i mean not another post about lyrics.
who else is completely stoked about relay for life?
my guild (a subdivision of our team) for relay for life will be called the Sons of Korhal. those who dare to find themselves worthy of my ragtag team of revolutionists will have to ask permission for entrance. once you are part of the brotherhood, you cannot leave. if you attempt leaving, you will be slain. and your family will be raped.
me: paladin/overlord
henry: ranger
jb: knight
matt: fairy with a small twig (not a reference to his small genitals)
cc: the lady
available slots:
mage
scout
wizard
cleric
anything else that you can come up with that is cool
our goal:
to slay the dragon (mike) by the end of the night
Monday, January 29, 2007
something about this song makes me think
The thin part is feeling so suffered.
This bedroom, a voice, and a mattress.
It says "Don't sleep, don't think, just drink".
You'll find yourself faster when passed out cold.
(Where are you, tonight?)
This is the last time I fear your face;
along with my brother,
they won't hear me say "Where are you, tonight?".
Wrapped up in some bedroom,
screaming for dear sweet you.
The worst part is being so desperate,
this basement, a noose, and a casket.
I want to feel that warmth again,
assurance of you, asleep in my head..
(Where are you, tonight?)
This is the last time I fear your face;
along with my brother,
they won't hear me say "Where are you, tonight?".
Wrapped up in some bedroom,
screaming for dear sweet you.
So why not, end it all in one shot?
With this rope tied in a perfect knot.
Never meant anything, I've ever had.
It won't lose its grip, and stop kissing my neck.
Desperation sets in, holding me close, much like you did.
And every line has a face, a voice that's the same.
My dear sweet impaler... it's all you this time.
It's there to remind me, how much I hate...this...life...
I remember you laughing and leaving,
slamming my door, to the sound of my screaming,
"Don't leave just yet, I didn't mean any of what I just said.
I swear by my wrists that we're better than this;
much more to me than words in a notebook."
You sigh and say "I'm through",
(You sigh and say "I'm through")
And God damn you for breathing, "I love you".
I love you, I love you, I love you.
Dive deep into this drink, hoping to sink, or fall asleep.
This bedroom, a voice, and a mattress.
It says "Don't sleep, don't think, just drink".
You'll find yourself faster when passed out cold.
(Where are you, tonight?)
This is the last time I fear your face;
along with my brother,
they won't hear me say "Where are you, tonight?".
Wrapped up in some bedroom,
screaming for dear sweet you.
The worst part is being so desperate,
this basement, a noose, and a casket.
I want to feel that warmth again,
assurance of you, asleep in my head..
(Where are you, tonight?)
This is the last time I fear your face;
along with my brother,
they won't hear me say "Where are you, tonight?".
Wrapped up in some bedroom,
screaming for dear sweet you.
So why not, end it all in one shot?
With this rope tied in a perfect knot.
Never meant anything, I've ever had.
It won't lose its grip, and stop kissing my neck.
Desperation sets in, holding me close, much like you did.
And every line has a face, a voice that's the same.
My dear sweet impaler... it's all you this time.
It's there to remind me, how much I hate...this...life...
I remember you laughing and leaving,
slamming my door, to the sound of my screaming,
"Don't leave just yet, I didn't mean any of what I just said.
I swear by my wrists that we're better than this;
much more to me than words in a notebook."
You sigh and say "I'm through",
(You sigh and say "I'm through")
And God damn you for breathing, "I love you".
I love you, I love you, I love you.
Dive deep into this drink, hoping to sink, or fall asleep.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Something about this song haunts me...
Step one you say we need to talk
He walks you say sit down it's just a talk
He smiles politely back at you
You stare politely right on through
Some sort of window to your right
As he goes left and you stay right
Between the lines of fear and blame
And you begin to wonder why you came
Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
Let him know that you know best
Cause after all you do know best
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things you've told him all along
And pray to God he hears you
And pray to God he hears you
Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
As he begins to raise his voice
You lower yours and grant him one last choice
Drive until you lose the road
Or break with the ones you've followed
He will do one of two things
He will admit to everything
Or he'll say he's just not the same
And you'll begin to wonder why you came
Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
He walks you say sit down it's just a talk
He smiles politely back at you
You stare politely right on through
Some sort of window to your right
As he goes left and you stay right
Between the lines of fear and blame
And you begin to wonder why you came
Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
Let him know that you know best
Cause after all you do know best
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things you've told him all along
And pray to God he hears you
And pray to God he hears you
Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
As he begins to raise his voice
You lower yours and grant him one last choice
Drive until you lose the road
Or break with the ones you've followed
He will do one of two things
He will admit to everything
Or he'll say he's just not the same
And you'll begin to wonder why you came
Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
Saturday, January 27, 2007
i think the forum would appreciate to know that...
...i am beneficial to this forum in more than one way.
one way is that i am a masterful debater.
in my tournament today, i went undefeated in all of my rounds and placed 2nd out of about 70 other debaters in speaker points. i got a personal trophy and helped attain the overall 1st place trophy for our team. i reigned supreme. fuckin' aces.
i was never a star athlete on any teams when i was young. this debate team is comforting because i'm relied upon. i'm known and i can benefit others. it's involving and it makes me feel wanted. this is a good feeling. it proves i'm worth something. (it's a shame this was the last tournament for the year for me.)
so if you have a dispute with someone over something, involve me and your opponent will end up crying. sweet savory justice will prevail. huzzah!
one way is that i am a masterful debater.
in my tournament today, i went undefeated in all of my rounds and placed 2nd out of about 70 other debaters in speaker points. i got a personal trophy and helped attain the overall 1st place trophy for our team. i reigned supreme. fuckin' aces.
i was never a star athlete on any teams when i was young. this debate team is comforting because i'm relied upon. i'm known and i can benefit others. it's involving and it makes me feel wanted. this is a good feeling. it proves i'm worth something. (it's a shame this was the last tournament for the year for me.)
so if you have a dispute with someone over something, involve me and your opponent will end up crying. sweet savory justice will prevail. huzzah!
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Wow, Hayden... although her mom IS from the south
swedesrockharder: he (Dane) has a hot buttox
Big N 8004: he does
xpalmtreezzox: he does?
swedesrockharder: yes, he does
swedesrockharder: he also has a wondrous penis
Big N 8004: yes, he does
xpalmtreezzox: i think it's extremely unattrative and large.. but ythat's just my opinion.. becausei 'm his sister
Big N 8004: he does
xpalmtreezzox: he does?
swedesrockharder: yes, he does
swedesrockharder: he also has a wondrous penis
Big N 8004: yes, he does
xpalmtreezzox: i think it's extremely unattrative and large.. but ythat's just my opinion.. becausei 'm his sister
What am I, Corinne?
| You Should Paint Your Room Purple |
 Sophisticated and exotic, purple can also be a deeply comforting color. Your purple room will inspire you to trust yourself more and go with your intuition. Purple has also been known to facilitate healing and a feeling of protection. |
Online quizzes know everything!
| Your Birthdate: November 16 |
 You're incredibly introverted and introspective. You live inside your head. You spend a lot of alone time meditating and thinking. People see you as withdrawn, and at times they are right. You are caring and deep, but it may be difficult for you to show this side of yourself. Your strength: Your original approach to thinking Your weakness: You tend to shy away from others Your power color: Pale blue Your power symbol: Wavy line Your power month: July |
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
the illusion of safety
this song is ideal. it makes me go bananas.
i wish all of you were in my room going bananas with me right now.
Monday, January 22, 2007
my cough drop package tells me i have a minor irritation of the throat
i just got home. i've had a sore throat and a wonky ear for most of the day. the only obvious remedy is posting on the-veryvacant-garage. but i'll be damned if these cough drops aren't the tastiest thing i’ve had all day...
good luck on yr midterms, folks.
SICK AND SAD AGAIN SOMETIMES I'D LIKE THE RAIN TO END
Sunday, January 21, 2007
The loss of friends you didn't have
Monday - regular classes
Tuesday - off
Wednesday - Earth Science and Global History midterms
Thursday - Math A Regents
Friday - off
To the above, I have one thing to say. MOTHERFUCKING SHIT. Thas all.
Nine Days concert last night was fun with Nick, John, and Mike. We got to meet the band members and get stuff signed. I beat myself up because I didn't have a stick with me to get signed. The singer, though, is such a hottie. Nick found his idol, this definitely-gay guy with great style and bleached hair.
The real reason I'm posting is to say, My goodness. Nobody visits our dear Garage anymore. This is exactly what I feared. Nobody cares about the decrepit, shit-filled Garage, or its inhabitants, a.k.a. The Garage Trolls.
The Garage Trolls are unique. Yes, they are very full of shit, but the shit they are full of can be understood by other Garage Trolls. And, if you dig past the jokes and the lies and the shit, then these Garage Trolls are truly wonderful, sensual beings.
Unless, of course, you're Corinne, at whom I'm slightly angered. She is tons o' fun to be around. We always enjoy ourselves. I never tell her or Alicica anything. Somehow, I've always thought they wouldn't understand.
I was talking to her on the phone today, expressing my depression with careful subtlety. And she makes fun of me: "Mood swings, much?" or "You're so emo." That also happened when I had issues with Ricky or when my heart was wrenched out of my chest and thrown into the path of a herd of FUCKING STAMPEDING ELEPHANTS. (Got a little carried away with that one.)
And it's not just her, either. It seems like some people think I'm sad sometimes for attention. Like my feelings and my pain are all a joke. Maybe it's because for the past five years of my life I haven't felt, or tried not to. And now I've let down my guard. I'm not trying so hard. I'm being more me. I don't care as much.
Maybe it's because I can joke about my feelings. But when I do that, it's really just me hiding my feelings yet again. I'm trying to not feel them and trying to not let people worry about me.
FUCK THIS.
Ooooh, on a different note, I got a credit card! Which I don't think I'm going to use that much, because I'm scared to death of debt.
Find your male/That's your grail.
I love musical theatre, but that doesn't make me gay because I'm a GIRL.
(By the way, give this link to everybody so I can get money for Threadless: http://www.threadless.com/?streetteam=swedishphish.)
Monday, January 15, 2007
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
Your love is like bad medecine, bad medecine is what I need
Three-day weekend. Martin Luther King, Jr., was an amazing guy. Who'll be saying Hail Martins on Monday? I know I will.
Dark blue, dark blue, Alli just died of leukemia.
Did anybody get that?
I feel like I always have problems... and you guys are always the support. I know how it feels to be the rock, the absorber-of-issues, when you never have enough space for your own problems. That was last year I felt like that, but I don't listen to Sophia any more and Jess's issues are now more trivial, so I can pour out my heart to y'all.
Hot diggity.
It's weird, it's like the only people I'm close to who I don't talk to are Alicia and Corinne. I mean, I don't talk to Jess, but she's not one of my biffers. Me and Ali and Cori... see, we're the treddy. And I love them. But somehow, they're... less real? Like they won't get my problems. Whereas you guys seem different, somehow.
I'm worried about Hayden. Yeah, babe, you. For Christmas, she asked for Solos, Uggs, and a Northface. She calls the music I like "emo," doesn't like it, and likes hip-hop-esque music. She uses the terms "retarded" and "gay."
What happened to the Hayden I used to know? The original, funny, creative, one-of-a-kind, confident girl I used to love? Maybe I'm being judgemental and dumb - actually, I know I'm being judgemental and dumb. But I guess I don't want to lose friends again to either of the cloning machines I like to call Long Island and middle school.
Perhaps she likes these styles and that music. Maybe she doesn't get how those words hurt people. But maybe she's a popular girl wannabe, maybe she wants to blend in.
WHO THE FUCK WOULD WANT TO BLEND?
The word "medecine." Is that how you spell it? Because for some reason, I know it's right, but it looks horribly, horribly wrong. It looks British. Like colour and favourite and BOLLOCKS.
I lost a pound.
1 lb.
I still feel terribly fat. I think I have some issues, seeing myself as way more fat than I think I am. A lot of people have told me I'm thin and wonderful, but I see myself as rather... bloated and... pudgy.
Superiority complex.
^^Bad stuff.
Patrick and... Mike? They get that. And if Corinne remembers our CBB conversation, then she does too.
Sometimes I feel so alone.
Dark blue, dark blue, Alli just died of leukemia.
Did anybody get that?
I feel like I always have problems... and you guys are always the support. I know how it feels to be the rock, the absorber-of-issues, when you never have enough space for your own problems. That was last year I felt like that, but I don't listen to Sophia any more and Jess's issues are now more trivial, so I can pour out my heart to y'all.
Hot diggity.
It's weird, it's like the only people I'm close to who I don't talk to are Alicia and Corinne. I mean, I don't talk to Jess, but she's not one of my biffers. Me and Ali and Cori... see, we're the treddy. And I love them. But somehow, they're... less real? Like they won't get my problems. Whereas you guys seem different, somehow.
I'm worried about Hayden. Yeah, babe, you. For Christmas, she asked for Solos, Uggs, and a Northface. She calls the music I like "emo," doesn't like it, and likes hip-hop-esque music. She uses the terms "retarded" and "gay."
What happened to the Hayden I used to know? The original, funny, creative, one-of-a-kind, confident girl I used to love? Maybe I'm being judgemental and dumb - actually, I know I'm being judgemental and dumb. But I guess I don't want to lose friends again to either of the cloning machines I like to call Long Island and middle school.
Perhaps she likes these styles and that music. Maybe she doesn't get how those words hurt people. But maybe she's a popular girl wannabe, maybe she wants to blend in.
WHO THE FUCK WOULD WANT TO BLEND?
The word "medecine." Is that how you spell it? Because for some reason, I know it's right, but it looks horribly, horribly wrong. It looks British. Like colour and favourite and BOLLOCKS.
I lost a pound.
1 lb.
I still feel terribly fat. I think I have some issues, seeing myself as way more fat than I think I am. A lot of people have told me I'm thin and wonderful, but I see myself as rather... bloated and... pudgy.
Superiority complex.
^^Bad stuff.
Patrick and... Mike? They get that. And if Corinne remembers our CBB conversation, then she does too.
Sometimes I feel so alone.
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
15 Candles...
Mmm...I'm lame, I know. But since this is supose to also be a record of events and all that, I figured I might as well mark that today was my fifteenth birthday. Hurrah!
::sings the birthday son::
I just had some very tasty cake, so now I'm all full. In case anybody was wondering. AND! I got a new TV for my room...and Glor and Max decided they were going to buy me very girly movies, like that new Cheerleading movie, and Mean Girls. I thought it was kind of funny, actually...
And, while we're on the subject of gifts: CC and Corinne...I'm not not not not not accepting yours. M'kay?
Love you all!
::sings the birthday son::
I just had some very tasty cake, so now I'm all full. In case anybody was wondering. AND! I got a new TV for my room...and Glor and Max decided they were going to buy me very girly movies, like that new Cheerleading movie, and Mean Girls. I thought it was kind of funny, actually...
And, while we're on the subject of gifts: CC and Corinne...I'm not not not not not accepting yours. M'kay?
Love you all!
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
They took a step back, thought about it, what should they do?
Right, since I have to do homework ALL DAY anyway, I thought I'd post up my short story here and see a response! And then take the opposite for Mr. Harrison's response! Because Mr. Harrison is a crackhead! But I like him anyway, so what the hell!
Alice sat on the porch swing. Chips of the peeling white paint rained down on the wooden floor, the only snow Chesterton, Alabama had seen in God-knows-how-long. The honeysuckle that had defiantly and stealthily began to claim the house snaked its way up the elegant railing seeming desperate to reach the frail old woman.
Alice’s body had been falling apart for some time now.
Now it was her mind’s turn.
Fear traveled in currents throughout her body, born from the insanity brewing in the last safe place she had claimed as her own. The house was going to be repossessed; it was no longer safe. Her husband’s arms had long since shriveled away to nothing in his quiet grave; safety couldn’t be found in her marriage.
And now her mind chose to walk this path of insecurity as well.
Alice had known this would happen. George Washington had predicted it without saying a word. His beady black eyes followed her more closely than ever. He stood by the sharp knives, refusing to let her indulge in the cooking she loved so much. And he would not let her leave the house.
She obeyed him and trusted him completely. Within George’s green feathers was love for Alice that nobody, not even her last living grandchildren, could ever duplicate.
For the past weeks she had been worrying and waiting, barely sleeping, rarely eating, living on the frightened beating of her heart. Her terror drove her, a more sustaining life force than any other she had experienced.
And she continued to wait.
It was July 1st. Her days grew short; her face grew haggard; her breath grew heavy. Sooner than she could have hoped, dear Emily would call Max, insisting that they spend the fourth at Alice’s humble home.
‘Humble,’ ‘quaint:’ these were Emily’s words to describe the large falling-down country home Alice’s husband had left to her. The roof sagged, as though one of those planes, streaking through the sky at an altitude Alice could not imagine, had once laid down for a nap on top of the house. The paint peeled, desperate to escape the walls owned by a crazy person.
Alice, too, was desperate to escape.
But until Emily arrived, tugging her anxious cousin by the hand, Alice would stay here and allow her mind to become more impermeable than the vines oozing out of the long grass and wrapping themselves around the house.
Sweet Emily, whose face Alice could not picture.
The last living members of her family did not care for her, this she knew. But they would be here, feeling proud of their compassion towards the spinster. They would check up on her and make sure she was in the best condition one in her position might be expected to be
And they were bringing a friend.
Not Emily’s husband or Max’s boyfriend. A doctor.
And it was the doctor, with his shiny, shiny instruments and long words, that Alice feared the most.
Sitting on the porch half-expectantly, Alice’s muscles rippled with the flight instinct that went deeper than the insanity. She knew something was hunting her, and she wasn’t a fighter.
She was a runner.
The sun’s last rays, deflected by the roof overhead, lit up the long grass surrounding Alice’s country home. Her husband had often praised the Alabama sun, warmer and more comfortable than the sun in any other place in the world.
Alice, trying desperately to conjure up an image of her dear Martin, dead so many years, rose to her unsteady feet. “Martin?” she called feebly as she pulled forward the broken screen door.
“No, just me, darling,” George Washington answered, flying towards her. He perched precariously on her weak shoulder and looked into her murky blue eyes, crooning softly, “Hello.”
“Martin, dear–”
“Not Martin.”
“Yes, you are George. You are George,” Alice reminded herself quietly. “George, Max and Emily are coming to stay. They’re coming with a friend.”
George Washington exploded off her shoulders in a cloud of green and yellow feathers. “Oh, boy!” he shrieked, flapping his unclipped wings around the kitchen, causing more destruction than Alice, even in her unsteady state, could have ever done. Or cleaned up.
Alice’s panic was a quiet panic. She would not act upon it.
Instead, she swore, I shall wait.
Alice sat on the porch swing. Chips of the peeling white paint rained down on the wooden floor, the only snow Chesterton, Alabama had seen in God-knows-how-long. The honeysuckle that had defiantly and stealthily began to claim the house snaked its way up the elegant railing seeming desperate to reach the frail old woman.
Alice’s body had been falling apart for some time now.
Now it was her mind’s turn.
Fear traveled in currents throughout her body, born from the insanity brewing in the last safe place she had claimed as her own. The house was going to be repossessed; it was no longer safe. Her husband’s arms had long since shriveled away to nothing in his quiet grave; safety couldn’t be found in her marriage.
And now her mind chose to walk this path of insecurity as well.
Alice had known this would happen. George Washington had predicted it without saying a word. His beady black eyes followed her more closely than ever. He stood by the sharp knives, refusing to let her indulge in the cooking she loved so much. And he would not let her leave the house.
She obeyed him and trusted him completely. Within George’s green feathers was love for Alice that nobody, not even her last living grandchildren, could ever duplicate.
For the past weeks she had been worrying and waiting, barely sleeping, rarely eating, living on the frightened beating of her heart. Her terror drove her, a more sustaining life force than any other she had experienced.
And she continued to wait.
It was July 1st. Her days grew short; her face grew haggard; her breath grew heavy. Sooner than she could have hoped, dear Emily would call Max, insisting that they spend the fourth at Alice’s humble home.
‘Humble,’ ‘quaint:’ these were Emily’s words to describe the large falling-down country home Alice’s husband had left to her. The roof sagged, as though one of those planes, streaking through the sky at an altitude Alice could not imagine, had once laid down for a nap on top of the house. The paint peeled, desperate to escape the walls owned by a crazy person.
Alice, too, was desperate to escape.
But until Emily arrived, tugging her anxious cousin by the hand, Alice would stay here and allow her mind to become more impermeable than the vines oozing out of the long grass and wrapping themselves around the house.
Sweet Emily, whose face Alice could not picture.
The last living members of her family did not care for her, this she knew. But they would be here, feeling proud of their compassion towards the spinster. They would check up on her and make sure she was in the best condition one in her position might be expected to be
And they were bringing a friend.
Not Emily’s husband or Max’s boyfriend. A doctor.
And it was the doctor, with his shiny, shiny instruments and long words, that Alice feared the most.
Sitting on the porch half-expectantly, Alice’s muscles rippled with the flight instinct that went deeper than the insanity. She knew something was hunting her, and she wasn’t a fighter.
She was a runner.
The sun’s last rays, deflected by the roof overhead, lit up the long grass surrounding Alice’s country home. Her husband had often praised the Alabama sun, warmer and more comfortable than the sun in any other place in the world.
Alice, trying desperately to conjure up an image of her dear Martin, dead so many years, rose to her unsteady feet. “Martin?” she called feebly as she pulled forward the broken screen door.
“No, just me, darling,” George Washington answered, flying towards her. He perched precariously on her weak shoulder and looked into her murky blue eyes, crooning softly, “Hello.”
“Martin, dear–”
“Not Martin.”
“Yes, you are George. You are George,” Alice reminded herself quietly. “George, Max and Emily are coming to stay. They’re coming with a friend.”
George Washington exploded off her shoulders in a cloud of green and yellow feathers. “Oh, boy!” he shrieked, flapping his unclipped wings around the kitchen, causing more destruction than Alice, even in her unsteady state, could have ever done. Or cleaned up.
Alice’s panic was a quiet panic. She would not act upon it.
Instead, she swore, I shall wait.
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