a left-eyed girl

living in a 2 dimensional world

Archive for the ‘writing’ Category

a couple daily writes.

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I haven’t posted them in a little while, so here are two of the latest ones.

Historical fiction.
She lay under the covers, petrified of the dark. There was nothing out there, but it always made her think of all the bad things that could be hiding there. She couldn’t help but feel angry about the way things had turned out. If only it could be the way she wanted it to be in her mind, but none of that was true. It was all an incredible lie to help her cope with her life, to figure out how to go forward from here.

Pulling the covers up around her chin, she thought about the life she’d cultivated for herself in her head and the different people she could pretend to be on a moment’s notice. To the rest of the world, she was smart and successful, not afraid of anything. Nothing bad had ever happened to her, and her childhood had been a dreamy fairytale of doting parents, happy friends, and wonderful experiences.

If only they knew the truth, the real facts of her life and childhood. Would anyone still like her as a person? Would anyone still care to know who she was under all the superficial layers of lies? Did she even know who she still was?

Sighing, she looking at the clock on her bedside table and decided that she didn’t know the answers to any of these questions, and somehow, they just didn’t matter. She could settle back into the fiction of her made-up life and be comfortable and rested when the sun rose the next morning

Ruby slippers.
The party was immensely boring. Immensely. She liked saying that over and over in her head, with a slight British accent, imagining herself walking down a cobblestone-lined street in the rain, her bright red umbrella bobbing above her. At the end of her imaginary walk, she met with a darkly handsome man with a mysterious accent. He led her down a dingy alley and through a doorway that opened up into a magnificent hall. She threw off her raincoat and revealed a glittering evening dress, intricately beaded with expensive crystals. She was the belle of the ball and people’s heads turned to notice her, their faces breaking into bright smiles of recognition. They rushed to her, and she could feel the adoration pulsating through the crowd

Ah, that would be the life, instead of standing up against the wall like this, parked near the refreshments table. Making yet another pass, perhaps the fourth or even fifth of the last two hours, she filled her small napkin with hors d’oeuvres: pigs in blankets, cheese wedges, mini-spanikopita bites. She returned to her post, standing between the light switch and a garish modern painting of bright slashes of thick paint.
Catching herself in the mirror, she rolled her eyes at her own appearance, chiding herself for thinking she could ever be stylish. The dress didn’t quite fit her and looked out of date, even frumpy on her rounded frame. It had looked so good on the model, and somehow even looked good in the dressing room, but now she cursed herself for spending too much money on it. The only thing that she felt proud about were the shiny red shoes she had slipped on right before leaving the house. They glittered on her feet, and she tapped her heels together childishly, wishing she could be magically transported anywhere else but here.

Written by Reese

June 12, 2008 at 3:32 pm

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[daily write] i feel trapped.

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It was back, it was strong, and she wasn’t sure she could stop it this time. It consumed her, blinding her to any of the goodness in her life, trapping her in an endless abyss of darkness. There was no way escape when she started to fall, the walls that kept her safe seeming to melt away as if burned by dripping acid. Closing her eyes, she felt herself exposed to the world, to the harsh reality of her past, to the pain that never seemed to go away.

If only she could escape for a minute. The thought bounced endlessly in her head, echoing to the very core of her being. It was the only way. If she did manage to get away this time, it would only come back again, when she least expected it. She knew it would never let go, the claws deep into her skin and ripping away the outermost layer of her skin, exposing that unearthly white flesh underneath.

She sighed, understanding the desperation of her situation. The last time this had happened, she had wallowed in the pain for days before finally finding the strength to pull out of it. What she feared the most was that one day she would find that she had run out of that strength and she would be trapped in the abyss forever. Nothing would be able to save her, no one else could help her.

Sure, people would cry when they found out she had finally escaped, and she felt sorry for those who might miss her, but she reasoned that she was headed to a better place, where the past couldn’t find her, and she would finally be free.

Written by Reese

June 6, 2008 at 8:55 am

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[daily write] in my neighbourhood.

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In my neighbourhood, I can hear the ice cream truck playing a little tune as it circles the block, excited children spilling into the street clutching dollar bills and change in their hands. Their high-pitched laughter tinkles in the air, as the sun beats down on the hot, dry, California streets. The grass is green, the sky is blue, and everything is right in their worlds for at least 5 minutes while they happily eat their sweet treats, the ice cream dripping down their chins and hands.

In my neighbourhood, I can walk to a homeless shelter that feeds hungry mouths every morning. The people line up, wrapping around the block. There are men and women, young children and babies, all there to satisfy a gnawing hunger in their bellies. I drive past them in the mornings as they wait for the doors to open, children tugging at their shirts, babies sleeping quietly in their second-hand carriages. The sound of chatter fills the air as I slowly roll to a stop at the stop sign and then dies away as I leave them behind, the engine chugging along down the street.

In my neighbourhood, I can walk down the street and marvel at all the expensive new condos that appear. It seems that every empty lot is just waiting to become a new set of townhouses, spilling over with families that own shiny cars and keep plants on the doorstep. Their welcome mats beckon you to enter, and sometimes you can catch a glimpse of the modern furniture filling the living areas inside. Every place looks the same, and I pass an entire block filled with them before changing to another block with a slightly different building style.

In my neighbourhood, I feel special and diverse and wonderful. I can see all kinds of people, all kinds of shops, and find all kinds of interesting things to do. I may not be that child slurping an ice cream cone in the blazing sun, a homeless person waiting for a hot meal, or someone who lives in a fancy condo, but I live here too. We all live here together in our neighbourhood.

Written by Reese

June 4, 2008 at 1:54 pm

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