Archive for the ‘story’ Category

White

Posted: April 22, 2012 in story, writing
Tags: , , , , , ,

This is the beginning of a story I started to write. The story ended up morphing/growing into something else and this no longer fit with the idea, but I really loved this opening and even though it’s not finished and slightly abrupt I still had the urge to share it with you all.

White. White. White. White walls, white ceiling, white floor. If a color could make a person go crazy, white, would be that color.

White clock, white pen, white file. White.

Sitting surrounded by all the blankness that is the color white made her anxiety grow stronger.

Tick.

Tick, tick, tick.

If an object could make a person go crazy, a clock would be that object. As if people didn’t notice the passing of time enough, they had to add an insidious ticking sound to keep you informed of every second lapsing.

The combination of the whiteness and ticking was pushing her over the edge. She closed her eyes to avoid the horrid glare and lifted her hands to hers ears. She tried to relax but that was a lost cause she hadn’t felt relaxed since she was five. After years of emotional distress she had virtually lost the entire concept of what it meant to relax. Her hands began to sweat and she could feel her heart pounding in her ears. She couldn’t sit there much longer, she began to bounce her knees, nausea crept up into her stomach like a familiar stranger lurking in the shadows. She wouldn’t be able to last any longer, she needed to get out of there before she hurled all over the ugly white walls. Just as she was about to get up a muffled voice saved her and pulled her back into reality.

“Ms. Brooks?” A hand reached out and touched her shoulder, she flinched and opened her eyes, she stared at the woman stunned by her contact.

“Ms. Brooks, are you okay? Do you need a glass of water?”

She couldn’t put together any words just a simple vertical nod. The woman, a short redhead, with far too much make-up for her age, scurried across the white floor with her white sneakers; they squeaked as the rubber collided with the linoleum. She reached the water cooler, filled a cup and shuffled her way back, squeak, squeak, squeak. Tick, tick, white.

“Here you go Ms. Brooks,” she held the cup in front of her face.

White. A white cup.

How did she expect her to drink water out of a white cup? White is what go her into this position. She took one look at the cup and without thinking swatted it out of the redhead’s hand. Oxygen was simultaneously extracted from the air and pulled into everyone’s lungs, a gasp was heard from all mouths.

“I’m sorry, I just– I just don’t like the color white,” she stammered, sounding slightly confused by her confession.

“No need to explain Ms. Brooks, I don’t like it either. Dr. Willows will see you now.”

She rose from the chair, but she couldn’t move forward. She was stuck in this white box, that ticked, that squeaked, that blinded. The box held her, consumed her and deprived her of rational thought.

Tick. Tick. White.

This story has been haunting me, these characters are so real, honest and true to me. I cried when I wrote this part. I realized these people are so much a part of me and this is a story I need to tell and it is a story that will be told, my mind will accept nothing less. Here is another blurb from Gray Hayles: (I apologize for not including names but I would like to keep some things a secret so when I finish the story all of it isn’t known)

As we walked underneath the canopy of stars, I wrapped my arm around her waist. Holding her hand was not enough anymore, I had to have her closer, nearer, soaking in all the warmth of her love she so freely radiated. She was like my own personal sunshine, penetrating me with constant rays of love, compassion and kindness. I felt her slide her hand up my neck, she pulled me in close locking her chocolate gaze on mine. She gently pressed her velvet lips against mine, my hands began to tingle and my knees went weak. I squeezed her waist tighter, desperately trying to keep myself from falling into her body. Just then she pulled away and looked me deep in the eye. She drew in a deep breath, smiled that glorious smile and said, “Thank God I met you, ” she uttered the words with such conviction.

Suddenly I felt a sharp pain at the base of my skull, as I fell to the ground I heard her scream. Momentarily blinded I began to panic, my ears went silent and I was transported to a dark, warm place where I had an overt sense of happiness. I began to question am I dead? In an instant I was thrust back to reality. My eyes jolted open and my chest convulsed as I gulped air into my deprived lungs.

As things slowly came into focus I saw her face, she smiled, but as things became clearer I was struck. There was no words to describe the horror I felt in that moment. Her face was swollen and badly bruise, she had a large lump above her left cheek which was pressed awkwardly against the road. Her leather jacket was gone and her dress was torn exposing her skin which was now painted a beautiful shade of red. I examined her body for other afflictions but everything seemed intact. There was an unusual amount of blood pooling around her  head, it began to leak into the cracks in the pavement, every second rushing closer to me. She kept her brown marble eyes on me, her breathing became slower, her smile never left. I noticed my own river of blood escaping my body, creating its own streams, snaking through the road eventually merging into an ocean of blood dividing us. It was warm, like a liquid blanket protecting me from the brisk midnight air.

I tried to speak but nothing would come out, I tried to move but it was as if my muscles had left my body. My bones felt like metal rods grinding my flesh into the cement. My right arm was stretched out in front of me, I wished I could reach further and touch her face. She began to flinch and cough, then a small stream of blood fell from her mouth. Still looking at me she began to drag her arm from the side of her body. It seemed to take hours for her to reach my fingers, but she did. There we lay, our arms drowning in a cocktail of our blood. She began to cough more, choking on the flow pouring from her mouth.

I began to accept that this was it, this was how we would die. I was trying to make peace out of this knowing. I tried to be thankful for being able to share our last moments together, but I was resentful. I felt her squeeze what little of my hand she had grasped. Staring at her, I focussed all my energy on squeezing back. I must have succeeded because I saw her beautiful face display a broader smile. Within seconds of what I now know was our last embrace, she took her last breath and her lips released the crescent she had so stubbornly held. Her eyes never closed and her spirit did not abandon the earth, instead she hovered above my body raining down a gentle calm. My stare was locked on her once glistening eyes as rivers flowed from mine.

At first I began to ask for her back, begging the universe, promising my life, if only she would come back to her body, back to me. When my attempts failed I then began to ask to be taken with her, but my prayers were not answered. Instead I laid there labouring to breathe, my head throbbing in pain, my love laying there lifeless parallel to my body. I felt like I had been there for days but as I looked up I realized the canopy of stars still lit the night sky.

I started a Words of Unwisdom YouTube channel where I will be posting inspirational videos and a few creations of my own. If you have any videos you would like to share with me please do. Also I’m hoping to do a Video blog once a month on a range of topics (depending on my schedule). Right now all I have posted is a simple video of my poem There Once was a Girl who Lived in a Box, but I plan to get more content up in the next few weeks. Check it out if your interested and share it if your inspired to do so!

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I work as a nanny for three amazing kids and everyday they surprise me. Always so curious asking tons of questions a day What are clouds made of? Why do people kiss on the lips? What happens when you die? They have this ability to believe anything I tell them (another reason why I love kids so much). I feel I was sometimes misinformed as a child so I always try to give them the most honest and true answers to their questions. Clouds are made of water, people kiss when they love each other, no one really knows what happens when you die.

This brings me to the topic of my blog today. One day while I was at work I noticed the kids calling others kids of darker skin as black or brown. This disturbed me as I had never referred to people of darker skin tone as a color (certainly not in front of them). It didn’t feel right to me to let them continue on using these terms so I said “Kids you don’t call people black or brown. Does anyone call you white? No. People are not colors they are simply people. We are all different shades some people are lighter shades others are darker.” They were about three at the time and that simple statement kiboshed their use of those words to describe people. The best part was seeing them go out into the world and spew this information to people young and old so proud of this new information they had learned. “Did you know people aren’t colors? They are shades? I’m a lighter shade!” (so cute, and the looks they get from people, priceless!).

Since then I have used this tactic to instill understanding and compassion for many other things such as homosexuality, adoption, poverty, amputations/physical differences/paralysis. These kids understand that you can love whoever you want, that some kids have many parents some have none, that we all are a little different but we are also all a little bit the same. They don’t seem to hold it against people their lifestyle choices or aesthetics. If you play with them and make them laugh, they will love you! I find it fascinating that such young children could understand and accept such concepts that most adults can’t or choose not to understand.

Let me make it clear, I am not trying to suggest I changed these kids lives or that I am Miss-Judgement Free 2012. I only wish that when I was a young I had someone to stop my stereotypes before I had time to develop them. Instead I work hard to break through a little bit of my judgements and generalizations everyday, that I feel, the society I grew up in conditioned. However the more I break through the easier it gets.

Children are our future. Ellen Degeneres was right when she suggested that Compassion should be a subject in school. Children are like sponges soaking of every last bit of information available. Why don’t we make the available information be ones of compassion, love, acceptance, and peace? Everyday I lose hope in humanity, it sometimes seems that people will never get it. We have 7 billion people each living in their own realities, how do you get them all to live as one? Is that even possible? Should I even care? I don’t know (as usual). All I do know is that when I see kids spreading words of support, empathy, happiness and helpfulness I gain back the little hope I had lost. Children are our hope.

Side note: Miss Judgement-Free 2012 intrigues me. Maybe a contest is in order?!………

Another little exert from the story that is as of yet Untitled but could potentially be called Gray Hayles. It’s coming to me in pieces so it’s not in sequence. I apologize if it is too vague but I’m working on it 🙂

“I woke up with tears pouring from my eyes. I could feel the box screaming at me to be opened. I felt paralyzed as I always did on this day; I slowly pushed my body up, out of bed. I was aching already, the pain was devouring me. I walked over and slid the closet door open. The box burned me as I pulled it from the shelf, the memories were already seeping out, gnawing my skin, scratching my bones, ripping through my heart. I dumped the box on the bed, releasing the smell that it had so tightly kept since the year before. Pictures, notes, books, poems, and her scarf piled my bed. I dropped the box and climbed under the covers. Reaching my hands down, scooping the items up over my torso, submerging my body in the memories, each one like a splash of acid on my soul. I let myself get lost in her essence once a year, attempting to remember every moment we had together. I spent the day scanning every word, every photo, smelling every article, reminiscing every conversation. All the while realizing that none of these things were her, and this stuff could never bring her back. It bothered me that she left, but none of her things went with her? They stayed, haunting me, forcing me to lock them away, denying any memory, accept for one day, this day. I wished I had no memories of her at all. She was too good, She loved so big, she was so honest, so open. She was free; She helped me be free, and then one day she was gone and so was my freedom.”