Friday, April 22, 2011

her spring, his winter

I couldn’t sleep last night.
I could smell the winter on your skin and its dry, bitter scent clogged my mind.

I lay beside you. Felt you so close, so far. I listened to the gentle ocean swell of your breathing, so much deeper than the uneasy waters of mine.
I slowed my breathing, synchronized it with yours. But my heart screamed faster, faster so I sped ahead, leaving you behind.

The air in the room was bland, neither cold nor warm. As if my boiling agitation and your frozen stillness had cancelled each other out.

I could hear thunder clearing its throat in preparation for a debate with lightning. Disentangling myself from the sheets and your smothering frigid-sleep, I opened the window as the raindrops started their patient tapping.
The argument between surly thunder and passionate lightning was fully underway. Through their chaos, a breeze reached its hand in my window. It stroked the skirt of my nightgown and ran its damp fingers through my hair.
It smelled of spring. It said come.

I almost took the offered hand of the breeze. I leaned towards the window, the black night and the rain.
But I looked over to your bed just as the lightning swore an oath that echoed between the bedroom’s narrow walls.
I saw you, in that flash of light. You were awake, watching me.
Only vaguely did I see the paleness of your skin, the purple smudges under your eyes, your half-open lips, the bristly hint of a beard.
Your eyes I saw clearly. They met mine for a second. They looked at me as if I were a ghost, a stranger. Your clouded vision had sharpened and in them I saw a fever. A desperation that belied your stiff exterior.
I felt like a criminal, a thief, a murderer.
I shut the window slowly. It closed with a dull thud, shutting out the elements that had offered a newness, a coming alive. I pulled the curtain over the argument that still droned on and, almost ashamed, slunk back into bed.

You pulled me close to you with your cold hands, laid your lips against mine.
Your kiss tasted of snow.

We lay entwined, your bare branches twisted up with my budding vines.
Soon you drifted into sleep again. I lay, ear pressed against your chest, and listened to your heart, trying to learn its pattern, trying to slow my heartbeat to parallel yours.
I couldn’t.

And I don’t know how long this can last. For there is spring in my soul which I can stifle for no one… No, not even you.
Someday I must break away from your stagnant, icy slumber. I must bloom; I must leave.
But oh, I think I shall always miss you, my other half, my winter-soul.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I didn’t feel you leave my side;
didn’t feel your warmth slip away.
But I awoke.
I saw you, at the window.
Saw you illuminated, your nightgown waving around you.
My little bird, perched for flight.
And I could no longer ignore the fact I’d caged you too long.
I must let you go.

Tonight I am selfish.
Tonight I want you.
I pull you back.
But I know I will set you free,
my dearest sparrow-heart,
before you are forced to escape.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

The rabbit and the tornado.

Well, the play is over! All three shows went extremely well. I was a little nervous after the less-than-perfect dress rehearsal but certain boys finally remembered their lines which helped greatly. We had excellent audiences too which is always mahvelous.
Here is a picture of me onstage in all my rabbit glory! (I look concerned because I am undoubtedly worrying what important date I am late for. :P)

You can't really see my pants but they were white, fluffy, and oh so warm. Combined with my long sleeve shirt, vest, coat, and hood I was an exceptionally overheated bunny. I'm pretty sure I sweated my own weight in water this weekend. Also, I couldn't itch my nose because of the face paint. Funny how my nose never felt itchy till the paint was applied... o_O

After the last show (which was yesterday), I experienced a disconcerting thing for the first time; a lockdown because of a tornado warning. First, let me assure you, there was no tornado, just conditions conducive for forming one.

The show had been over for a while so there were only a couple of audience members left. We were all in the midst of striking (theater talk for taking down the sets, loading props &c.) when we were gathered, told the news, and filed into a couple of rooms that had no windows to the outside. Most of the kids were in one room and the adults mainly in another (for no particular reason.)
Maybe everyone just hid their fear well, but the general atmosphere in the room I was in was lighthearted with a possible slight tinge of annoyance at the inconvenience. I could tell, though, by their stiff demeanor and the tight line of their lips, that some were more freaked out than others. One of the cast member's little sister would sporadically and inquisitively ask if we were going to die as she sought laps to sit on.
At first, I had a stone of apprehension lying at the bottom of my stomach but was relatively fine after a few minutes. I mainly regretted that I hadn't grabbed my book (and my friend obsessed the whole time that she hadn't grabbed her Cheez-its!) But I was with my best friend (who is almost always calm) and the aforementioned friend so it was good and we sat, laughing and chatting. We were about to start singing to see how many people would join in when someone came to say it was safe to leave.
Overall it only lasted 20 minutes or so, I think. I wasn't near a clock. But no tornado formed and the warning ended - thank God. And I don't think it was even an issue on the side of town I live in.

In less exciting news, I have started cleaning my room! I've only made a small dent in Mt. Chaos since I am still exhausted. But I am happily re-acquainting myself with my carpet.
While cleaning, I found an old writing folder which contains a story I started writing when I was around 13 1/2. I meant to finish it but never did. Currently it has four parts (which sounds very grand but it only equals six handwritten pages). Originally it was a random story I started telling my two little brothers one day and they urged me to write it down. Reading it again, I laugh at what a quirky little girl I was and how much it reeks of Lewis Carroll who I can tell was a major influence. I want to complete the story but it is so imaginative and random I am afraid I will ruin it. Most of it I don't even remember writing. But, we shall see.

So, yes. That was my uncharacteristically significant weekend. How was yours? :)

Friday, April 8, 2011

to myself:

wake-up, wake-up!
can you hear me?

you've fallen asleep and let everything topple around you.
you don't care.

locks are rusted; the key is buried deep in your heart and you won't wake-up ever again.
i need you to care, i need you.

the piles of regret on the floor are knee-deep. everywhere i go i'm wading through heartache and nostalgia that stain my feet with blood.
i sharpen these words and run their blade down your body. i leave red footprints in your snow white skin. but you don't feel anything except the sleep.

the sheets are stained with your tears that i cry for you.
i want to love you again as i once loved you when we were the same person.
you were a part of me,
now you are apart from me.

come back. wake-up.
(please! don't leave me alone.
i am fading away now that you don't care.)

I need to clean my room. In short, it looks like a filing cabinet sneezed all over my floor. It also looks like my chest of drawers vomited....
I told my brother my messy room was symbolic of my life. It was a joke and it was the truth. So, yes. life has been messy and full of large doses of apathy and a sadness I can't quite shake. But, I really have been feeling better. The words above were written in memory of how I used to feel in the not-so-distant past. Waking-up has been an excruciating, slow process. The arrival of warmer weather has helped, though. It's as if Spring has helped thaw my heart. (Rather cheesy, non?)
I'm heading into a busy weekend and week. We are moving my grandparents into their new home tomorrow. I also have all-day rehearsal for Alice in Wonderland which I'll have to miss part of. (I don't really mind, though.) Next weekend is the play so I am heading into production week. (If I'm not around much, that's why.) I feel so weary and unprepared. But you know what? It's okay. God is good. And as much I seem to have trouble remembering that, at the end of the day that's all that matters, really.
And after life calms down, you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to clean my room.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

The Three Ugly Princesses

My blogger is still having the formatting problems. I googled my problem and found out I'm not the only one. It is apparently a problem with my browser (Internet Explorer) so if the problem is not fixed soon I suppose I shall try Firefox... (Oh the joys of internet, non?) But! I found out if I type the whole post in the HTML section and post without previewing or going into the compose section, my spaces and breaks will stay. I am crossing my fingers!
So, today I am posting a short story (the one I tried to post yesterday) that I wrote about four years ago. I think I was 13, almost 14. Apologies for any bad grammar/choppy writing/erroneous punctuation... (Though I did make a few corrections.)
Okay, here is my story which is called, "The Three Ugly Princesses".


Once upon a time there was a king and a queen who lived happily and ruled fairly well. One day the Queen gave birth to a daughter. They were extremely happy until they realized that she was quite ordinary looking. In fact, she was ugly! The King and Queen were shocked. “Princesses are supposed to be extremely beautiful!” the King exclaimed, “What has gone wrong?”
So they called for their wisest man. When he arrived, they showed him the princess. “Tut, tut, what an ugly baby!” the wise man observed. The King and Queen were rather annoyed at this remark for they already knew that.
”We know!” the Queen cried, “We were hoping you could help!”
”Tut, Tut,” sniffed the wise man “There is nothing I can do!”
The Queen became very distressed at this and the wise man, who hated it when women cried, said, “Come, Come, I know what I shall do! I shall ask the author of the story why she made the princess... er... unattractive.”
So he was sent off to talk to the author. The next day he returned.
“Well??? What did she say?” the Queen asked eagerly.
“The Author said that she made her ugly on purpose and she plans to give you two more daughter, each uglier than the last.”
“WHAT?!?!” the King shouted, “This is an outrage!!! What evil purpose does she have in mind???”
“Ah well, she said something about finding out the true character of Prince Charmings and heroic figures... or something.” replied the wise man.
The Queen almost fainted, “What a terrible thing! What a wicked person! What a heartless creature! And I hate the number three! And yet I have to have three ugly daughters! Surely you told her that three is a hated number of mine!”
“Yes... I mentioned that and she said it was one of her favourite numbers and she also said that you should... um... er... *cough*...” stammered the wise man
“That I should what?” the Queen demanded. “What did she say??”
“Um... well... she said that you should stop being an asinine, silly goose and accept life as it comes.” The wise man said nervously. The Queen said nothing; she had fainted.
“What kind of author is this??” roared the King. “I want her head cut off at once!”
“I am afraid that is not possible,” the wise man timidly said, “because the author is controlling the events.”
“Oh...” the King felt very deflated, finally accepting the fact that there was nothing he could do. After the Queen recovered they named their baby Alaina Nicolette Henrietta Ivana Sophia Cassandra Joy. They tried to make up for her ugly face with a lot of pretty names stuck together. But a lot of pretty names stuck together aren’t pretty, they are just tiresome.
Three years later they were blessed (“Cursed is more like it.” muttered the King) with another baby girl. This one was even uglier than Alaina. She was named Lorraine Emerald Giselle Sara Rosemary Gloria Miranda.
Then three more years later, the last, and ugliest, princess was born. The King and Queen were now sick of all the long names, so the last princess was simply named Sylvia.
Many years passed and Alaina turned 20. (Lorraine was 17 and Sylvia, 14.) The thought of marriage was beginning to enter their parent’s minds. They were thinking of how to pull it off when the Queen had an idea: “A Prince Charming! That’s what we need! A Prince Charming to marry Alaina!” The King was delighted at this.
“Of course! I’ll call the Prince Charming hotline and see what they have!” So call he did and he scheduled a Prince Charming to come within the week.
A few days later he arrived. Pompously he strode into the hall where the King and his family were gathered.
“So,” he said. Where is the princess I must charm and marry?”
The wise man presented Alaina.
“Gadzooks!” the Prince shouted, “that can’t be a Princess! Princesses are supposed to be beautiful! I will NOT charm her and I most certainly will NOT marry her.”
The wise man tried to cajole him; “But Prince! Looks are not everything! Alaina’s very good at... taking care of children... and um... well...” He was at a loss for words because she couldn’t do much else.
But the prince was adamant. “Children are not important! Princesses are supposed to sit and be pretty!” The Prince Charming would not be cajoled and he marched out in a huff. I hear that he went and married some girl without much character... I don’t quite remember her name, but it started with a ‘C’.
The Queen was miffed and consequently she never used the Prince Charming hotline again. But Alaina did marry. It was an arranged marriage to an older duke whose wife had died, leaving him with five young children. Though arranged marriages never seem ideal, she was happy enough.

Three years passed and Lorraine reached her 20th year. She loved to read; that was what she did most of the time. The Queen was beginning to wonder who they were going to induce to marry Lorraine.
The Queen thought her problem was solved when one day as she, the King, Lorraine and Sylvia were sitting down to dinner, heard a knock at the door. Upon the opening of the door a frog hopped into the room.
“Good afternoon, royal highnesses!” the frog said politely. “I have a favour to ask. I am not really a frog but a prince under a spell. I was wondering if you had a princess who could kiss me and turn me back to a Prince and then I could marry her.” The King then eagerly presented Lorraine.
The effect on the frog prince was disastrous. “For the love of mud!! Princesses are supposed to be extremely gorgeous! I’m going back to the pond!” And with that the frog Prince bounded off and eventually he did convince a Princess to kiss him. I hear he didn’t make a very good husband, though, because he had picked up a few nasty habits from being a frog. (At least they never had a problem with flies in the house.)
“Hmph... I’m sure he would not have been suitable anyways.” sniffed the Queen.
But Lorraine was married soon enough. To an old crusty billionaire who was looking for a wife to use as a secretary.

More years went by. The Queen was beginning to look at Sylvia with scheming thoughts in mind. Sylvia hardly noticed because most of the time she was in the forest climbing trees or wading in creeks. That was where she was happiest.
As she was walking in the forest one day she walked by a gnarled old tree. It looked, she thought, rather like a dragon. As she was looking at it, a knight in shining white armour appeared out of nowhere on his horse. With the cry of, “Don’t worry fair maiden! I will save you!”, he whacked at the tree with his sword until there was nothing left. Sylvia had been rather shocked at first but as she thought about how ridiculous it was she burst out laughing. The knight got off his horse and put up his visor expecting to see a beautiful maiden to go with the beautiful laughter (though he was not quite sure why she was laughing).
“Odds, Bodkins!” the knight yelped. “Surely you cannot be a maiden in distress!”
“Actually I’m a princess - though I’m not in distress!” and at that she burst into more laughter at the stupefied look on his face.
“But... but... princesses aren’t ugly!” he blurted.
Sylvia controlled herself long enough to answer; “Well, this one is. But I don’t want to marry you. I wouldn’t for the whole forest!” And still laughing she walked away. The knight stared after her a while, gaping, then got back on his horse to go rescue a poor witless maiden who had got her finger stuck in an oven door.
Sylvia then went to her mother and father to inform them that she was not going to marry and that she was sick of being a princess so she was going to live in the forest. And before her mother could faint or her father could call the wise man, she left and didn’t return.

In the years that followed, everyone generally lived contentedly ever after. Alaina had ten children in all. Lorraine's husband died, leaving her lots of money and lots of books. And Sylvia lived happily in the forest. The Queen decided to stay in bed all the time because of her nerves and the King continued to rule fairly well. The wise man was fired for never giving good advice, so he fulfilled his life-long dream and became an apple grower.
Though everyone was very happy, I’d have to say Sylvia was the happiest of all because she got what she wanted most in the world: Freedom.

THE END!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Saturday, April 2, 2011

a problem...

My blogger is having MAJOR formatting problems. Every time I leave a post as a draft or preview a post or try to edit its html, all the paragraph breaks disappear so there is just a large block of text. And APPARENTLY when I post all the spaces disappear as well. I didn't know this till about a minute ago, when I was trying to post a story and all the spaces disappeared. I am unbelievably frustrated. Is anyone else having this problem? So, hopefully this problem will disappear... because it is, to put it mildly, annoying. *sigh*