Guess who’s back?
I’m horrible, I know. BUT I’M BACK:D
Let’s see for how long.
March 31, 2012
Fifii
INSOMNIA
HEY GUYS! I realize I am possibly three weeks overdue. But here it is:) I was listening to ‘Moves like Jagger’ while I wrote it:)
Whitney nudged me playfully, pulling me back to reality. She was used to me getting distracted. At this point I was trying my level best to distract myself from the throbbing, pain in my temples as my forehead screamed in anguish. My forehead was corrugated, though, and I’m guessing Whitney suspected something.
Whitney never pitied me. That’s what I like the most about her; the fact that she never treated me any different than she would have treated somebody else. She was a great friend, and the best part was that she got on really well with Leah.
My sister. A kaleidoscope of emotions. You never really knew what to expect from her. Except to stay on your toes. ALWAYS. I doubt my own mother worries about me as much as she does. Let’s just say…
Slam. I had collided into somebody. A certain somebody with dark red hair. The blood rushed to my face and my hands tingles as she lifted her chin. Mary.
“I am so…”
“Save it, will you, Thorne? I have to get to class”. She sat up, pushed her long hair behind her back and gathered up her books. I bent down to help her. Her angry-brown eyes met mine for a second, an indescribable emotion visible in them. She looked away before I could say anything, and stalked off, her head held high.
My insides squirmed with guilt. I looked at Whitney, who tutted.
“I TOLD you not to get involved with her! Look, she’s even more screwed up than before now. If you want to have proper relationships, you have to tell people…”
“ But I did love her, and you know it, Whitney! She’s beautiful and fiery, but she’s so goddamned INQUISITIVE. And I’m human, aren’t I?” I exploded. I couldn’t take it anymore. But even before the words were out of my mouth, I felt a new guilt fir lashing out on Whitney
Truth is, I’m ASHAMED. The way I treated Mary really was… bad, to say the least. I had been infatuated with her since the moment I first saw her; she was the girl who was really… alive. She was the rebel who everybody liked. Because she wasn’t as hardcore as she made out. I needed somebody to who wasn’t Whitney who got me in a different way. So I kind of used her. Okay, I COMPLETELY used her. She showed me a side of her that nobody knew, a gentle side, and I used her for personal satisfaction. I know it wasn’t love. So what I told Whitney was wrong, it wasn’t love, it was obsession. And when she realized that…
“I know, I know, let’s drop it. But you should think about it, Michael I mean it. Or everyone’s going to stop caring.” Whitney sped up, so that she was now ahead of me.
I sighed. I had upset her. And there was probably no way I could win her around for some time now. Maybe I was just lazy. I did feel exhausted, maybe if I just lay down for a while…
NO. That was just wishful thinking, thinking that I could sleep. I knew it was impossible. But I was so very exhausted…
I staggered, and stumbled into Whitney. She looked at me and grabbed me around the waist, looking alarmed. Half carrying me to the gigantic tree , we sat under its shade. I looked around the campus. It was a cloudy day, and everyone was trying to find patches of sunlight to sit in. My head was spinning, it dropped and I collapsed, lying down with my head in her lap…
I jolted awake. But I was no longer at college… I was in a building. A BURNING building. The flames lapped at the bed I was sitting on, sending waves of intense heat my direction. I could smell the fear in the air around me. There were matches and a candle on my bed. Horror filled me.
My fingers smelled of the smoke, but… but I didn’t start the fire! There was a scorch mark on my shirt, and I could hear distinct screaming from the next room. There was too much confusion, I sat there for a second, trying to figure out where I was ad how I got there. I was in an apartment building… that’s right! On the bed in the middle of the room. But the terror that I was feeling was almost painful, and all I could think was “GET OUT OF HERE”
I dodged the flames and banged the door open, trying to find the emergency exit. The screaming continued, and now my mind found meaning in the words spoken.
“Help, help! Please!” shrieked the voice; a girl. Fear made me blind to everything but saving my own skin. I found the staircase, and found flames lapping at the curtained stairs. There was a fire escape, and I climbed out the window. My heart leapt to my throat, and it was racing. My face was cut where it scraped against the broken glass of the window.
The distance was dizzying; the city lights flashing, a fire hose extinguishing the flames…but I made it. A fireman in a yellow, torn plastic uniform came up to me and carried me to the truck, which had the insides like a large caravan and that smelled like jelly doughnuts. He handed me to the paramedics. I twisted and shouted, sense finally returning to me and a new terror captivating me.
“There’s… No, you don’t understand… LET GO OF ME! THERE’S SOMEBODY…”
“Son.” The fireman looked me in the eye “We’ll get them. Watch him, Sue.”
I watched the fireman climb the ladder up to the third floor. I waited with bated breath when finally, FINALLY the fireman came down with a girl. She looked okay! She looked fine, but she was so oddly positioned… she didn’t look older than five. A few men rushed to him, lifting the child and placing her on the stretcher. I heard what they said
“couldn’t get a pulse…dead…so young, bless her…What do we tell the parents, doc…?”
I shut my eyes, covered my ears, trying to block it all out. The paramedic looked at me. Her nametag read ‘Siobhan’.
“How old are you, baby? And what’s your name?”
“Ten. Michael Thorne”
“You were very smart to know where to climb out from.”
“We… we had a fire drill at school…” My voice was breaking. This was my fault! My conscience shouted at me.
For the first time, I noticed the lady sitting next to me with her baby. She was rocking the child
“Catch a falling star, and put it in your pocket…”
Never let it fade away. I whispered to myself miserably trying to comfort myself with the lullaby. But this was my fault, it should have been me…
The sweltering heat almost blistered my skin, black smoke against the night sky…
I sat up with a sharp intake of breath. I was back at the campus. Tears were at the back of my eyes, and my head pounded. I looked into Whitney’s doe eyes.
CRACKING UNDER PRESSURE
OKAY
I haven’t posted anything, and I can’t bring myself to care.
THIS SCHOOL YEAR IS SO HARD!!!!!!
I AM CRACKING UNDER PRESSURE
words of inspiration anybody? helppp!
GUYS
I’M DOING A MODEL UNITED NATIONS DEBATE I CAN’T POST RIGHT NOW
SORRY. WILL POST LATER WHEN I’M FREE
LISTEN
Guys, tomorrow’s post might arrive a little late. Because I have it all on paper, I know, stupid. It’ll take time to type it out. x
Something sweet.
Rain makes everything depressing. Admit it. It’s completely dark. So I had THE MOST AWESOME IDEA.
MAKE HOT CHOCOLATE:)
Step 1: Take 3 heaped tablespoons Galaxy hot chocolate powder
Step 2: Put it in a cup of milk.
Step 3: Microwave for 1 min 30 seconds
Step 4: MARSHMELLOWS<3<3<3
END RESULT:
Not a very descriptive post, I know. But hey, at least I posted something 
INSOMNIA FIRST PEEK
PROLOGUE:
Losing somebody you cared for, losing somebody you KNEW. It’s really not like it is in movies. Oh, no it’s much more painful than that.
Have you ever been at the bottom of a pool, been underwater too long for comfort? That feeling that you get when your chest is about to burst, but you daren’t release the breath that you’re holding in, because you know what’s going to happen, and how bad it’s going to be? That’s how it feels when you realize you’ve lost someone. You’re about to go to pieces inside, your chest is filled with indescribable grief, like a balloon that’s been filled a little too much. Your body feels like that stretchy rubber of the balloon. That the slightest pressure could make it burst, causing a loud noise, so horrible, so painful, so senseless. But, just like you feel at the bottom of the pool, you know that you can’t release the scream, the sorrow that you’re holding inside you, because the result will be chaotic.
When the sun is in the sky, shining so indiscriminately, even the worst pain doesn’t feel that bad. Everything feels like it can be patched up, and you find ways to console yourself. But when the sun disappears into the horizon, sinking into the sea, it leaves behind the cover of nightfall. Night. So beautiful, yet so terrible. So dead, yet so alive. So quiet, yet blaringly loud when it comes to your pain and misery. The night is a contradiction, I believe. You’re engulfed in your fear; you let it captivate you, drowning in your misery. Maddened by the what-ifs, all the things you never said, and the things you now will never say. The endless memories, the never said apologies. But most importantly, the element of why; the thought that what could you POSSIBLY have done to deserve an intense feeling of pain. What you could have done to prevent it, to get just ten more minutes with them. Is that too much to ask, really?
Is it too much to ask to see the shade their hair was in the sunlight again? Or the wafting smell of their shampoo, the smell of home, the exact color of their eyes that doesn’t belong to anybody but them? Their voice, the one voice you have gotten so used to, the one voice that you hear so often, you would recognize it amongst a million voices? To feel, just one more time, like you belonged? No. It isn’t, and life is unfair. But you have to suck it up, because the world will never stop spinning, no matter how much the pain in your chest goes against that. No matter how much, when you realize, I will never ever see them again, you want to curl up and wither away unnoticed.
The misery leaves you a shell of what you used to be. It claws out your being, feeds of any happy emotion you ever felt, till you crave happiness. You start to hate yourself, because you have nobody to direct the grief towards. But you never let it show. You still do the same things, and eventually go about life the same way. But your inside is never the same, because where you used to have emotions, feelings, MATTER captivating your being, now all you have is an empty hole, and a whole lot of senseless pain. That’s a hole you can’t climb out of, and nobody notices. Because you’re so captivated by your pain that you can’t share it with anybody else, you are hurting too much. You’re afraid they won’t understand, afraid they’ll tell you to snap out of it. But most importantly, you are afraid of getting hurt again. The smallest thing can feel like you have no skin, and somebody rubbing sandpaper on your exposed flesh. You don’t need practicality or a pep talk; you need sympathy. Compassion. You’re so deeply submerged in your self-pity and self hate, you can’t bring yourself to care about others. It’s not personal, and definitely nothing intentional; it’s just too painful.
It is like every pore of your body is filled with a whirlwind of dust that just won’t settle. Your mind sinks into a stupor; a limbo of memories and desires. Everything you did with the person you lost, everything you said to them, everything you WANTED to say and do. And, when you’re submerged in a world of memories, you don’t want to leave. You give yourself over to them.
It’s not like you feel like this all the time. Sometimes, when you’re unoccupied, or just gazing at nothing, you forget. You mind drifts, and for those moments you feel normal again. You might even interact with people, laugh at something funny that you remembered. But then you remember, and guilt washes over you for ever feeling happy. I mean, how can you feel happy when there is so much to be sad about? How can you even think about feeling that short lived happiness, when somebody you loved so much, when somebody so precious to you is… dead? That’s the work: dead. You didn’t want to think it before, but the reality of it finally, finally hits you; they’re dead.
My name is Michael, and this is my story.
Ten months earlier:
“Gazing into the pale blue sky, with iridescent sugar spun clouds.
It was like pinpointing something in a crowd.
Something you can feel but you can’t see.
And my love for you is as…”
Irritated, I put the paper down and ripped my headphones out of my ear. Being a teacher’s assistant was never easy, and at moments like this, incredibly trying. I massaged my temples. Couldn’t girls think of anything better to write about than love? I mean, seriously. Is it too much to ask from these people to be more original? Poetry isn’t all about cheesy limericks and odes.
Maybe that’s just my pessimistic nature not willing to think outside the box. But still. I had actually thought the poem was pretty good for a freshman. Well, I guess it’s just the same old. I scrawled an ‘8’ on the top of the page and capped my pen. Thank God I was free till eight, when I had psychology. I slipped the papers into their folders and put it in the cabinet, and left the classroom.
The university was relatively crowded. A group of freshman girls walked past me and avoided my eyes, dimpling. TA’s are always the first people they go after, and I pretended not to notice. The pain in my head was slight, but steady. My neck was stiff. I hadn’t slept…
Something collided into me from behind. I turned around, alarmed.
“Why hello there, Michael.” Said a drawling voice.
“Hi. Sorry about lunch, I was stuck grading poetry.”
“Yeah, whatever. Are you free now?”
“Yeah, I don’t have class till 8.”
“Cool. Let’s go.” My best friend, Whitney, tied her white-blonde hair into a weird twisty thing that girls always do behind her head and slipped into my stride. We had been best friends for quite some time now. Most of my friends couldn’t understand how we were ‘just friends’ and Darren was quite convinced that we were involved in some kind of ‘secret love.’
Whitney’s gorgeous, it’s true. But I just can’t picture myself… with her. She’s like a bubble; something delicate, something you can only admire from afar, but wouldn’t dare to touch. I’m not saying this because I tried. It’s because I’ve seen how she acts around boys who show a liking in her. Something dark in her past that I’ve never bothered to ask her about made her that way. They are too many dark things in my own past…
(OKAY so that’s it for today. I know how short it is and I’m sorry but come back next week to read more!)
REMINDER
For anyone who might have forgotten, the first excerpt of Insomnia is released on Friday! Don’t forget to read it!
Till the next time, then!
xoxo
Fifii
Premonition
Sorry I haven’t posted in a few days, I’ll try to be more regular (Okay, so I this is an essay that I wrote for a language assignment. Which is pretty creepy. So here it is)
Words can change your life. Advice, insults, or warnings, they have a way of affecting you one way or another. When your sixth sense tells you that something you don’t want to believe is a hundred percent true, the eerie chill sent down your spine is positively terrifying. Maybe if I was a believer, I could have saved myself. But rationality got in the way…
My father’s friend had a brother who was a ‘fortune teller’. Mikael Rafique. That was his name. After a dinner at our house, he asked me if I wanted to become aware of what was fated for me. Now I am a strict believer in logic, reason, and most importantly, common sense. But I had nothing better to do at the time, so I agreed.
He put his fingers to my temples. He had the butterfly’s touch; the lightest hand. I will never forget that feeling on either sides of my head, when a shiver coursed though my body. His closed eyes began to twitch, and suddenly, he removed his hands from my head, confusion and a kind of fear visible in his eyes.
“It was all very unclear… I saw an empty packet of crisps, a knife and a fork… and I heard a whistle. A very distinct whistle. I sense extreme danger in your path, but it doesn’t add up. Steer clear of…” I cut him off, scoffing.
“Of a knife and a fork? Thank you for your analysis, Mr. Rafique, but I think that’s enough.” I was quite irritated. What a waste of time! What danger could possibly be in my path?
***
The next day, I was leaving for a village. My cousins and I were planning to stay there for a week, before travelling up north. I had a train to catch in two hours, and was watching the news before. The anchorwoman had a very sombre expression. I sat up even more straight and turned the volume up. She was talking about a cannibal. An escaped cannibal! Apparently, he had light blue eyes, and a tattoo of some sort of culinary items on his wrist, and he was mentally unhinged. He was imprisoned because while posing as a babysitter, he killed seven children! He killed children! How sick and sadistic!
Completely mesmerized by what she was saying, I forgot about my train. In between a description of exactly how he killed the fourth child (strategically placed in the oven), I happened to glance at the time. I literally jumped. My train was in twenty-five minutes and I wasn’t even ready! Hysterical, I turned off the news and got my things together.
I leapt out of my car and galloped at full sped towards the terminal, but I knew that it was too late. I could hear the whistle of the departing train from where I ran. I flopped down angrily on an orange bench with furious tears in my eyes.
The terminal was completely deserted. I walked over to the board that stated when the next train would depart, and I heard someone behind me. Wait… wasn’t the terminal deserted? Maybe I could get some help. I noticed an empty, crumpled up packet by my feet as I turned around. This irritated me; why must people litter? I bent down to pick it up, and when I straightened up, I came face to face with a man.
He was dressed normally, But there was something… off about him, something I couldn’t put my finger on. He extended his hand towards me, as if he wanted me ti shake it. A tattoo of a knife and a fork was clear on his wrist; and it all clicked. The wrapper, the whistle, the fork and knife… Mikael’s predictions. Horror spreading to my very fingertips, I looked up… into the most piercing blue eyes I have ever seen.
***
Okay, so that’s it! I hope you liked it. It was a very spontaneous essay. And remember, constructive critisism is always appreciated! This is what my teacher said, though:
(Keep in mind that she is a VERY strict teacher)
Thanks for reading! Till the next time, then!
xoxo
Ffii
