Tuesday, October 16, 2012

A little something from my real life (ongoing work.)

It was lightly snowing the day I went to see her. The high beams from the Camaro played an illusion of light on the snowflakes, making them look like a thousand stars floating in the unwavering air in front of the vehicle. That reminded me of those pale blue eyes of hers, how they always sparkled, no matter the roughest time she had. As I drove up the lone hill in the prairie, fog settled in, making everything have the eerie yet Zen feel about it. I parked the car and looked out to the tall iron cast gate, which held the residents inside. ?You can do this mike.? I told myself. I hastily walked to the gate, a dozen roses in hand. Walking through the rows, you could see familiar names from families, old men, and some teenagers, most of whom were here because of the gang activity close by. Today though, was not about the others, but of Amy, my Amy. About ten minutes of walking in, I stopped in front of a statue carved from marble to look like an angel of death. ?Hey there sweetheart.? I said in the softest tone I could muster, as if to not disturb the other residents in their long nap of solitude.

Kneeling down, I placed the roses into the small, permanent flower holders, brushing off some of those snow that fell on them. With a unstable hand, I placed it on the cold marble next to her name, etching the A with a finger. My saddened lips read out the words to no one, ?Here lays Amy B. She is always loved, and remembered.? I sat back in the snow just staring at her name. Flashbacks started to hit me from left to right. The very first one was remembering how we first met. Her and I were in middle school together. It was a warm, Friday afternoon during recess. I myself was sitting on the swing set, enjoying the afternoon. Suddenly from behind me I was pushed to the ground. ?Hey Mikey!? said the bully of the school, Jack. ?What are you doing on the ground? Eating dirt again?? Him and his friends laughed their heads off. I was about to cry. ?Oh come on Mikey! Don?t be a cry baby!!? Jacks hand raised his hand to smack me across the face, but his hand was stopped short. There stood Amy, her hand gripped to Jacks hand. ?You leave him alone!? Before any of the teachers could arrive on the scene in time, Amy punched him square in the nose, breaking the brittle bone in half.

The next flashback I had was set a few years later. Amy and I had been going out together since that day on the playground. Today was out freshman year at high school. Hand in hand, we walked to our homeroom, but we were stopped short. ?Hey, kid, where do you think your going?? said a kid, which looked to be a senior by height. His voice was low and raspy, as if he had been smoking since he was six. ?Um, we are just headed to our homeroom, what?s it to you?? I said. He chuckled a bit and stared us down. ?I?ve seen you before, what?s your name?? With a little hesitation I replied, ?M-mike?this is Amy..? I said, indicating to her next to me. ?Say, with the new relationship and such, you two want to make a few extra bucks??

We both looked at each other hesitantly, wondering if it was a good idea. ?Sure? N-n-no problem.? I was very shy at my age, unlike my beloved Amy.. ?What?s the catch?? She said sternly with a glimmer of warning in her eye. The senior just chuckled, ?You two just got to run a few things back and forth from the other side of town.? We both thought it wasn?t such a bad thing to do, so we agreed. Little did we know though, we would be gunrunners for a very long time?.

I hope you have enjoyed the little bit I wrote. all of this has taken place in my life, and I will continue to share as I write it down and organize it in a readable way.

---StormBlade---

Source: http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RolePlayGateway/~3/8QDlPvG_CPc/viewtopic.php

colcannon dystonia tourettes gonzaga rosie o donnell soda bread recipe vanderbilt

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.