Category: 100 Writings in 100 Days

Oh, What a World We Live In

100 Writings in 100 Days

Writing #4

October 19, 2014

Keep the People Afraid

What a world we live in,

Afraid to drink from water hoses for fear of getting cancer,

We cannot turn on our televisions without seeing mass hysteria and gore.

Children cannot play outside anymore, may end up on the internet.

Parents cannot discipline their children, but are later blamed for the mistakes their kids make.

Most everything we read now, on the internet, is fake.

Media shoves inflated fear and photoshopped violence, now satire is considered credible.

And oh, to be a woman.

We are taught lies of how to protect ourselves, we cannot drink alone.

We cannot even go to the bathroom without worrying if someone will catch us.

That shadow in the alley might be our rapist, or our death.

Men have it just as hard.

A man cannot speak out without being accused of sexism,

Gone is the gentleman lifestyle, replaced with the “playas”.

When a woman hits a man, he cannot defend himself.

He is laughed at when he reaches out for help.

Mankind suffers together, yet we constantly fight.

We kill each other over gender, race, religion, and preference,

When we should be standing side by side.

Our governments lie to us, keeping us afraid so we’ll never trust another person.

Keep us dumb, keep us distracted, while they play their slight of hand.

No longer can we go out into the world and explore, make discoveries,

We’re too scared of what we’ll bring home to our families.

No one protects us, no one keeps us safe.

We live in a world where police officers are not constitutionally bound to protect us,

Yet we give them all the power to control us.

What I fear for most is not the water hose,

It isn’t the media,

It isn’t the rapist or the murderer.

I fear for our children.

We’re creating a world where manners are dead, and common sense is ashes.

We’re creating a world where our children are desensitized to violence, and think it’s funny.

We’re creating a world where moms or dads are breaking their backs and are never home,

Yet the wage brought home can hardly support anyone.

We’re creating a world where children only know one parent, and it’s become the norm,

Children are slaves to the world of technology, and have lost their imaginations.

I do not like this world we live in.

I Wear My Emotions on my Sleeve

100 Writings in 100 Days

October 18, 2014

Writing # 3

My hands began to shake with anticipation as I lifted the razor from its hiding place. A thousand different emotions washed through me as I stared upon its gleaming blade. Cutting was always a last resort for me. Each time the blade left a line on my skin, I felt like I had failed myself and others around me. A lot goes through my mind as I press the blade ever closer, such as how to cover up the deed I was about to do.

I would have to trade all of my undershirts for t-shirts for a few days until the wounds healed enough to not stand out too badly from the others. Whatever I used to clean the wounds would have to be disposed of in the dead of night when I knew everyone was asleep. Most importantly, the razorblade had to be hidden in such a way that no one could find it but me.

I felt the first stabbing pain as the razor sliced my skin open, and the first trickle of blood began its journey down my arm. Then something caught my eye. I turned to look, and saw a pen sitting on the nightstand beside my bed. For a moment, the task at hand disappeared as I stared at the pen. New thoughts began to cross my mind.

The cuts on my arms do make me feel better. They turn an emotional pain into a physical one, and physical wounds can be taken care of and heal properly. The message they convey to others, however, does not even begin to scratch the surface of emotions I felt when I made the marks to begin with. When people look upon my scars, they look with disgust. They look with pitying eyes, or judgmental ones. They look upon me with sorrow, and wonder if they could have helped prevent it. They look upon me with worry, or curiosity. The worst one for me, however, is those who look upon my actions as “childish”, or “attention seeking”, when all I really wanted was to find a little peace within myself. Everyone wants to ask, but few are brave enough to hear the answers I’d give them. Truth be told, I’m not sure I am capable of physically telling them all that runs through my head.

The wounds convey all that is negative in my life, and they are a standing reminder of the weaknesses I felt. They stand to remind me of all that I survived. I began to wonder what would happen if I could find another way.

So I picked up my pen. I set the razorblade down, and instead of carving my emotions in nonsensical scars, I began to write upon my skin. Words began to appear as each passing thought inspired a new phrase to be written.

\

         Sadness
Betrayal
Anger
Pain
Hope
Heal
Want Peace
Alone
Lonely
Need Help
Be Proud
Love
Regret
Mistakes
Broken

                The words began to take a whimsical appearance as I gained confidence. I felt a strange peace begin to grow within me, similar to how I feel when I cut. I was shocked and amazed, so I wrote that as well.

                Confidence
Desire
Longing
Need
Happiness
This, too, shall pass

                When words left me, I drew patterns and pictures, abstract lines that crisscrossed and formed something beautiful. What once was a terrible and dark practice had turned into an art piece. Instead of everyone wondering what precisely I was feeling when I did this, the words were written plainly for all to see.

The pen is mightier than the sword, and we sometimes forget just how powerful words can be. I had forgotten that I am, and will always be, a writer. I have the tools around me to help, and it doesn’t always have to result in mutilation of my body.

By the time I was done and had set the pen aside, I stared upon to words and tried to memorize each of them. I went into the bathroom and washed them off, and no red mark remained. I would not spend the next few days worrying if my sleeve was raised too high, or scratching as they healed. I looked at myself in the mirror, and saw peace in my eyes.

I am Only a Penguin

I am Only a Penguin

I know I’m very behind. I’m hard at work on the stories, I just can’t post them as soon as they happen, for the most part. But this one was just too cute to share, I think. In my personal opinion.

100 Writings in 100 Days

Writing # 2

October 17, 2014

The room was dark as she carefully climbed into bed, tucking herself in under her blankets. She eyed the dark suspiciously for only a moment before finally reaching over for her stuffed animal. Most people had teddy bears, but she had me, a Penguin. I recognize that my job is very important, having to protect my human from the scary things that go bump in the night. And trust me, it is quite scary.

As she gathered me up into her arms, I could tell she’d had a very bad day because of how tightly she held me. Her bad days were getting worse and worse, with less spacing in between. I tried to tell her that everything was going to be okay, but I am only a penguin. My mouth does not move, and I cannot even hug her back. I do my best to stay on the bed so she can always find me, but sometimes I fall off. Anyway, the point is I do all that I can to let her know I’m there for her.

She tosses and turns for a bit, her body twitching with the first signs of slumber. This is when the job of a stuffed animal really matters. As our humans fall asleep, lots of things come out to try and take advantage of the now vulnerable humans. It is our job to protect them from the dark and grotesque that bumps and thumps in the dark. I prepared myself for epic battle.

Carefully I slid from her arms, once her breathing evened out and she snored quietly. I surveyed my surroundings. So far, so good. Nothing to be afraid of thus far. All of a sudden, I heard it. A very low, very quiet moan. The monster in the closet was back, and I launched myself over to it, closing the door and locking it inside. No monsters will attack my human, no matter how hard they try. In my haste to close the closet door, a few ghosts hovered above her. I waddled as fast as I could over to the bed, climbing up and standing over her.

“Back, you ghosts! Back! You are not allowed to touch her! She is protected!”

The power of love is a strong thing, never underestimate that. I knew she loved me, because a little guy such as myself should not be intimidating at all. But I have a very strong aura about me that deters monsters, ghosts, and ghouls. Until that love fades, I’ll always be stronger than the creepy crawlies. The ghosts fled from me, disappearing into the walls and out of sight. I heard the quiet tinkling of a bell, and turned to see some fairies buzzing around her head. Most of the damage had already been done as they sprinkled their dust over her hair. It stood up, tangling in some areas. I sighed. I hate fairies.

I managed to chase them away, and spent most of the night doing this. Each time she stirred I moved back to my spot, or as close to it as I could manage, so she would be none the wiser of my escape. It is against the Stuffed Toy Handbook for our humans to discover us.

Finally as the sun begins to rise, and she begins to wake, I climb back into her arms and hold her as close as a stuffed penguin can. As soon as her eyes open and she looks back into mine, she smiles. Good. Already beginning to feel better. I try to smile back at her, but remember that I can’t. I’m only a penguin.

Letter to my Soul Mate

I realize I’m a little late for my 100 Stories in 100 Days. I also realize that my first writing isn’t a “story”. I was thinking about this on my birthday, and decided to share it. Maybe I should change it to 100 Writings in 100 Days. Forgive my tardiness. Starting today, I begin the journey of 100 Writings in 100 Days. Wish me luck!

October 16, 2014
Writing # 1

To my soul mate that I have not yet met,

You do not know me, nor do I know you. One thing I know for certain, however, is that I have put a lot of thought into you. I often wonder if you do the same for me. Do you ever wonder who I am, where I am, and when we will meet? I have.

Am I going to meet you at the store one day when I’m out buying groceries? Will you stop to help me on the side of the road if I get a flat tire? Or will I accidentally bump into you and knock your things to the ground, just like in the movies?

I often wonder what you look like, dear Soul Mate. Do you have dark hair? Light hair? Is it long or short? But what drives me crazy with curiosity is what color your eyes are. Are they green or brown? Do they sparkle when you smile?

What does your voice sound like, I ask myself. Does it flow smoothly, or does it have a gravelly sound? What do you sound like when you laugh?

I know I’m not supposed to tell, because it will ruin it, but I dedicated my birthday wish to you. Do you do the same for me? That should tell you how much I wish to find you.

I picture what our life would be like together. I picture something comfortable, something nice. I picture a proper family with a dog in the backyard. I hear the laughter of our children as they run around carefree, and the steam from our coffee cups rise in the cool morning air.

One more thing I wish to know. Do you smile often, and is it genuine? Because I hope to see that smile as often as I can. I like to imagine it warming my heart on a cold day, and making my stomach do flips. I like to picture that smile making me weak at the knees.

Most importantly, however; do you love me as I love you? Can you accept me with all my scars, my broken pieces? I don’t want you to fix me, but maybe you could help me with the repairs. I would do the same for you. We can help repair each other.

I do not know who you are, where you are from, or when we will meet. But I hope, if you do exist, that you wish to find me as badly as I wish to find you.

Until we speak,

                Jackie Spade