A Poem for You---- 248

Those unexpected twists

Life can throw some curves

Faster than the knife

Sticking out of your back

And I’m still waiting on the day

When my heart won’t have to feel this way

Don’t give up on me

He whispers soft and sweet

But isn’t it too late?

I’m still hoping against hope

This little tip top show

Won’t end in tears again

No, not tonight

Don’t read into everything

I won’t give up my anything

Don’t give anything away

There’s still room for you to stay

Please stay

Sweetheart this road is long

And I won’t be coming along

So don’t cry for me

Your days are always full

And tomorrow you’ll be still

There for me

I want to see you again

But I’m waiting on this heart of mine to waken

Don’t hope against

Everything that’s going

Still going

I’m still going

Still going

Going down that long, long road

And let the words roll over

Let the evening lights gather

I’ll wait upon my wishing star

And light a fire inside this eerie heart

Of mine

A moth is strong and beautiful

A butterfly won’t last              

With every strife and strike and stride

I’ll pray upon my past 

He hears me when I'm broken

He fills me when I'm full

He's the reason that I'm praying

Still alive and here, still standing tall

I'm ready for the ocean

To press on through the waves

And tomorrow there will be 

My own sweet better days

10.16.2013: 336 (612 total today)

“Help me,” Came the whisper from within.

“Who are you?” I called, peering warily down the dark street. For a moment there was no answer. Then---

“Help me,” The same broken little cry pealed out from somewhere hidden, barely audible, yet clothed in desperation. Stricken, I pulled out my phone, the only light I had on me. Turning the brightness up to the max, I started forward down the little back street where crunched cement was piled against old concrete walls. I tried to muster up some moisture in my mouth.

I’d seen this scene before in a hundred movies: the Good Samaritan walks nobly down a dark road to save some innocent little creature, usually a beautiful girl who turns out to be the ring-leader of the muggers who then leap out from behind random object to bring the hero to his bitter end.

It’s a trap, I know it’s a trap.

But for some reason I kept walking, hoping feebly that it wasn’t. To be safe, I pulled my driver’s license and Visa out of my wallet, so at least my identity would be safe even if they got my cash. I shoved them into my inside coat pocket, zipping it. There was a large blue dumpster towards the back of the alley. A faint thumping from inside made me hurry, in spite of my fears.

“Help me…” The cry was weaker.

“Are you inside here?” I called out, banging my fist against the dumpster. There was no answer. Swallowing, I push up on the lid. It was locked down. I fiddled with it, feeling as if a thousand demons were breathing down my neck as the darkness seemed to grow. My left thumb consistently patted the touch-screen of my phone, keeping that little light alive.

Hurry up, hurry up.

A safety pin from my dry-cleaning slip helped me get the lock undone at last. I lifted the dumpster lid, feeling my stomach twist as I shone that eerie glow down upon its contents. 

10.15.2013: 130

“Here, try this.” David set a sweet caramel latte down in front of Eboni.

“Oh, but I said I didn’t want anything. What is it?” She replied, examining the drink.

“Latte. On me. Enjoy.” He hurried up the stairs into Jonathan’s office, where two tall men with stern brows and cranky faces lurked before the desk. All three men abruptly stopped their conversation at David’s entrance. Wordlessly, he handed Jonathan his coffee, and turned back towards the door, glancing back at the files on the desk.

They waited until he was out before resuming. Nervous, David sipped his own latte and tugged at his collar. The clock struck nine o’clock and people hurried into the briefing room. He followed, feeling that he was not going to like what he heard. 

This is a little sad, but I am past caring.

Food. I can’t even write about anything else tonight. Just foooooood. Big, rich, velvety Hawaiian burger, smothered in sauce with a thick layer of Swiss cheese and juicy pineapple. Or a sweet, crumbly, gooey chocolate chip cookie, its crispy, browned outer ring with the desert hills of rumply goodness on the inside. Or a big piece of fluffy, white angel food cake, caramelized chewiness and lush softness. Or even a bowl of M&M’s or skittles or Nerds. Sweet, sour, chewy and hard, melty and crunchy and oh so delicious. My mouth is literally watering. I need something that tastes good so bad. 

Imagine this: imagine a rich, dark, chocolaty surface. The chocolate is stiff, frozen, but creamy and rich, its thickness a treat to the tongue. That is the magic of chocolate frango. The most fabulous dessert of life. K, I'm done ranting about food now. 

So I wrote other stuff today but this is by far the most interesting. 

10.13.2013: 279

“Hey come on in.” He motioned smiling weakly as I knocked at the door frame. Smiling back, I sat down in the chair he offered. The Boss, his big yellow face growing redder, looked uncomfortable.

“Is something wrong?” I murmured innocently.

“Oh no, no.” He said too hastily. Then sighed. “Okay. This is hard for me to say.”

“You know you can tell me anything, after all our years together.”

He nodded wearily. “I know. I just never wanted it to end like this.”

“End?” The finality of the word hit me hard. “But, what do you mean?”

He sighed again, all of his weight settling down on top of itself.

“I’m sorry. We got some bad news yesterday from, ah, one of our members. It seems you’re no longer a planet Pluto.” He shook his head sadly. Dumbstruck, I couldn’t speak. “I’m going to do everything I can for you, but I can’t tell what’s going to happen at this point. I’m so sorry, my friend. We’ve never worked closely, but I’ve always known that I could count on you.”

I clenched my fist.

“I know who did this. It was Earth who tipped you off wasn’t it?” He nodded his fiery head.

“Yes.”

“Why? He’s got it all! Water! Vegetation! Life! Why take away my membership?” Seeing that I was starting to lose it, The Boss motioned for the Two to assist me out of the room. “I’ll do everything I can, Pluto.” He said as Neptune’s icy grip fastened on me. Uranus snickered.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this.” They threw me out.

Furious, I bellowed back with all the strength I could muster, “Eeeeeeeaaaaarth!”

And so began our glorious rivalry. 

"Did you hear about Pluto? That's messed up." ~Gus, Psych 

Don't Even Think It

This enemy of mine, we meet each and every day.

“Hello again,”

Just go away.

I can’t pretend I’m not a ghost

I can’t look past the feelings creeping down inside

I can’t escape it, no matter how I try

There’s nothing for it but to run

Will I run until I die?

I can’t go on this way forever

Maybe not going would be better

After all

10.13.2013: 432

“Good morning.”

“Yeah, not so much. We’ve got a case and a half today, so hurry up and bring everything we’ve got on Allen Darrow up to my desk, now.” Jonathan Frakes gargled from his coffee thermos as he stampeded through the office, bustling up the stairs and out of sight without even looking at his intern agent. The hum of voices grew louder as the other case agents poured in.

David Cassidy frowned. He was a tall man with a slippery smile and an impeccable case record, and he was growing tired of living in Frakes’ shadow simply because of seniority complications. Irritated at his boss’s flippant manner, David sauntered casually over to the records room. There. Allen Darrow’s file was thick and worn, creased and coffee stained, indicative of hours spent staring at its pages. David whistled, stepping up the stairs more quickly.

“Here you go.”

Jonathan said nothing. He grunted gruffly and took the file, pursuing it like a hunter. “What brought this up again?” David asked, swallowing. His boss looked up at him finally, studying his under agent as he had studied the file: hunting. He tapped the end of a ball point pen against his teeth.

“Grande mocha latte. And you should see if Eboni wants something too. I think she likes you. Maybe she’ll even give you a tip.” He turned back to the file, eyes scanning for tidbits of information that hid beneath its bureaucratic face.

Burning with resentment, David gritted his teeth and bowed out of the office. Downstairs, Eboni White sat at her desk with six callers on the line and eighty tips being reported at once. She smiled at him and mouthed, “Two seconds.” David nodded, his thoughts still tumbling angrily in his head.

“Okay, thank you very much. M’bye.” She clicked the receiver down and exclaimed cheerfully, “Good morning, Mr. Cassidy. What can I do for you?”

“Actually, what can I do for you? Jonathan’s sending me on a coffee run. Want anything?” He pulled a notepad out of his breast pocket.

“Oh thanks, but no thanks. I’m more of a tea drinker.”

“You’ll have to get over that new girl. Everyone drinks coffee in the FBI.”

“Well, we’ll see. Thanks for offering though. I wouldn’t think someone like you would do that sort of thing.”

He cleared his throat, trying to keep the edge from his voice. “No you wouldn’t, would you?” Glancing at the clock, he added, “Okay, I’ll be back before the briefing. Call me if McLaurin decides that he wants his frappe today.”

“Will do.” She replied.

10.12.2013: 409

“What do you want?” She whispered impulsively.

“What do I want?” He repeated, surprised. “There are too many things to count.”

“But what do you want. At this moment what do you want more than anything else in the entire world? What do you want more than your own life, more than your mother’s love and your father’s approval? More than salvation and strength, courage and money? What do you want more than a safe home and a free country?” She paused, breathless, her eyes broken hearts in pools of moonlight. “What do you really want?” She blinked back the tears that wouldn’t stay captive. He nodded, understanding, as he brushed a free-falling drop off of her cheek.

“That’s easy. What I want more than any of that, more than anything I've ever wanted, is to hear you laugh again.”

~*~

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“I’m planning.” He replied, still staring thoughtfully into the void.

“Planning what?” She licked her gelato and grinned cheerfully, adjusting the flowered scarf that hung loosely around her neck.

“My dream castle.”

“I didn’t know men had those.”

He smiled. “We do. Most men just don’t admit to it, or recognize one when they see it.”

“That’s silly. Everyone should have dreams.”

“I agree, everyone should. Sadly, too many people have been taught to starve their dreams and pursue complacency.”

She shuddered and replied, “For me complacency is the closest one can get to death without actually going all the way.”

~*~

“How is it that I can be so truly happy, at a time like this?” She murmured, her voice soft against the vibrant smoothness of the music.

“Because some things just aren’t as important as the world tells us they should be. You and I are two of those fortunate people who recognize what really matters. Not even war can take that away from us.”

“Maybe not. War itself might not take anything away, it is too full of purpose. But what about the distance?” She asked, tossing her head. “Would you still love me, even from ten thousand miles away?” She tilted her head back, smiling up at him. “Or time? What about in a thousand years? Would you still love me then?” His reply was a whisper.

“I would love you no matter how far, how long, or how impossible.” She studied him for a moment, weighing sincerity and finding it complete.

“Then kiss me, and I’ll never doubt it.” 

Song: 146

Every time I see your face

I flash back to Amazing Grace

Fifteen pennies in a wishing well

Everything you couldn’t tell

Sunny skies and fairytale schemes

I think about all those hopes and dreams

A million billion dreary things

I was just getting started

Unrealized wishes and tired prayers

Growing old too fast and worn out cares

Caring without hope

And loving without reason

I hear that song and all I think

Is who would I be if you and me

 Had ever gotten past

“Hello Darling”

It’s too late now and everything’s changed

But who knows how life might have played

The tune of us on that old guitar

Your smile sweet and my beating heart

We’ll never know and now that’s fine

So don’t regret, don’t waste time

There’s nothing in this life of mine

I’d wish away honey

Not even for you

10.11.2013: 669

“So let me get this straight,” David questioned grimly. “If we don’t catch him, the bureau’s out twenty grand, and two murders go unsolved?”

“That’s the size of it.” Jonathan replied, sipping from his mug as the half-repugnant scent of burnt coffee trolled through the room.

“Not catching him isn’t an option.” Mclaurin announced, issuing ultimatums to everyone in the briefing room, with that bushy-eyed glare pouncing on each of them one by one. “We’re going to nail this guy before he gets out of the country. Run all his aliases and put out an APB.”

Jonathan leaned over and whispered aside to David, “Do you have any idea why Allen Darrow might start a rumor that he’s been able to bribe an FBI agent into giving him passage into Argentina?” David raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

“Not a clue.”

Jonathan’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing else on the subject.

“Okay, go.” Mclaurin said, waving them all out. He turned back to his laptop with the air of a conflicted addict.

“Wait for me downstairs,” Jonathan murmured to David as he hurried into his office to review the file. Everyone seemed unsettled. Everyone but Eboni White. David watched her, wondering. She had said nothing during the briefing and her face was a continual mask.  

He tugged at his tie, smiling thoughtfully. “So what’s your angle on all this?” She looked back at him in surprise.

“Angle? I don’t play angles, Mr. Cassidy.” Tucking the Allen Darrow file under her arm, Eboni pulled a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled. “I’m not a gamer. My goal is to get through life and make a positive impact on the world. So I guess you could say my angle is that I’d rather stop all this before it happens, than catch a murderer after he’s already done his work.”

He laughed. Smiling knowingly, she shrugged. “Laugh all you want. It’s the truth. I may be naïve but I still think it’s possible for one person to make a difference, and my life’s work is to be that person.” Her eyes glittered with the blue sparkle of contentment. David raised his brow, wondering.

“That’s it?” He asked more seriously.

“That’s it.”

“And you’re happy?” His voice hinted heavily of skepticism. She replied with sincerity.

“In spite of what the American dream tells us, happiness isn’t what life’s all about, Mr. Cassidy. Anyone who thinks differently will be disappointed.”

He laughed again, derisively. “Okay, so what is the meaning of life, Miss White? Won’t you tell me?”

“If this was a scene in a movie I’d probably say that that was for you to decipher. But this isn’t Hollywood and I’m not Bette Davis.” She lowered her voice and murmured, “So if you’ll promise to keep it a secret, I’ll tell you.”

“Please do.”

After a moment of studying him with feigned suspicion, she leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “The meaning of life is to find a purpose.” Her eyelashes tickled his face, and she drew back, growing serious again. “We’re all given a choice, David. Will you leave this world in a worse state than when you first came or a better one? I’ve made my choice. I know my purpose. What’s yours?”

She shrugged on her jacket and pulled her purse over her shoulder, walking out towards the door. Impulsively, he called after her.

“Eboni,”

She turned. “Yes?” David struggled with himself. His own mask rarely wore thin. He hardly dared drop it for even a moment.

“How did you know which side to choose?”  He asked finally, staring unblinkingly out at the New York skyline.

“I don’t know. I just knew.” She replied, with a half-smile of red which lit her face with mystery. He glanced back at her, his dark brows narrowing, as he pondered. “So long David. Good luck.” She slipped out of the office and he had the panicked feeling that life would never forgive him if he let her go. 

10.10.2013: 592

The plane didn’t land in Verona. But it landed, and at the moment that was all the passengers really cared about. There was a lot of screaming and smoke and a few rescue vehicles thrown in for show. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The experience seemed unreal to me; it was too much like something I’d watch on a bad soap opera. The plane had been falling apart at the seams, ready to break loose and send us all to a horrible end, when suddenly, like a ray of light from heaven, the shores of Cádiz appeared on the horizon. We smashed down in a cloud of smoke and steam and were henceforth transformed from being normal travelers to heralded heroes: survivors of a near plane crash. The pilot was cheered and toasted for weeks in every major airport across the globe. But I wasn’t so eager to call him a hero. It was all too odd.

I found her after the Cádiz equivalent of the ER waved me out with nothing but mild injures: a sprained wrist and a small burn, along with multiple bangs, cuts and bruises. My high school Spanish came back to haunt me, but I understood that I’d likely live for a few more years. I shuffled outside, glad to be away from the chaos. And there she was standing on the steps, staring up at the sky with her arms wrapped childishly around her waist and her short-cropped curls blowing teasingly in the breeze.

“Well you were right,” I remarked, startling her. “We’re alive. I don’t know how but we are.”

She shook her head wistfully. “I’m glad everyone made it through alright.”

Strolling forward, I stood next to her, examining my watch, only to find its familiar face cracked. “It certainly was some luck.”

“Bad luck.” She shuddered.

“And then good luck.” I smiled. I couldn’t help myself. I was deliriously happy to be alive in a world where a hundred and some odd human beings could hurdle through the air in a flying machine, crash, burn, and still somehow make it out alive. “How did you manage that?” I asked. She turned her eyes up towards me, her brow narrowing in confusion. I noticed for the first time how deeply black they were.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s a history with you isn’t it? How do you manage to have such bad luck and such good luck all at the same time?”

She laughed, relaxing. “Oh that. Well, like I said before, it’s a very long story.”

I remembered her words up in the air and wondered. “Is it the same story?”

“No story is the same, stranger.” She closed her eyes, breathing deeply.

 I grinned, starting to feel the reality of the day hit me. “Where are you going now?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll see if I can make it to Paris by train. If not, I think I’ll find an ocean liner and head back to the states. Where will you go?”

“Well, flying seems to have lost its appeal for me too. I think London may have to wait a few days until I’ve recovered.”

“Well, that shouldn’t be hard here in a place like this. I think I’d be happy to stay in Cádiz forever. Just listen to the waves. And there. Look up there. All those stars up there in that indigo sky.” She sighed. “It is a night designed to make one forget.”

“Forget what?” I murmured.

“I don’t know. I’ve already forgotten it.” 

Collective Class Story: bahaha the ending! Leahnesse you are too funny! By Laura, Malia, Emma and Leahnesse

The grass was cool, the damp smell of sweet earth filled Emma's nose with a lovely spiciness. The stars were pearls of happiness shimmering in the sky. She glanced over at Bob. He smiled back. With a start Emma woke up amid the screams of the underground prison. She shuffled out of bed, shaking as the echo of voices drifted down the hall, the old wooden floor boards creaking beneath her feet. She could hear the echo of them creaking behind her. The cell was small, without much space. There were voices all around her. Were they real? She thought. Or were they just in her mind? She couldn't tell. There was a single light in the dungeon and suddenly went out with a crack. A scream pierced through the dungeon. Startled, Emma realized that it had come from her own mouth. Footsteps resounded off the walls as someone  approached the cell door. The knob turned slowly. Emma imagined Bob walking through that door to rescue her from this cursed place. But no, the door opened to reveal Mr. Anderson. 

“Wake up, wake up, Emma. You fell asleep in class again.” He says, shaking you awake. You realize it was all a dream, none of it was real but it felt so real.

“I am so sorry, Mr. A, was I snoring?” You say, terrified that you were.

“Emma, Emma, Emma. You sounded like you were being strangled.”

The End. 

10.9.2013: 517

Conversation was the best outlet for stress. We leapt into it, both secretly waiting for disaster in the hidden crannies of our minds. After exhausting all small talk there was a worried silence before she spoke up and asked me, “Why are you going to Paris?”

“Paris?” I laughed. “This flight is going to London.”

Her mouth dropped open with fierce surprise. “What?”

“You didn’t know that?”

“No! Oh for goodness sake. I’m supposed to be going to Paris!”

 “Well maybe London will work out.” I was feeling cheerier. “Was it a vacation?”

Her eyes brightened suddenly with a deep alluring glow that made me feel as if I was seeing her for the first time. 

"That," She said smilingly, "Is a very long story." 

Just then the man behind me leaned forward and tapped my shoulder.

“Son, did I hear you say this flight is heading for London?” I nodded and the man smiled with a Mr. Brownlow air. He swabbed his glasses with the corner of his jacket and answered, “I think you had better check your ticket. We’ll be in Verona in a few hours.” He turned back to his newspaper, head shaking.

"Are you serious?" I muttered to the void. "Looks like we're both on the wrong side of destiny today." I tossed a slosh of orange juice down my throat. My companion smiled that bewitching grin again and replied, "Is there a wrong side?" 

Years later I wondered if it was magic. Or fate. Or luck. Or a bit of all three.

~*~

But at the time I wasn’t accounting anything to luck, that’s certain. A few minutes after the Verona discovery, and the fears that I might lose my job set in, the lights started flickering and the plane dodged in an out and up and about through a wall of black clouds. She closed her eyes again, and the intercom kicked in with warnings and obscure reassurances.

“So, you weren’t kidding,” I murmured, making sure my safety belt was properly secured. Next to me, she sat clutching the seat. Her skin was white again and the words “braced for impact” were etched into every feature. We bounced through air-pocket after air-pocket. It was strange. I'd never seen such a sudden storm. 

“Yeah well, like I said before, we’ll probably be okay. I’ve beaten the odds so far. Why not now?” People around us started to look panicky. I felt my own pulse racing and adrenaline rushing its way through my body. 

“Tell me one thing. Were any of those flights heading for another continent?”

“No.” The plane started to shake and I flashed back to every plane crash movie I’d ever seen, my heart thundering underneath my shirt. “Why?” She asked; daring to open her eyes long enough to glance over at me.

“Well, there’s just one problem I've been wondering about." I laughed nervously. "You see, it isn't really possible to crash land a jet in the middle of the ocean.” At that moment the oxygen masks tumbled down and I heard a ripping screech like metal meeting madness. 

On that Indigo Eve: 496

The engines roared softly behind us and the plane nosed upward into the wild blue yonder amid a gentle rumbling. That lull which always comes to stop every conversation as the passengers subconsciously and collectively hold their breath, filled the plane. In a moment we were up, a miracle of engineering that never failed to thrill me, no matter how many times I experienced it.  I glanced over at my seatmate, and stifled a smile. Her eyes were practically nonexistent, they were squeezed so completely shut. Her knuckles were pale from that steel-boned grip on the armrests and her foot was tapping rapidly to inaudible fiddle music. Nervous flyers amused me. I flew often and had ever since I’d been a kid. The miracle wasn’t lost on me, but the nerves were. And for that I was thankful.

I settled in for the long trip, reclining my seat and pulling out a long-awaited novel, eagerly anticipating eight hours of uninterrupted adventure among the cream-colored pages of my favorite author’s newest release. About forty minutes into the flight Richard Decanter was in the midst of battling his client’s assassin atop the Empire State Building, when I happened to glance over at my companion. Her eyes were still locked behind a layer of thick lashes and she seemed to be mouthing the same sentence over and over again. I poked her arm and she looked as if I’d sent an electric current running through her body.

“Ever flown before?” I asked, although I found it hard to believe that a modern girl in her twenties could have made it that far in life without flying.

She nodded. “Yes, too much.”

I laughed. “I didn’t know it was possible for a person to fly too much.”

She shook her head and sighed. “Well it is. I’m bad for the flight business. Last time I was on a plane we nose dived to avoid lightning. And the time before that the pilot had to make an emergency landing in a field in Iowa. And before that two of the engines failed and the plane ended up on fire by the time we got to Toronto. And before that we had to stay in the air for seven extra hours because of bad weather.”

I didn’t like where this was going, and I felt those long forgotten nerves bubbling up inside me. I’d never heard of anyone with such bad luck, although I wasn’t usually the type to consider luck of any kind a major factor in my life.

“Well, you’ve certainly had some adventures haven’t you?” I smiled weakly.

She laughed at my face. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have told you. But at least the odds indicate that no matter what happens, we’ll probably survive. I mean, I’ve made history so many times, why stop now?”

I swallowed, laying my book aside. Richard Decanter would have to wait until I’d cheated death and made it to the other side of the Atlantic.