The District of Never Die

     At the other end of the street there's a girl and whenever I see her, she's crying. She waits till her parents leave every morning, watching and waving from her upstairs window. When their expensive little cars turn the corner out of sight, she leaves her window and reappears on the roof. She spreads out and stares at the clouds, tears streaming down her face.
     I sometimes wonder why she cries. Why she doesn't let anyone else see her, not even her parents. She just cries out there all alone, staring at nothing. And other times I find myself crying with her. She just looks so miserable out there, I want to comfort her. But if I even start to say kind words, she'd know I was watching. I've been intruding in her private world and I know it's wrong, but part of me can't stop. She intrigues me, her pain intrigues me, and her beauty captivates me.
     I remember one day I walked down toward her house, making it look like I was taking a walk, keeping her in my peripheral vision. When I came close to the end of the road, she bolted through the open window, her hands clutching at the tears on her face, hiding them in her fingers until I passed. When I got back to my house, she still wasn't on the roof again. I watched as she stuck her head out the window, peering down the road with bloodshot eyes, only to swivel around back into the house as the sound of tires on the driveway reached her alert ears.
     Yesterday she had a picture with her. My binoculars weren't strong enough to pick out the faces but it looked like a couple. She held it above her head and cried. She stared at the people, their smiles and untouchable happiness and she cried.
     It was Autumn and the wind was strong, especially above the houses. A gust of wind fluttered the picture around in her hands and she gave the wind what it wanted. She watched the picture float away and cried. I didn't know if she was crying about the loss of the picture, but it didn't look like it. She just cried.
     Sometimes I wondered if she was ever going to run out of tears, she cried so much. It was an endless supply of salt water emotion and she seemed to control it. Or maybe she wasn't controlling it. Maybe that's why she cried so much, because she couldn't control it.
     I asked my mother about the family one day. She said her parents were wealthy but were always at work. She said the girl was always home alone. I knew that. But what my mother didn't know, what no one knew but me, was that the girl cried.
     It was my secret. It was her secret. It was ours and she didn't even know it.
     One day I wrote a letter to the girl. I asked her why she cried. I asked if the sky comforted her, if the roof ever got too hot, if the wind ever turned her cheeks pink with their fury. I told her about her pain. I told her what I knew. I told her the story of my imagination. I told her of how her prince charming had found her, loved her and left her. I told her of how she followed him. I told her of her defeat at the hands of another woman. And I told her of how she felt afterwards. I told her about all the tears she cried and I told her about the sky, how the blue ocean above was and how the clouds were so fluffy and white. I told her about her hero, the one to save her from her sadness. And I told her about me.
     At the other end of the street there's a girl, and whenever I see her, she's crying. She waits till her parents leave every morning, watching and waving from her upstairs window. When their expensive little cars turn the corner out of sight, she leaves her window and reappears on the roof. She spreads out and stares at the clouds, tears streaming down her face. And as she cries, she holds my letter and smiles.

A man who had left his home town long ago finally felt a tug on his heart strings. He was homesick. So one day, on a whim, he drove back to the little town he once knew. But it was no longer the same town. Sure, it still occupied the same little dot on a mao, but that dot wasn't as little as it used to be.

The dot had expanded. The once stop-sign-only little town now had 3 stop lights and 2 Starbucks (whatever that was) in its boundaries. The neighborhoods had gained some new structures, the school had another building (a gym apparently - but why they made kids exercise inside when it was perfectly fine outside was beyond him), and there was something obnoxiously bright in the center of town called a Theatre. Apparently they played motion pictures there.

His house had also changed. The huge oak in the front yard was gone. The shutters were blue instead of green. A porch had been added though. That was a nice touch. He wished it had been there when he lived in the house.

He continued wandering around, going to places out of habit. First he went to his old bar, but that was closed for construction. Some new deli was taking its place - Subwalk, or something like that. The old antique shop was gone. Clothes had replaced the rows of treasures and ancient relics that used to fill the store. He felt like an old relic himself, except now he didn't fit in.

The library was his last stop. Oh, how he used to spend hours among those shelves, breathing in the scent of yellowed knowledge. He had been afraid to come at first; the rest of the town had changed, so why wouldn't the library be any different?

And he was right. The library had changed. The brick building looked old and decrepit next to the steel and glass structures of midtown. The sign was falling apart, the stairs were old and worn in places, and the doors looked like they could crumble to dust at any second. But he ventured in anyway, familiarizing himself with something he used to know so well.

At least the books were in the same spot.

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Okay, so I didn't incorporate the exact phrase of the prompt ("nothing has changed") into my response but i meant to. I was going to have the end say something like "Nothing has changed. Everything has changed." but it didn't turn out like that, so nyah to planning ahead. haha.
Anyways! This is another response to a prompt for my paper journal! Woohoo paper journal! I'm finally writing in you again!
But of course, what i won't tell you is that I'm avoiding my english homework for this XD

    Dressed in all black except for the tissues we pressed to our puffy eyes, my family proceeded to the burial ground. My oldest brother, the strongest of us all, was given the honor of carrying the cardboard casket enclosing our beloved deceased.
    Standing under a mighty oak, the tears of angels drizzling down through the leaves, we began the ceremony. Each of us said a few words before the sobs could choke them down. My father, the last to express his mourning, began his song of loss and hope as my brother lowered the coffin into the hole. As the tears stung our eyes, each of the girls threw a daisy into the hole, burying life with death. The song slowly reached the end and we held a moment of silence before my father and brothers began to fill the hole. Placing a tiny cross of twigs and string at the back of the burial site, we ended the ceremony and one by one straggled back into the house.
    One of our neighbors, curious enough to poke his nose into our private affair, watched the funeral from a second-story window. He did not see our pain, the depth of our sadness or loss, nor did he see the time we took to make the passing of our loved one as painless and easy as possible, for both the living and the dead. All he saw was his estranged neighbors burying their dead snake under a skinny tree on a rainy day. Ever the dramatic family, he thought as he closed the blinds and turned away.

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I like that story :) It was my response to a prompt from A Creative Writer's Kit, "this is what the neighbors saw."

for all_unwritten Prompt 337 "last dance"

    She had promised to give him the last dance so long ago. She didn't know if he still remembered - she had promised when they were three, and they were in their last couple years now.
    She had never stopped dancing. If she stopped dancing, then she would have already had her last dance, and that would mean her promise would be broken. So she danced every night, by herself or with her grandkids when they visited, but mostly by herself.
    She was getting weaker as time passed, and the dances grew shorter as her stamina wanned, but she kept going. She kept going with the hope that one day he would remember and they could dance together.
    If only the amnesia hadn't arrested her last dance.
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Prompt 338 "four letter words"

"Love" may be a four letter word, but "sex," my dear, only has three.
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Lulz, the second one is so random. I don't even know what I'm trying to say XD

One more day of work left!! woohoo!! And next wednesday it's back out to school again :D

I am so behind in writing in my paper journal >_< I've just missed everything in writing, hah. I skipped a few all_unwritten prompts and had to catch up on those, and now I have about 4 days worth of Creative Writer's Kit prompts to do >_< I guess I better get to work on those >_< hah

    This was a wish for luck, a wish for romance, a wish for safe travels, for friendship, for good food and good times. But, most of all, it was a wish for adventure. That was what she wanted most.
    Turning away from the half-naked statue over sparkling water, she pinched her eyes closed and gripped her coin as hard as she could, willing the rest of her wish into the grooves of metal. With one light toss, she turned around to watch her coin break the surface.
    Another wish floated silently to the bottom of the Trevi Fountain.

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that was for all_unwritten prompt 331, a photo prompt if you couldn't already tell. That's a picture taken by lady_aduial of the Trevi Fountain in Rome. When I started writing this, I thought it would be cool to write it from the coin's point of view, but it didn't really work out that way >_< Oh well though, it still works, I think :)

This next one is a response to yesterday's prompt from A Creative Writer's Kit, "I was listening to something I heard before." It's kinda got a sad tone to it, but I don't know if it's depressing o_O Just read it, and you might see what I mean, haha.
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    The playlist played over and over again, the repeat button on iTunes permanently pressed. She thought the speakers might be getting tired of playing the same six songs again and again, but she didn't care. She needed this music, these lyrics in particular. It was her break-up playlist and it was definitely something she'd heard before; she never did get tired of the music though, no matter how many times she sobbed/sang them. It made everything alright, almost even justified the break-up. Two more hours of repetitiveness, one long bubblebath (candles included), and half a gallon of Edy's Chocolate Fudge Chunk ice cream later, she knew she was going to be fine - all thanks to those 6 over-played songs.

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Depressing? Yes/No? Hah, I'm not even sure and I wrote the thing, lulz. Anyways, it's now 1:21 am and I shall be going to bed.

for all_unwritten prompt 330 "bleeding love"
I officially hate that song; they've over-played it on the radio so it isn't even good anymore. And since I hate the song, I didn't like the prompt, so I just wrote something to get it over with >_< Here is my completely cliche and very short response.
Begin, NOW!
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It felt like a fire rushing though her veins, this emotion. It was new; scary, and new. She had dated boys before, but it had never felt like this. This was different - she was bleeding love.

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And here is my true story, in response to today's (well technically yesterday's) prompt "write about a summer night" in A Creative Writer's Kit so I wrote about one of the nights I was in Tennessee with TEAM Effort.
Begin, NOW!
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    Sneaking back into the cabin was harder than she thought. It was now 1 o'clock in the morning and her cabin mates hadn't left the porch light on tonight. She couldn't see a thing as she maneuvered her way up the stairs to the deck; she had even resorted to using her cell phone as a make-shift flashlight. But of course she couldn't risk using it in the cabin or she might wake someone up.
    Inching the door open, she flinched when it let out a loud creak. Well that didn't blow my cover at all! she thought to herself, exasperated. The obnoxiously loud fan they kept on in the cabin couldn't even cover that entrance.
    Squeezing through the crack in the door, she weaved around the fan, dropping her shoes under the first bunk on the way. Now came the fun part: finding her way through the maze of suitcases and dirty clothes scattered about the floor. Step by cautious step she made her way across the room - and that wasn't an easy task! 18 girls in one cabin produced a lot of luggage and, consequently, a very small path.
    Reaching the end of her bunk, she silently cursed the dimwits who had organized this cabin. The ladder she needed was on the other side, squished between her sleeping bunkmates, and the bunk right next to hers. Climbing to the top was hard enough already in the dark, especially when they were stacked three high.
    The whole bunk shifted under her weight as she stepped onto the bottom slat. Every sense in her body stretched out, searching for any sign that anyone was waking up, but most of her focus was on the two people she knew would feel her movement. They tossed in their sleep, but didn't seem to be fully conscious.
    One slat down, two to go.
    Creeeaaaak! Shift - a quiet movement.
    Two down, one left.
    The entire bunk leaned towards her as she pulled her weight to the top. She gratefully collapsed on top of her sleeping bag, glad the adventure was finally over.
    Staring at the metal ceiling about a foot above her head, she inwardly sighed. Another day down. Tomorrow she'd be leaving and camp would be over. She had mixed emotions about this - some happy, some sad. She definitely wouldn't missing the bugs (especially the spiders), but the weather always seemed to be perfect here - never too hot, never too cold. The mountains were also a nice change. It was so different from the city; the trees grew wherever they wanted and not just where the orange spray paint and concrete barriers told them to. The air was a whole lot cleaner here too, and the sky . . . she couldn't remember the last time she saw such a clear blue sky.
    As she remembered the good times, she added them to her list of things she'd miss as she slowly began to drift off. A stray firefly crossed over her bunk as sleep took her, a smile on her face as she watched it pass.
    She'd miss the fireflies the most.

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I really do miss the fireflies =/ They were so cute and cool and just fun to watch. I know we have them down here in FL but I'd never seen them before I went to Tennessee. And the cool part was that there really was a firefly in our cabin the last night - I watched it until I fell asleep.

    When she had decided to follow him home today, she didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this.
    She had shadowed him all the way from the school where she spent most of her time these days, through his front door and up the staircase - straight into his familiar domain.
    Or, at least, it used to be familiar. The posters of old rock bands and famous snowboarders were gone. The 8 foot bookshelves she had loved had disappeared. The full-sized bed that dominated the room had gone missing, along with the comfy red and black bedclothes she used to wrap herself in. Even the ever-present stench of dirty clothes mixed with his shampoo had found some way to escape the room. It was completely devoid of life, devoid of anything, but - mostly - devoid of him. It was like he had never even lived there.
    Standing in the middle of the room, she let her eyes wander, picturing what this room used to be. It was their haven, their hangout, their prison at times, but as long as he was in it, it was perfect.
    There wasn't a single piece left of him anymore.
    Standing in the doorway, the boy wiped his red puffy eyes. Taking one more look around the room, he closed the door for the last time, a single sob passing through his lips.
    She stood in the middle of the room, tears falling uncontrollably. She couldn't take her eyes off the back of the door, or more like what was on the back of the door.
    The picture settled itself into its tape frame as the door clicked shut. She recognized the scene, but had thought it was a dream.
    She stared at her bandaged face being kissed by what used to be her boyfriend. They were in a hospital and she was laying in a hospital bed. The picture had been taken about a few hours before she had stopped breathing.
    The sob finally reached her ears. But what she had mistaken as a sob was actually something much more painful:
    " . . . Goodbye Katie."
    His last goodbye.



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    This was actually supposed to be my response to a prompt from A Creative Writer's Kit from yesterday. The prompt was "write about a bedroom," and of course, my response is once again about a dead person >.< It's depressing, I know, but I kinda like the story. It's got a lot of heart, I think.
    Today's official prompt is actually "if only . . ." just like the linebyline prompt they have up now! T_T I hate this prompt >.< I have no idea what to write about! Oh well, I guess it will just have to be half-assed >___<

    The little girl gripped the suede bag tightly in tiny fists. There was no way she was going to part from her marbles - especially not the cat's eyes. They were her favorite.

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Cat's-eye marbles anyone?
Hah, I do believe this is the shortest prompt I have ever submitted.
woot for simplicity! :D
for all_unwritten Prompt 328: "cat eyes"
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    Another day of work down and less than 2 weeks to go - woohoo! I can't wait to be free of that place. It's good money and the people are nice and all, but it's a lot of work - more than I thought when I applied there >_< Some of those comforters sure are heavy! Lulz
    And Sundays are the worst days to be working there. You may think it's the easiest, but no. We get the worst people in there on Sundays - they never seem to be happy and there always seems to be a problem. Plus, the store gets completely trashed, so recovery takes forever. I am generally not happy when I leave there, hah.
    I must say though, it might have cured my phobia of heights. Climbing up and down an incredibly tall ladder everyday at work might do that for ya.
    Anyways, I have missed my Creative Writer's Kit daily prompt thing for yesterday >.< since it is 12:05 on August 4th now. My bad guys, haha. So I shall get to writing now.

OK, so I bought this book A Creative Writer's Kit by Judy Reeves, because my friend kick_back_80s had it and it looked pretty cool. So today's prompt is "Write about a time you were misunderstood," but I don't exactly like following the prompts, so I tweak them a little. This prompt became simply "misunderstanding(s)." I absolutely love the little story line too, which is the only reason why I took the time to post it here. So enjoy! :)
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Well this is unnerving.
She stood there stunned; her mouth would have been gaping open if his lips hadn't been firmly planted against hers. Her eyes definitely expressed her surprise, but he only let go when he felt her tense beneath his fingertips.
Stepping back, he looked at her in confusion - had he done something wrong?
"Did I do something wrong?"
She shook her head to try to clear her jumbled thoughts, not even paying attention to what this man was saying.
"No? Good! Hah, for a second there I thought I had kissed the wrong girl!"
She hear this comment. Of course, she had no idea as to what the first part was referring to, but she understood the second. "You did."
". . .Oh. . .Well this is awkward."

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END! lulz