The sun was sunny, I guess; there wasn't another way to explain it. The wind was soft; it almost hugged me in some weird wind way. There were two crows, not enough to call a murder—a murder of crows. The birds eyed me with no particular interest. They were not the ones I waited for; yet, I still watched them. There were soft noises—sweet, like quiet steps against gravel; soft like the sound sand makes as the breeze pushes it back a little. Natural sounds were all around me, and they were thinking too. I got chills, and they were not from the wind. The soft sounds reminded me of fall and how coloured leaves silently fall to their slow death. The sounds reminded me of peace. It felt like summer, except I knew that it wasn't. If it were summer, …show more content…
I was waiting and watching for someone to appear, like out of thin air. They couldn't do that. As I was writing what happened to me, children started to materialize. Yes, out of thin air, because children can do that. Only the people you least expect have the ability to appear out of thin air; the ones you wait for could never do that. It was pleasant, hearing their cheery cries over my own. Their voices were comforting in some way. They said agreeable, child-like things, the way children say them—the way they call down to their parents with eagerness and how they proceed to demonstrate what the guardian already knows they can do. They're simple, children, but simple can be too much. The smell of fresh campfire and barbecue reached my nose. It tickled my taste buds, and I smiled a little. It reminded me of summer, again. But, it wasn't summer. It was spring, the perfect time to start barbecues, the perfect time to enjoy the soft rains and the thick smell of flowers blooming, the perfect time to sneeze and cough and laugh—the ideal time to wait for someone to appear. I knew I should go. I also knew that the longer I waited, sitting and writing, the harder it would be to leave. I had to go eventually—just, not yet. I knew it was too soon to move, yet too late to pretend I was …show more content…
I should have just given up and left. I should have just stood up and wished away the words I wanted to say. I had a chance, before, and I didn't take it. So, here I waited, for only God knows why, hoping I'd get another chance, another opportunity to say the words that were tugging at my vocal cords waiting to sprout from my mind and into theirs. I left anyway, lugging my legs, step after step away from where I waited, always looking back over my shoulder, always wondering how often I would bring myself to wait. I only wrote that to know what it felt like to leave. It felt scary, and somehow, it seemed like what needed to happen. I stopped looking back from where I sat. And, I thought about getting up and dragging myself away. I wanted to shake my head. My heart was telling me to stay, if only a little longer. The person I waited for would come, they had to. My head was telling me to move along, and I listened to my head. I walked in the shining sun and soft wind and cheery voices until I reached the shadows—the shadows that were looming over the pavilion. Suddenly, the lively sounds turn into cries of anger, and my cry becomes sadder. I didn’t know if the person waited for me. I wasn’t sure if I were even on their mind. I simply didn’t know and, this time, it was simply too
All eyes were focused on me. This was it. The tension had been building up to this point, and I knew there was no way out. I had gotten myself into this predicament, and I was the only one that could get myself out of it. There was nobody to turn to, for they were all waiting for my final move. I had never felt so alone, so isolated.
She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves. ( This description of the scenery is very happy, usually not how one sees the world after hearing devastating news of her husbands death.)
She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves (p. 2).
The roar of voices has thankfully finally ceased. All that conflict and turmoil is now gone, and I am at peace. As the leaves blow in the slight breeze, all I feel is tranquility. It is not easy dealing with people who hold such contempt for each other, and that feel the need to instigate with such frequency. I see patterns cast by the obscured lowering sun are dancing about. They peak my interest and I watch them. They jump and dance with the shaking leaves’ rhythm, so carefree. This natural shelter is where I feel safe, beastie or no beastie. My body is limp and completely still; I contemplate many things during this brief period when I’m not listening to heated arguments of Ralph and Jack, and during this my eyes feel the need to close.
It was a gloomy night, the moon and stars seemed to be hiding away, lurking behind the thick mist that was carried through the marshes, and who could blame them on a night like this. The bitter wind was swiftly blowing, creating tiny water ripples throughout the mire. The air was fresh and clean this night, and all was as silent as could be.
The sun was setting. The house didn’t know. The house was not aware that it had been alone for many sunsets. The purple, red, yellow shades shone incandescently onto the house, casting it in a certain glow could leave a bystander awe-struck. The house didn’t know.
A cool breeze passed my shoulder. In the instant, it felt chilly. The neighborhood was silent and it felt so very empty. Usually on a Saturday afternoon there would be kids playing outside. The sun was glistening on the trees. Winds blowing once every three to five minutes. Trees and plants will shiver as the wind hits them. Leaves would flip in all directions showing the faded bottoms of the leaves.
Occasional bursts of lightning ignited the dark with a bright white light. I felt an inexplicable feeling of wonder as if we were the only people in the world; everyone else seemed unaware and undisturbed by the beating raindrops. The rough sand and grit embedded in the fabric of my sandals rubbed the tips of my toes and the back of my ankles as we jogged down the road. Laughter interrupted the sound of rain and thunder and we realized the quirkiness of our situation. Our plight would be enough to destroy the spirits of most people, yet no vulgarities spilled from our mouths. The only sound against the symphony of rain was a soft incantation: an old camp song. Beginning with one person, it spread to become louder and more
Light began to seep into my mind trying to pull me away from the darkness. It was no use my mind was already sinking farther. Something rough pressed against my hand causing my mind to panic and grip a piece of light pulling me back to reality. My body was now waking from its forced slumber.
Our eyes locked, as tears streamed down her sullen face. She was a petite woman with heavy dark eyes, revealing her struggle, her pain, and a hope for a better life. She cradled her infant gently, yet firmly as if it was her last breath. With every sway, she kissed her child’s head as a promissory note that she would take care of her and provide for her the world.
...alone, because I was afraid my life would change radically after this, and I was not prepared yet for them to see this change. After a few minutes, I realized I was so weak I could feel the cold reaching my bones, but that was also the best feeling I’d ever had. I was thinking I had only a few weeks left to start college, which had been my dream since I can remember. My dad had already paid for my tuition, I was so exited I had promised to do my best, but I’d just had my daughter, and I was so nervous about being a young mother in college. I tried to open my eyes to admire my baby’s beautiful face and thought I was so brave, because I had decided to have this little girl. When I saw her I knew I would want her to be better than me, she would be my strength, because nothing would ever make me give up on my dreams, and that was another promise I had made to myself.
“I said the three things that you told me to say to myself. And I used the feeling that you told me to attach to it. And then I just quieted my mind and just waited there.”
I took a deep breath. “I can do this.” But I had already triggered the little voices inside of me. “You are so going to die. Don’t do it! What on earth is wrong with you?!” “You have no life.” But nobody was going to wait for me.
Everything seems like it’s falling out of place, it’s going too fast, and my mind is out of control. I think these thoughts as I lay on my new bed, in my new room, in this new house, in this new city, wondering how I got to this place. “My life was fine,” I say to myself, “I didn’t want to go.” Thinking back I wonder how my father felt as he came home to the house in Stockton, knowing his wife and kids left to San Diego to live a new life. Every time that thought comes to my mind, it feels as if I’m carrying a ten ton boulder around my heart; weighing me down with guilt. The thought is blocked out as I close my eyes, picturing my old room; I see the light brown walls again and the vacation pictures of the Florida and camping trip stapled to them. I can see the photo of me on the ice rink with my friends and the desk that I built with my own hands. I see my bed; it still has my checkered blue and green blanket on it! Across from the room stands my bulky gray television with its back facing the black curtain covered closet. My emotions run deep, sadness rages through my body with a wave of regret. As I open my eyes I see this new place in San Diego, one large black covered bed and a small wooden nightstand that sits next to a similar closet like in my old room. When I was told we would be moving to San Diego, I was silenced from the decision.
The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.