An Awfully Big Adventure

Year-end blog posts are so annoying.

Some people can pull them off. I can't. I'm not old enough to be wise, rarely articulate enough to be profound. I'm a little too flowery to give a straight recap of my year. I'm too nostalgic not to talk about it at all. I want to ramble about my high hopes for next year, but to be quite honest the concept of 2012 is freaking me out a little bit.

At my kindergarten graduation they announced us as the class of 2012. At the time that was lightyears in the future. Now, it's right around the corner. Five months left. Five months. I can't decide if I'm overjoyed or terrified.

2011 was a good year. A crucial year. A turning point year in several ways. It contained a lot of shining moments that I'll remember for the rest of my life. The fireworks at Disneyland. Singing The Mountain Top song with Savannah on top of Devils Head. The Friday night Fall Show curtain call. Those little split seconds will stay with me until my dying day.

So saying goodbye to this year is bittersweet. It's been a lovely one. But that's the first adventure I'll have, I guess. A brand new year, currently free of mistakes and errors. And it's going to be a year for adventures, believe me.

I'm going to hit the stage in my first and last high school musical and have an absolute blast. I'm going to endeavor to make new friends even in the final hours. I'm going to graduate high school. I'm going to go to college. I'm going to take my first speaking engagement ever and see what I make of it.

Yup. Sounds like an adventure to me!

It doesn't count as an adventure if it isn't a little scary. I'm scared out of my wits. But it's the anticipatory scared, the going-up-the-hill-of-the-rollercoaster scared, the fantastic scared that you can never quite get enough of.

Or at least that's what I keep telling myself. :)

All year I've been ranting about how I'm still a kid. I figure kids have adventures better than anyone.

So long, 2011. You'll go down as one of my favorites.

Hello, 2012. You've been a long time coming.



:)

Don't Stop Believin'

There's just something about Christmas.

One of my themes (for lack of a better word) this year has been that I am still a kid. Even being a senior, 2011 has more than confirmed for me that childhood doesn't end at age eighteen. Which is an encouraging thought. :)

Christmas rolls into our house on Black Friday. As soon as Thanksgiving's over we deck the halls, and the stairwell, and the bathrooms, and the kitchen... and, of course, the tree. My mom's philosophy is that there's always room for one more ornament. One year we counted-- there are over five hundred ornaments on our (fake) Christmas tree. It's so old it leans way to one side now, but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. All the ornaments tell a story-- a little Red Riding Hood for the year I got chicken pox on Halloween and couldn't actually go trick-or-treating dressed that way, apples bearing the names of everyone in the family (at least until my dog started eating those), and, most recently, a Tinkerbell ornament. If you press a button, fireworks light up behind her. (Yes, I cried.) My dad hoisted me on his shoulders to put the angel on the top, insisting I wasn't too big for it.

We haven't actually watched very many Christmas movies this season, but the other night we watched Annie. That movie IS my childhood. I can't tell you how many times I used to watch that. The other night I sang along. Every word. Still know all the songs. A few nights before we watched A Charlie Brown Christmas. I laughed at all the same parts I've been laughing at since I was eight.

Tonight we will lay out more cookies for Santa than anyone could conceivably eat (he can take some back to Mrs. Claus). We will watch It's a Wonderful Life, as tradition dictates, before going out on the lawn to spread out magical reindeer food. It sparkles on the snow to show the reindeer where to go. No matter how old I get I have to throw a handful onto the roof.

And you know what?

I will go to bed tonight and lie awake listening for jingle bells.

I was talking to my dad the other night about whether or not my brother still believes in Santa Claus. He's twelve, but if he doesn't, he's good at not letting on.

"I hope he still does," I said. "You get old enough and you want to believe it so bad. I mean deep down you know..."

"You know deep down that he's real!"

Precisely, Dad. Precisely. Life's so much more fun when you don't let logic get in the way of your belief in the impossible.

I wish you all the merriest of Christmases! Take the time to listen for the jingle bells.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I hate to mess up the seriousness of this post, but it's Eight Days a Week...



I'm a Paul fan girl. Merry Christmas to all!

Eight Pretty Rockin' Awesome Days a Week

Fantastic last day of school followed by a three week break? Things are lookin' up. :)

Eight Oklahoman Days a Week

My favorite song in Oklahoma! is called "Many a New Day." The basic premise of the song is that the guy I like appears to be into somebody else, so I sing the song to show I don't really care. I love the song 'cause I get to be spunky, and I sing it pretty well.

AAANNNDDD it makes me think of this song. :)



Yay!

Sonnet for the Morning Train

The car is empty but for me. It glides
Ahead as smokestacks whistle secret songs
That only locomotive hearts can sing. Along
The way the lacy curtains fall to hide
The glaring sun. It’s followed me all day
On roads to stations, ticket boxes closed,
To echoes resonating from loose stones
On empty tracks that hold the ghosts of trains;
A weary traveler, beaten by the strain
Of hundreds upon thousands of attempts
To motor on. I faltered, then I fell. Contempt
Enraged a lost soul, cursing fate for pain--
Until a whistle, piercing wasted air,
Solidifies my hope of getting There.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We wrote sonnets in creative writing. Yay.

This poem is weird for me. I started writing it with a completely different idea in mind and the poem was all "NO I'M DOING MY OWN THING" and I was like, "Alright then." However, I really like the finished product.

I think it's about how you can't get anywhere without God. You put your faith in all these other things but they can't actually take you anywhere. They're just the ghosts of trains.

Yeah. I like this poem.

Eight Free Minutes a Week

Hello Bloggerverse. We haven't spoken in a while.

There are several things I would love to rant about. And I probably will at a later date. But I just now finished my homework, and I'm exhausted. So I'm going to give you a quick blurb and a song and call it a night.

My life has become increasingly hectic in the past few weeks and as a result, this is the song of the week:



Sorry if you wanna make plans. You most likely won't see me.

Eight Days a Week With No School

What am I doing with my Thanksgiving break?



(Ok, it's more than that, but I thought it was rather witty.)

Happy Thanksgiving to you all! Don't forget who deserves your thanks!

Haikus Don't Have Titles.

Lonely stars
Surrounded by silence
Wishing on us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Like usual, my explanation of my poem is going to be longer than the actual poem.

First off, this doesn't have a title. Because haikus don't have titles. This bothers me. Because I love titling my poems. But anyways.
We started haiku in creative writing and so far this is the only one I've written that I really like.

Have you ever thought about what a bummer it would be to be a star? I mean, sure, you're gorgeous, but you're all alone all the time. There's nobody for hundreds of thousands of miles! But if you're a person you're surrounded by people most of the time and you have all this love and friendship. That's more magical than being pretty and mystical, I think. If I were a star I would totally wish on people.

Yup. Haiku.

Eight Musical Days a Week

You guys get a LIVE VIDEO this time. Aren't you excited? Because I am.



There is a long story as to why this is the song of the week.

There is this lovely film from... a long time ago starring Robert Preston and Shirley Jones called The Music Man. It is a musical. And it is hands down one of my favorite movies of all time. This song is originally from that musical.

Shirley Jones, who sang this song in The Music Man, also played the leading lady Laurey (WOW SAY THAT THREE TIMES FAST) in another film based upon a musical called Oklahoma! I happen to be in this musical as of Thursday. And I also happen to be Laurey. :) :) :)

Furthermore, on Thursday night I went to go see The Lion King. As in the stage play. Which is phenomenal and incredible and wonderful. And it also happens to be a musical.

So this has been a good week for musicals. And this song is from a musical. My favorite musical. And it's the Beatles! Yay. I love when my favorite things coincide.

I'm So Vain, I Probably Think This Post Is About Me

I JUST NEED TO WRITE SOMETHING THAT'S NOT A NOVEL OR AN ESSAY.
And since I'm vain and uninspired I'm going to talk about myself. Ten random facts!

1. I walk abnormally fast. I think this is a result of my school trip to Washington, D.C. in eighth grade, when we had to walk nearly everywhere we went in fairly hasty fashion. Now I get caught behind people that walk normal speed in the hallway and find it quite obnoxious.

2. As a small child I didn't know to say "aren't I?" as in "Aren't I cute?" Instead I said "Amn't I?" In hindsight I realize that this makes way more sense than aren't I. You don't say "are I not," you say "am I not." WHY ISN'T IT AMN'T?!?!?!?!

3. I am a smidgen bit OCD but only about things that don't matter at all. My room looks like a tornado came through it but I alphabetized every DVD we own. Why? I don't know.

4. I may be the only person on the planet who still uses the Flair feature on Facebook. Those are organized too. See the last point.

5. I have this notebook of all my accomplishments in high school. Nerdy? Yes. I don't really care. It has everything from play programs to Murphy term papers to awards in it. I definitely wrote a poem about it and I might post it here sometime. But probably not.

6. I realized the other day that with the exception of Harry Potter, I am totally a book hipster. The realization made me a little bit ashamed.

7. I like Hot Topic. The store. People are always shocked to discover that. Haha. It's really not that scary in there, but they have cool nerdy stuff!

8. I have this horrible habit of starting things and never finishing them. I start stories and don't finish them (coughcoughcoughNANOWRIMOcoughcoughcough), I tell myself I'm gonna learn some skill and I never do... yeah. It's bad. So consequently one of my greatest fears is that I'll get to the end of my life and discover I didn't actually accomplish anything worthwhile. Need to learn me some Ecclesiastes 7:8.

9. I cried at age nine when my best friend told me Peter Pan wasn't real. Now I know she was wrong, of course, but it was a traumatic experience at the time. :)

10. I'm a beast at MarioKart Wii. I'm always Princess Peach on the Mach Bike.

Yay. Now you know a bunch of useless facts about me. Congratulations.

Eight Marathon Writing Days a Week

C'mon now. It's the first week of NaNoWriMo. Were you really expecting anything different? (Not that that's going incredibly well for me at the moment...)

We're Off to See the Wizard...

... the highly impractical plot-holed Wizard of Oz.



1. The Wizard is a dirty rotten crook. He shows up in Oz by accident and totally uses the fact that the poor ignorant little Ozites believe he's magic to take over the whole country! And then he lies to everyone. And even when he stops lying, he doesn't really give anybody what they asked for. And then he leaves! Never to return! Ugh. And this is our title character.

2. What is with Glinda? Glinda knows the whole time exactly what Dorothy needs to do to get home, does she mention that? No. She has to risk Dorothy's life, and really the fate of all of Oz, just so Dorothy can learn a weird lesson about herself. Thanks, Glinda. Appreciate that.

3. I'm sorry, nobody is willing to risk their life for their dog. I mean, I have a dog. And I love her dearly. But if a witch was trying to kill me, I wouldn't sacrifice myself for my dog.

4. Dorothy. Dorothy is just obnoxious. "Whoops! I just killed someone! Oh well! Oh yeah, can I have her broom? 'Cause I kinda need that... but it was totally an accident that I killed her..."

5. I feel like the witch shouldn't leave buckets of water lying around her castle in random places given her condition.

6. ...Which begs another question... how does the witch shower?

7. "There's no such thing as spooks," says the TALKING SCARECROW to the TALKING LION and the MAN MADE OUT OF METAL. True dat. Spooks are totally irrational.

8. Ruby slippers? Highly impractical.

9. What is the deal with the shoes? Why does no one bother to explain this? I feel like this once again goes back to Glinda. "Oh yeah, Dorothy, by the way, don't give her the shoes. She'll probably try to kill you for them, but don't give them to her." If I were Dorothy, I definitely would have just given the witch the shoes. Unless, of course, I had been informed by someone in the know that they were my only way home. But, of course, NOBODY DID THAT.

10. It has the greatest cop-out ending of all cop-out endings. Dream endings say "We didn't want to figure out what actually happened so we just had them wake up." I mean, the whole "no place like home" thing would have won something if she'd, ya know, actually left.

... But I must confess. I love this movie. So much.

Scooby-Doo Meets the Beatles

Eight Days a Week is ONCE AGAIN a day late. Sorry.

Alright. Since nothing says Halloween like homicidal lyrics, have a song.



AHAHA. I just realized that song is just like Othello and Desdemona. Ah nerd connections.

BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE!

I need you to watch this too. Seriously. I promise I will tie it all together.



Okay. I was SUCH a Scooby-Doo child. I love Scooby-Doo. So the first time I heard "Run For Your Life," the lyric about hiding your head in the sand automatically connected with the song from Scooby-Doo about being in love with an ostrich. And having your head in the sand.

Congratulations, you've wasted five plus minutes of your life on this post. :)

"Yamamamamoo Gazornonplat."

My physics teacher used to say that last year in reference to when something sounded like gibberish. I haven't blogged in a week and I have a million things on my mind. This post is mainly going to be ranting, rambling gibberish. You've been warned.

In the new and noteworthy section, I got my first college acceptance letter today, from my first choice, no less. I should probably be really excited but mainly I'm just relieved that I will indeed get to go to college. I've been terrified there'd be this horrible glitch and I just wouldn't get accepted anywhere.

Had my convictions slammed inadvertently yesterday. That was awesome. I don't even remember how the conversation started but a bunch of us at lunch were talking about "The Secret Life of the American Teenager," and I made the comment that it's ironic that that's on ABC Family. Considering it's NOT AT ALL A FAMILY SHOW. I'm not showing that to my five year old. So this guy came back with "Well that's just because your ideas of what's appropriate and what's not are ridiculous." I don't think he probably meant it the way it came out, but still. "Weird" I would have accepted. If you don't have my convictions I'm sure the stuff I am and am not okay with is incredibly weird to you. But "ridiculous" adds this whole negative connotation to it that stung. Alright. I'm done having my pity party.

Term paper... English essay... history essay... read Tale of Two Cities... scholarship applications...why am I blogging right now? I don't know. Anyways.

It's almost Halloween! Yay! I'm going to a party tomorrow night and I still don't have my costume finished!... Awesome. (I'm being Peter Pan. I know, you're shocked. Not at all.) My brother is being Captain America and he made his shield out of duct tape and cardboard. Because he's AWESOME. (On a completely unrelated note, I watched Captain America last night and it was fantastic. I mean, I'd seen it before, but it's really good.) I also have not yet watched Great Pumpkin (which I MUST DO), nor have I carved a pumpkin. Two functional days people. I better get crackin'.

You know what's obnoxious? BOYS.

Four days from today starts National Novel Writing Month. I have no ideas for a plotline. Awesome! (Notice how I keep using that word sarcastically? Except talking about my bro-ha. He actually is awesome.)

So. On Monday we went to my friend Rachel's house for dinner. Long story short Rachel and her dad and her grandma, along with our friends Sheryl, Kathy, and Dale went on a mission trip to Cambodia, and they came back last week so they had a mini party to celebrate their return. When we all get together, we sing. And it's BEAUTIFUL. So I'm sitting in this circle of these people I love more than anything in the world, who I would do anything for, and I know they'd do anything for me, and we're all singing to God, and I'm like, "WOW. I know so many people that don't have this." And it broke my heart. I think if people could really understand what it meant to be in the church, nobody wouldn't be. It's just too good to pass up. People who don't have God have been on my mind a lot lately. How do you help somebody who doesn't think they need help? Ugh. Pray for me.

I really don't have a clever way to end this post. Thanks for letting me spew my random thoughts at you. Or skimming. Or stopping reading all together, as the case may be. Of course if you didn't read the whole post, you're not reading this so...

Wow. I am in rare form today.

Eight Days a Week-- "When I'm 64"

Tonight was the "Banquet of the Ages" at my church. The youth group serves the elderly people and we get to talk to them and it's all very cool. All I can say is I hope I'm like them when I'm sixty-four.



Hehe. Oh the cleverness of me. :)

Pardon My Pixie Dust-- The Haunted Mansion

I'll cut right to the chase-- I miss Disneyland.

It's a little bit of an obsession. I talk about it at least once a day. I Google random Disney facts (I oughta be a tour guide by now, it's ridiculous). I watch YouTube videos of rides. Talking about Tinkerbell and the fireworks still brings me to tears. Of course, it hasn't helped that two of my dear friends have been in Disney parks in the last two weeks (one of them is bringing me a pin for my lovely Disney pin collection).

So I decided that to preserve my own sanity I need an outlet for this madness. I'm calling it "Pardon My Pixie Dust" since whenever things are under construction at Disneyland, that's what the signs say. Once a month I'll spotlight a Disneyland attraction here. Yay! This month is appropriately the Haunted Mansion. (It's also convenient since it's my favorite.) I'll never tell you how anything WORKS in these spotlights, because that would ruin the magic and that would be terrible.

(Sometimes these will feature pictures my daddy took. However, the only picture he got of the Haunted Mansion was... mostly of me. So. Perhaps he will see this and inform me that he has a picture I don't know about that I can have. For now, have this one I found on Google.)



DUN DUN DUN!!

Opening Date: October 1, 1971

FUN FACTS:
-In early concept design, the Mansion was originally intended to include a restaurant (like the Blue Bayou in Pirates of the Caribbean). The idea was, obviously, scrapped.

-The main theme of the Mansion is "Grim Grinning Ghosts" (that's the song they sing incessantly)... the phrase "Grim Grinning Ghost" comes from Shakespeare's Venus and Adonis. Oh yes. This literature nerd now loves the Mansion EVEN MORE.

-One of the singing busts is voiced by Thurl Ravenscroft, also known as the narrator of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas." The "Ghost Host" is voiced by Paul Frees... who is, among other things, the voice of the Pillsbury Dough Boy.

-The Bride in the Attic's name is Constance. Ironic considering she axe murdered all four of her husbands. The hitch-hiking ghosts also have names: Gus, Ezra, and Phineas.

-There used to be a "Hatbox Ghost" in the attic.
Now, people who have been in love with Disneyland for far longer than I obsess over the hatbox ghost. His head would disappear and reappear in the hatbox in his hand. Disney got rid of him and it apparently hugely disappointed tons of people. Everybody's buzzing now that he might be coming back. I don't get the hype, but whateva.

-The table settings in the Ballroom scene make hidden Mickeys.

-Like most Disney attractions, almost none of the ride is contained within the so-called "ride building," so when the outer facade was up for a REALLY long time before the ride actually opened, people started to talk. There was a rumor going around for a long time that Disney had held a special pre-opening ride and someone had died of fright, delaying the attraction's open. If you've been on the Haunted Mansion, you know how ridiculous that is. :)

-The organ in the Ballroom is an actual prop from the film Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.

-During the holidays the Mansion gets a revamp entitled "Haunted Mansion Holiday" featuring characters from The Nightmare Before Christmas. (Even though I love me some Jack Skellington that bothers me. Don't mess with the classics.)

-The entire ride runs on an Omnimover system-- the cars are moving all the time. This makes it rather difficult for disabled people to get on, so the ride is stopped often to accommodate these guests. (Seriously. It happened, like, FIVE TIMES while we were there.)


MY PERSONAL FAVORITE PART:
Alright, I have two.

The first one is in the attic. As soon as you get in there you can hear the Wedding March playing in this super creepy minor key... but you get about halfway through and there's this shadow. PLAYING THE PIANO. The shadow's fingers are on the piano and he's playing it. It's so cool. I don't know how they do it. (I tried to find a good picture... but there wasn't one.)

My other favorite part comes when you're going up the escalator back to the land of the living at the end. You look to your left and Madame Leota (from the crystal ball) is standing there, except she's teeny tiny. In this goosebump worthy voice she says, "Hurry baaaack! Hurry baaaaaaack! Be sure to bring your death certificate... if you decide to join us." Her hair is blowing and she looks so real and goodness. It's so cool.

STORY TIME!
-The people who work outside the Haunted Mansion are incredible. This wonderful girl was working it while we were there, and she was perfect. She NEVER smiled and she was saying things like "Look LIVELY now... we've been DYING for company..." I'm sure that's not original with her, but when you can make a spiel sound as awesome as she did, it's Disney magic.

-Me and Matthew were getting into our "Doombuggie," as they are called, and I started to pull down our safety bar. The voice of the Ghost Host comes on RIGHT THEN and says "Do not pull down on the safety bar please. I will lower it for you." I was a smidgen freaked out until I realized that it says that to everyone, whether you touch the safety bar or not.

Alright. I'm done ranting. Thank you for satisfying my Disneyland addiction.

Would You Be Likin' A Tissue?

Over the past five weeks I made a new best friend. Her name is Mary McGregor. She's in her late 50s/early 60s and she owns a Chinese restaurant with her lovely sister Molly. Oh yeah, and she's Irish. She immigrated during the Great Mushu Famine of 1907.

But on Saturday night I had to hang her back up on the costume rack for good.

I'm seeing a common theme in senior year: endings. It seems obvious now that I think about it, but until it started happening I hadn't really realized that this is the year where everything ends. The first great ending was the end of Fall Play.

I don't really know how to explain how I feel about Fall Play. Theatre itself is just a wonderful experience. It's just pretend for grownups. If I'm having a bad day, bummer. You know what? My character doesn't have to be having a bad day. I can peel myself off like a wet bathing suit and slip into something more comfortable.

I'm not that much of a social person at school. (I know. You're stunned.) Most of the time I'm not in my niche. I don't know how to deal with people, but I get to play practice and all bets are off. I'm louder. I'm prouder. I refuse to shut up. I'm me. It's painfully, dreadfully cliche, but I belong there. I love those people.

But now it's over. I have to say goodbye to Mary McGregor. I have to say goodbye to the Orient Express. I have to say goodbye to my complexion-ruining stage makeup and my toe-numbing character shoes and washing gray out of my hair every night. I have to say goodbye to Mr. Murphy yelling at us. I have to say goodbye to the lovely Ms. Murphy, who might actually be retiring for real now. I have to say goodbye to this year's Fall Show... but this is the end of Fall Shows for me, at least in high school.

This is turning into an insipidly sappy post... I don't really even know what I'm trying to get at. I just had to write about Fall Play. It felt wrong not to.

There are lots of beginnings coming, though. I have Musical coming soon and very soon. I have several adventures yet to come. But Fall Show gets me. Right in the heart. With chopsticks!

<3

99 Items or Less

... And by items, I mean words. :)

In Creative Writing this week we've been working on flash fiction--a complete story in 99 words or less. Flash fictions have static characters (there's not enough time for them to change) but your perception of the character is supposed to change, usually in a surprise twist. I'm rather proud of mine. So I think I'll share them.


I'll Never Understand Women
“She left me. Throw a couple a’ punches and she walks away. I just don’t get it.”
Judging by his speechlessness, his friend didn’t either.
“I mean, really, did I ever do her wrong? And you remember that time Vince tried to beat her up? What’d I say? ‘Nobody beats up my woman but me.’ That’s exactly what I said, idn’t it? Idn’t it?”
Sympathizing silence.
“I know it. You’re a good friend, George. Guess it’s just you and me now. Gimme another round.”
Billy hugged the stuffed tiger and poured himself another cup of orange soda.

Hahaha. Loosely inspired by Calvin and Hobbes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not With a Bang, But a Whimper
The archaeologists rummaged through the rubble, sifting through a civilization that had fallen into ruin centuries earlier. The dig had thus far been disappointing; evidently, this society had not much cared for written records.
“Hey! Dave, come look at this,” one called from his respective place in the site. “I think I found something!”
There were only a few pages left inside the bound cover of the book, and it was amazing that even they had survived.
“What’s it say?”
He brushed stray dirt and rocks from the binding.
“Twilight.”

This one was inspired by my enduring fear that our civilization will fall and all they will find is the Twilight Saga, and they'll judge our entire civilization by it. If you've talked to me for any length of time I'm sure you've heard me rant about that before, so I won't get started. I will say that the title is a reference to T.S. Eliot's "The Hollow Men," and that particular quote describes the way in which the world ends: "Not with a bang, but a whimper." I feel like if the world ended on Twilight... that'd be a pretty whimpery way to go.

Aaaannnddd my explanation of my story was successfully longer than my story. Awesome.
That was the entertaining part of my blog post. Feel free to stop reading here unless you know what Eight Days a Week is.

Finally, on a completely unrelated note, it's Eight Days a Week. I know you're excited.



I don't actually like this song all that much, but it talks about there being a show tonight. And I am, in fact, in a show tonight. It's a murder mystery, and I play an old Irish lady who owns the Chinese restaurant in which the crime occurs. There are, sadly, no trampolines. Or fire.

Insert Horrid Poem Title Here

This will be an ugly poem.
There will be lines far too long to belong with all the rest,
Or too
Short,
Not to mention
Atrocious choices of enjamb
Ment. I will probably stretch
For wretched rhymes
That will fetch
And catch your attention.
I will most likely refer
To Homer's Aeneid,
Or attempt artistry by breaking
CAPITALIZATION RULES
and, utterly; abusing! punct'uation?
But somewhere towards the end,
I'll whisper you between my ugly lines,
And then they will be beautiful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm incredibly proud of this poem. It's horrible, but it's horrible on purpose, so it's not really horrible at all. :) And it's funny and witty and then I even have some sentiment thrown in at the end. Yeah. I really like this one.

Eight Utterly Exhausting Days a Week

This about accurately describes this week's school/work/church schedule (as demonstrated in my lack of blog posts since last week.)



Someday I will have free time again...

Eight Belated Days a Week

Alas, I am late again. So this week's song seemed rather appropriate.



Haha.

(It was my dad's idea. He's cleverer than I am.)

Good Grief, Melissa

So I've got this Bible.

I, of course, love the Bible because it's the Word of God. Duh. But I have a particular affinity for this one Bible. It's maroon bonded leather with my name in gold letters on the front cover, it's got a marvelous concordance, and best of all, it has these fantastically wide margins. I can write a whole paragraph next to a verse if I so desire (provided I write small... but you know me. I DO write paragraphs. Frequently). It's BEAUTIFUL. I love this Bible.

However, my lovely Bible is currently being repaired on the other side of the country because its binding broke.

SIGH.

I'm stuck with this old Bible I've had since about the fifth grade. The first page of Jeremiah is ripping out, and it has none of my notes in it. I've complained about it more than once in the last month.

And that makes me a rotten, terrible person.

Do you know how lucky I am to live in a day and age where the ENTIRE BIBLE is available all together? I can't imagine what the early church would have given for a bound book full of every inspired writing ever. Not only that, I can buy this book for five bucks at Walmart!! EVERYTHING I NEED TO KNOW TO GET TO HEAVEN!! FOR FIVE DOLLARS!!

I'm ridiculous. Thank you, Lord, for giving me access to Your Word so easily. It's a blessing I take for granted way too often.

...But if I can get my beautiful one back soon, that'd be cool. :)

Eight Days a Week-- "Got to Get You Into My Life"

I'm just feeling this one this week. Sorry, no literary geekouts.

From Emily

I beg your pardon, Modern World,
‘Twas never your design
To rip the writings of a Girl--
Line from heartfelt line;
I wrote them only for Myself!
You’re never meant to see!
So criticize me not, dear World,
Though Death has stopped for-- me!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Yes, I am in school. But I am also in Creative Writing, and we're supposed to work on a fun writing project if we're done with actual assignments. Which means I can blog. Yay!)

One of my biggest English pet peeves is people who criticize Emily Dickinson. She's not my favorite poet by any stretch of the imagination, but the thing about her is she was never published in her lifetime. She didn't WANT her poems published. Every time I read a Dickinson poem I feel like I'm intruding on the private life that she never intended anyone to see. And I don't feel like anybody has the right to criticize that. She wasn't writing for you, stupid English critic. She was writing for her.

So. I channeled her and got her opinion on it. Hahaha. I tried to mirror her rhythms and her random capitalization and punctuation. It's not the best poem I've ever written, but I enjoy it. :)

Eight Days a Week... Literature Style

(I know what you're thinking. Eight Days a Week was yesterday. I forgot. My apologies.)

Sometimes I have a good explanation for the song of the week. This is one of those times.

I'm in AP English and we just started studying Shakespeare's King Lear. In the first act of the play you realize really quickly that King Lear is extremely vain (or insecure... maybe a little of both); he is constantly looking for approval and overbearing admiration from those around him. At one point, he brings in his three daughters (Goneril, Regan, and Cordelia, if you want to know) and expects them to express their love for him in words-- whoever pleases him the most with their "love" will get the most land. The whole point is basically that he tries to put a numerical value on honor and affection and love.

So this is what I think of.



Hahaha.

Logophilia

I realized a few days ago that I don't love writing.

Well, rewind and rephrase. I do love writing. But all my life I thought that was the end all be all, and I just came to the conclusion that my core love is not of writing.

I LOVE WORDS.

I realized that nearly all of my earthly passions can be traced back to words. I love to spin words together into sentences when I write. I love reading the words that other people have written, whether they be poetry or prose. I love listening to music with lyrics that I identify with. I love quoting the words of people greater and wiser than me. I don't even care if the words are in English. I love Latin. Because it gives me better understanding of words.

So while I definitely love writing with every fiber of my being, that's just a symptom.

Don't you love it when you have this great realizations about the big picture of your life? Yeah. Me too.

Eight Days a Week-- "Eleanor Rigby"

This is one of my favorite Beatles songs. It's one of their most polished tracks, and the lyrics are just beautiful. I'd put in the Top 20 Greatest Songs of All Time EASY. :)



My favorite line is the one about "wearing a face that she keeps in the jar by the door." Lonely people always put on a brave face. I don't know, I just really like that.

ALSO-- There is a statue of Eleanor Rigby in Liverpool, England. It's "Dedicated to all the Lonely People." I shall visit it someday. When I go see Abbey Road. :)

Frosty Ambiguity

The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I enjoy this poem. Robert Frost is easily one of my very favorite poets. He's incredibly simplistic, but when you dig there's so many levels to his poetry. The thing I love about this particular poem is that people don't realize there are two interpretations.

Most people I talk to think "The Road Not Taken" is about nonconformity. The speaker, though daunted by the challenge of blazing a new trail, chooses to take the less traveled road rather than follow the crowd. And that's totally valid. I'm not saying anybody's wrong. However, I've always kind of thought it was about regret.

First I look at the title: "The Road Not Taken." Does that mean the road not taken by the rest of the people? Or the road not taken by the speaker? If he's talking about the road HE didn't take, it's interesting that he chooses to use that as the title of the poem. He's preoccupied with the option he didn't choose.
(I'm really happy this isn't an essay and I don't have to have answers because this next paragraph is totally aimless and inconclusive speculation.)

I really think it's interesting that despite the second-to-last line, the speaker says TWICE that the roads are pretty much the same. Twice. He says "the passing there/ Had worn them really about the same" (9-10) and "both that morning equally lay/ In leaves no step had trodden black" (11-12). I don't really know what to think about that. My best theory is that you don't really know which road is going to be the best road, or which road everybody else is going to take. From the fork in the road they both look the same and you can't have a good gauge of which one's better in the long run. I mean, he even looks down the first road as far as he can TRYING to gauge it, but it's "bent in the undergrowth." He literally can't see what's around the corner.

The next line that catches my eye is 13-- "Oh, I kept the first for another day!" That "oh" seems important to me. Frost's lines are usually incredibly fluid, but the "oh" and the comma put a break there that bothers me when I read it out loud. It has to be significant. To me it's mournful, like "Oh how I wish I hadn't done that." He doesn't think the first road is undesirable-- he's planning to get back to it later, but he doesn't get the chance. That sounds regretful to me.

That last stanza is really the kicker for me, though. What kind of a sigh is he telling this story with later? A sigh of relief? A sigh of regret? I lean toward regret, but it could just as easily be the other. Either way, the choice "has made all the difference" (20) in his life. For good? For ill? I don't know.

Normally I would back up my opinion entirely and not point out the evidence for the other side of the argument the whole time, but this poem is EXTREMELY ambiguous, and I think it's so for a reason. The speaker didn't know which one to choose. We as readers don't know for sure exactly what he means by any of this. I really did start this post thinking it was about regret, but I think I've changed my mind. I think the whole point is that we oftentimes have no way to know what the future's going to hold, what decisions lie ahead, or what choices will ultimately affect the rest of our lives. Life is full of ambiguity. And that's why this poem is so ambiguous.

Ah literature. I love thee so.

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Beatles.

On August 26, 1964, the Beatles played a show at Red Rocks Amphitheatre.
On August 26, 2011, they came back.

My daddy and I had a date last night. He surprised me with tickets to go see "1964," a Beatles Tribute band.

IT WAS RIDICULOUS MAN.

One of my great regrets in life is that I will never see the Beatles play. That would've been something else. However, seeing as George and John are no longer with us, it's a dream far beyond my reach.

1964 is the next best thing. Seriously.

They wear costumes so they look like the Beatles. They play the exact same instruments. They sound just like the Beatles. They move just like the Beatles. THEY ARE THE BEATLES.

And maybe the best part is that they play early Beatles stuff (pre-Sgt. Pepper's), which is in my opinion their better music. They ended up playing literally all my favorite songs (Ok, maybe they missed a couple, but they can't sing the whole catalog). I don't remember the order anymore but they played these songs:

-"I Want to Hold Your Hand"
-"Please Please Me"
-"From Me to You"
-"All My Loving"
-"This Boy"
-"Act Naturally"
-"Ticket to Ride"
-"When I Saw Her Standing There"
-"Can't Buy Me Love" (!!!!)
-"Twist and Shout"
-"And Your Bird Can Sing"
-"Taxman"
-"I Feel Fine"
-"You Can't Do That"
-"Hard Day's Night"
-"Drive My Car"
-"In My Life"
-"Til There Was You" (maybe my all time favorite just because it's in The Music Man)
-"Eight Days a Week" (the first Beatles song I ever heard)
-"Day Tripper"
-"She Loves You"

Yeah. It was just generally fantastic. I don't know how to explain it better.

And the thing about the Beatles is they're so anti-age-gap. I'm a teenager, there was a six year old sitting next to us, 20-somethings behind us, and 60-somethings a couple rows down. Modern music doesn't do that. Even your basic classic rock doesn't to the same extent. Only the Beatles, man. Only the Beatles.

ANYWAYS.

I've decided that I'm starting a feature on the blog called "Eight Days a Week." Every eight days I shall post the Beatles song of my choosing, whether for current relevance or just 'cause I like it. Today is appropriately "Eight Days a Week."



That is all.

(If you ever get the chance, go see 1964.)

Superman at Home

You’re maybe the very last person on earth I expected to see
At a humdrum neighborhood Walmart on a Sunday afternoon.
I don’t know where I expected you to purchase your boxes
Of cereal or your socks or your five dollar movies.
You seem like the kind of person who would buy your movies
For twenty dollars, or eat the organic super-deluxe
Two-calorie multi-vitamin cornflakes from Sunflower.

Maybe the white shelves, the ceilings, the fluorescent lights
Drain and diminish your super powers until you’re only
Just as good as me or anybody else on Krypton.

Did you know your nose is a just a smidgen
Too big for the rest of your face?

I think I’ll say hello.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Usually I write poems about things that happened to me. Or people I know. Or feelings I feel. And this is none of the above. I really couldn't tell you where on earth this came from. But it's cute anyway. I guess it's about realizing that everyone's human, no matter how much of a pedestal you put them on in their head. Everybody goes to Walmart.
And it has a fun superhero metaphor and on-purpose line lengths. I like it. :)

Aaaahhhh! I'm turning into one of those obnoxious tell-a-story-that-never-happened poets!

Miss Lissa's Encyclopedia of Music Fandom

The Bandwagon Fan. Your favorite band has been on the scene for ages, but they haven't exactly been at the top of the charts. Then one number one single changes everything. Suddenly all your friends claim to love this band too. The Bandwagon curse has befallen you. Now, it's not impossible to truly discover a love for an artist that happens to have just recently gained popularity. But if you ONLY KNOW THE NUMBER ONE SINGLE, you're probably not a true fan. It's not their best song anyway. I promise. One must not judge Bandwagon Fans too harshly, though, or one risks the danger of becoming a Music Snob (see below).

The Faux Fan. This person is closely related to, but not exactly the same as, the Bandwagon Fan, as the Faux Fan usually carries an association with classic rock. This is the obnoxious kid that owns fifteen Beatles shirts, but has never heard "Penny Lane". The one that lists Journey as one of his favorite bands, but only knows "Don't Stop Believing." This person wants to go against the grain of typical teenaged music tastes (just like every other person you know of) but really carries no affection for whatever band or artist he professes to love. This is a heinous crime against music. The only appropriate sentence for such a person is a full listen-through of the ENTIRE Beatles catalog. Twice.

The iPod Judger. The iPod Judger is one who, after asking to look through a friend's music player, finds herself constantly saying, "You have that? You have that?! A word to the iPod Judger: you are the visitor here. Would you walk into Parliament and tell the Brits that a House of Representatives, a Congress, and a President would work much better? No. It is not your position to judge another's tastes, even if he does have Miley Cyrus on his iPod. Nobody likes an iPod Judger.

The Lady Gaga Fan. There is no hope for this person. End of story.

The Long Play Fan. This is the music lover who is appalled at the single song nature of modern music. The one who believes firmly that albums were meant to be continuous works of art rather than piecemeal scraps thrown together to be torn apart by $1.29 purchases. The one who buys full albums whenever possible. The one who ends up with a whole lot of songs she doesn't really like and a whole lot less money. See also Miss Lissa.

The Marry Me Fan. This is the person, usually of the feminine persuasion, who loves an artist not because of his musical prowess, but exclusively because of his hair, eyes, abs, or general good looks. See also Justin Bieber Fan.

The Music Snob. This is the exact opposite of a Bandwagon fan. This person takes immense pride in always being ahead of the trends... WAY ahead. As soon as more than three people become fans of the Music Snob's favorite artist, that artist instantly becomes "uncool." See also hipster, indie.

The True Fan. This is the music fan all music fans should aspire to be. The one inhales melodies and exhales lyrics. The one who feels the kinship of all humanity in the lyrics of a song, the oneness of emotion, the I'm-not-alone-ness. This is the one in whom wellsprings of emotion rise at the sound of a favorite song, who dances in the rain, who sings at the top of her lungs. This is the music lover. This is the True Fan.


"Music is the universal language of mankind." -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

When the English Language Lived

Below is the letter of Major Sullivan Ballou of the Union Army's Second Regiment, Rhode Island Volunteers, to his wife Sarah days before he was killed in the Battle of Bull Run. Ballou wrote the letter on July 14, 1861 while awaiting orders that would take him down to Manassas, Virginia where he was killed on July 28. Ballou, 32, was a lawyer and father of two small boys, Edgar and Willie, who volunteered to fight for the Union Army.

My very dear Sarah:
The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days -- perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.

Our movement may be one of a few days duration and full of pleasure -- and it may be one of severe conflict and death to me. Not my will, but thine O God, be done.

If it is necessary that I should fall on the battlefield for my country, I am ready. I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter.

I know how strongly American Civilization now leans upon the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing -- perfectly willing -- to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt.

But, my dear wife, when I know that with my own joys I lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with cares and sorrows -- when, after having eaten for long years the bitter fruit of orphanage myself, I must offer it as their only sustenance to my dear little children -- is it weak or dishonorable, while the banner of my purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze, that my unbounded love for you, my darling wife and children, should struggle in fierce, though useless, contest with my love of country?

I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm summer night, when two thousand men are sleeping around me, many of them enjoying the last, perhaps, before that of death -- and I, suspicious that Death is creeping behind me with his fatal dart, am communing with God, my country, and thee.

I have sought most closely and diligently, and often in my breast, for a wrong motive in thus hazarding the happiness of those I loved and I could not find one. A pure love of my country and of the principles I have often advocated before the people and "the name of honor that I love more than I fear death" have called upon me, and I have obeyed.

Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.

The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us.

I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me -- perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar -- that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.

Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have oftentimes been!
How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of this world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot. I must watch you from the spirit land and hover near you, while you buffet the storms with your precious little freight, and wait with sad patience till we meet to part no more.

But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the garish day and in the darkest night -- amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours -- always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.
Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.

As for my little boys, they will grow as I have done, and never know a father's love and care. Little Willie is too young to remember me long, and my blue-eyed Edgar will keep my frolics with him among the dimmest memories of his childhood.

Sarah, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal care and your development of their characters.

Tell my two mothers his and hers I call God's blessing upon them.

O Sarah, I wait for you there! Come to me, and lead thither my children.

Sullivan

Remember the days when people actually put thought into writing? When proper word choice actually mattered to the average man? When men were men and women were women?

Yeah. I miss those days. Oh for the 1800s...

Ice

After dinner tonight my brother and I started our usual job of clearing the table, rinsing the dishes, and emptying the dishwasher. Tonight it was a little more exciting then usual, though. Tonight there was leftover ice.

I couldn't tell you where this excitement came from, this fascination with melting ice between our fingers under a hot stream of tap water, but ever since dish-washing became our job rather than Mom's we've liked it. You turn the faucet as far to the right as it will go and make sure it's on a continuous stream instead of a spray. You can't allow the stream to get too heavy, though, or the fun will be over before it starts. Keep it just above a trickle. Hold the ice between your thumb and your forefinger. Watch the dent turn into a hole, into a crevice, into a wide open space. Listen hard for a hint of a crackle, a dying breath. Watch it disappear. Feel the nothingness between your fingers. Swear something was there a split second ago.

That's the weirdest part, really. I can never pin-point the exact moment the ice becomes water. One second there's something between my fingers, and the next there's not.

My brother looks different tonight. He's been complaining of poor vision for months, and his glasses finally came today. He came home with a haircut as well. He looks much older than he is, but then again, he's getting pretty old. As of last month he's taller than me by a good inch. And he's five years younger.

Harding University sent me an application packet today. It's not my first choice, but I figure I better apply anyway in case my first choice falls through. It said "Apply early!" No kidding. Way too early.

I don't know if I mentioned that this was my second to last year as a Kamper. I went to the banquet with a little boy named Ethan. I kinda fell in love with his excessive knowledge of Spiderman. :)
Anyway, in conversation I asked him what grade he was going into, and I figured it had to be fourth or fifth, because he was so stinkin' cute and little. But I was wrong. He's going into SEVENTH.

I remember when seventh grade seemed old. When Lizzie McGuire was in seventh grade. MIDDLE SCHOOL. The land of lockers and multiple teachers. Remember that feeling? Remember thinking algebra had something to do with the order of the letters in the alphabet? Remember not knowing about the existence of bottom lockers? Remember innocence?

I stopped thinking middle school was old in about sixth grade. At that point it was high school. High school's where you really started figuring everything out. That theory disappeared in about ninth grade. At that point senior year felt old.

Guess what guys? I finally feel old.

"Graduate" doesn't sound that old. It just sounds kinda... kinda terrifying. Because in about a year, real life starts.

And I'm sitting here wondering where my childhood went. Realizing how much of it I have absolutely no recollection of. I have a few very vivid memories. Leaving the theater at the beginning of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" because Cindy Lou Who was surely being violently cut to bits by the wrapping machine. Fighting valiantly for my belief in Santa Claus out in the parking lot at my elementary school. Getting a rug burn playing in the foyer after church.

I can picture the sights, smell the smells, tell you exactly what the lighting in the room was like. I remember. That was yesterday. But it was really forever ago. My life's disappearing before my eyes.

But maybe it's not disappearing. Maybe it's melting.

Someday I'll be all gone. The faucet of time will continue to rush down on my life and in a blink, in an indeterminate second, I'll be washed down the garbage disposal into eternity. But you know what? I get a few seconds to let the water run between my fingers and feel the inexplicable joy that is living.

I'm excited to melt my ice.

You know you've been to Kamp Koinonia if...

- The word "Hummingbird" makes you think of fright rather than a small winged creature.
- You can play "Clocks" and "Heart and Soul" on the piano but you can't play anything else.
-You've been in heated speculative discussions about what the Jewel Hunt theme will be.
-You've wondered how they're planning on using chopsticks in the Jewel Hunt.
-You know who the most beautiful man in the room is.
-You sing "Row Row Row Your Boat" a little bit different than everybody else you know.
-You've heard legends about both the Korean Mafia and the nearby "insane asylum."
-You've been dared to touch the door of the Bear Cabin.
-You know that if you ever go spelunking, the answer is NOT to tie yourself to your spelunking buddy.
-You've ever found it ironic that you take a long hike to Devil's Head at church Kamp.
-You have been marked wrong on one of those "What I Did This Summer" papers for spelling Kamp with a K.
-You find yourself laughing really hard at puns that normal people probably wouldn't find that funny.
-You've heard stories that make your cresh fleep and give you poosegimples.
-You've felt a little bit guilty about holding hands with someone of the opposite sex during a prayer... because you don't have a stick...
-You hope someday you'll meet a man who'll be willing to carry your purse.
-You've cheered at the top of your lungs for a little girl playing "Hot Cross Buns" on the piano.
-You know that no matter how many horrible tragedies befall her, the cat will come back.
-You know the difference between Bret and Bre-tuh-tuh.
-Tornado warnings make you want to sing a certain song.
-The phrase "Byron Clause" fills your heart with terror and foreboding.
-You've literally been sentenced to water torture.
-You've eaten wild raspberries despite being warned that they could possibly kill you.
-You were a little bummed when the lodge remodeled because even though those orange and purple chairs were heinously tacky, they were COMFY.
-If you're a girl, you've been terrified to use the other bathroom even though the sign says it's a girl's right now.
-You've started about a million lanyards and finished none of them.
-You've heard the same orientation jokes for eight years and you still laugh at them. Every. Single. Year.
-You've sat in the same spot for Quiet Time every year for as long as you can remember.
-You know exactly what a napkin check is.
-When people start cheering during a meal you just kinda go with it. Even though you have full knowledge that there's probably no point to it whatsoever.
-You have a VEHEMENT opinion when it comes to which color is better, green or blue.
-It took you a few years of coming to realize that Bret and Julie are brother and sister.
-You know that if you read Scripture in Tom Walker's class, he WILL interrupt you.
-You've been beaten, tortured, chased by a motorcycle, and sprayed with ketchup all in the same night.
-You've walked into the parlor to find at least three people sound asleep. And it's only Tuesday.
-You started shaving your legs immediately after winning the "girl with the hairiest legs" point in Scavenger Hunt.
-You want to be Bret Carter/ Julie Oehlert when you grow up.
-You've randomly started singing devo songs with several other people outside assembly or campfire.
-You owe some of your closest friends in the world to your years at Kamp.
-You have a box of caregrams that you read when you need a little extra encouragement.
-You've been astounded at the eagerness of a boy younger than twelve to lead a prayer or a song, or at the intelligence and relevance of a younger kid during Man to Man/ Woman to Woman.
-You have actually seen chivalry and have faith in its ability to stay alive even in the present world.
-Words people have said to you at the campfire Thursday or Friday have stayed with you for years.
-You know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Christians can have real fun-- in fact, more fun than the rest of the world.
-You've cried over an Underground Church cop and the fact that you couldn't convert them... only to start crying harder, because you realize that in real life you don't care about REAL lost souls half that much.
-A class/assembly has brought you to tears with its relevance to your life.
-You've tasted a little slice of Heaven.

Kamp Koinonia 2011-- Thank you for teaching me how to better fight the good fight! I love you all and you encourage me more than you will ever know this side of Heaven. Somehow we always manage to keep the perfect balance of total silliness and deep spirituality and it always results in the next best week of my life. Stay strong in the Lord. Tan Kalon Agona.

<3

My Hero

I love super heroes.

As a people, as a species, we've always loved a hero. It goes clear back to Greek and Roman mythology. Look at Hercules, Achilles, Aeneas, Odysseus. They were children of the gods, endowed with some sort of power, sent on a mission from heaven. At the same time, though, they were human, prone to human faults and failures.

Flash forward to the 20th century. Superman, Batman, Captain America, Green Lantern, the Flash, Spider-Man, Thor, just to name a few. Each, no matter their source of power, no matter their protective domain, no matter their secret identity, have been burdened and yet blessed with a singular mission...

TO SAVE THE WORLD!!

Is it really any wonder we love them? Yeah. I didn't think so either.

But it does go deeper than that. At least for me it does.

Of course, we love super heroes because they're, well, super. They play with our imaginations. They do everything we wish we could do. They can fly. They have super strength. They can move faster than the speed of light. They're invincible. Who hasn't wished for a super power? I mean, really. You love the idea. Whether you admit it or not, you wish you were a super hero sometimes. Admit it. :)

But we also love them because they're human. They have problems and weaknesses. Batman is literally, 100% human, totally vulnerable (except for his armor, but... that doesn't prove my point so I'm not acknowledging that). Spider-Man can hardly afford to be a super hero. The Hulk and Thor both have to learn to conquer their anger. Iron Man has heart problems, for crying out loud! Even Superman cringes at the sight of Kryptonite. And, of course, whether it be Lois Lane, Mary Jane Watson, Jane Foster, or anybody else, nearly every superhero falls prey to the number one vulnerability: a love interest.

We like vulnerability. We understand vulnerability. Vulnerability makes us think of ourselves.

But really, truly, in our heart of hearts, the central reason we love super heroes is that they're just that. Heroes.

No matter how a hero acquires his power, he chooses to use it for the good of humanity. Sure, for some the choice is easier than others, but they kind of all hold to Spider-Man's philosophy: "With great power comes great responsibility." (Good grief, that was a nerdy sentence.) Mankind must always come first, no matter what other conflicting personal desires he may hold. Self-sacrifice is no stranger to the super hero. Even motives become subject to this strict code of super hero-dom. Revenge and hate must be absent in a super hero's mentality, though it's a constant battle to achieve this pure mindset.

So you place these supers in a very real world, surrounded by very real problems along with the fantastically exaggerated ones. You give them a responsibility, a vulnerability, and a sense of extreme morality. The result is inspiring. Super heroes remind us that maybe, just maybe, we can do it too. Can we swing from buildings or fly or lift cars or summon lightning? Of course not. But we can hold to this higher code of morality. We can use our talents to help mankind. We can stand up for the good of humanity. We can MAKE A DIFFERENCE. And that's encouraging to say the least.

"Kids like Henry need a hero, courageous, self-sacrificing people, setting an example for all of us. Everybody loves a hero. People line up for them, cheer them, scream their names. And years later, they'll tell how they stood in the rain for hours just to get a glimpse of the one who taught them how to hold on a second longer. I believe there's a hero in all of us, that keeps us honest, gives us strength, makes us noble, and finally allows us to die with pride, even though sometimes we have to be steady, and give up the thing we want the most. Even our dreams." -Aunt Mae, Spider-Man 2

Gonna be a hero?

Disneyland Snippets

Disneyland is a hilarious place. So I thought I'd give you a taste of just how awesome it is. :)

"It's time for everyone, I repeat, everyone, to disembark... Any stowaways will be sent to Small World and be forced to ride the ride for the rest of the day." -Cast member on the Columbia

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Davy Crockett canoe dude was hilarious.

"Rule 1: Never stop rowing. Because if you don't row... we don't go. Rule 2: Never stop paddling. Because if you don't paddle... we don't skedaddle."

"Please try to keep the dirty green water in the dirty green river."

He splashed the people coming around the bend on Splash Mountain: "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why you don't ride that ride with your mouth open."

"We are now passing the Disneyland petting zoo. We taught them a little trick I bet they'll show you all..." *Waves at the people on the shore*... "See, they wave right back."

"If you enjoyed this trip, I'm Brian and this is John David and these are the Davy Crockett Canoes. If you didn't enjoy it, that's alright too, I'm Darth Vader, this is Luke Skywalker, and this is Star Tours: The Adventure Continues."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pocahontas asked where we came from so I told her and mentioned that we drove.
"All that way just to come to see us at Disneyland? I could ask to borrow a magic carpet for your way home. I'll ask Jasmine, she has tons of them."

Brother walked up: "Are you the brother or the prince?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was in line to meet Cinderella and this little girl with her face painted like a cat went up. As she was leaving Cinderella goes, "Make sure you don't eat any mice! Because one of them might be mine!"

As I went up to meet Cinderella, my brother mysteriously disappeared (he didn't want to meet princesses).
Fairy Godmother: "Are we missing someone?"
Me: "Yeah, we apparently lost my brother."
Cinderella: "You lost your brother? Is he a Lost Boy?"
Fairy Godmother: "What's his name?"
We told her.
Fairy Godmother: "What is he wearing?"
We told her.
She walks off shouting my brother's name. I think she would have looked all over Fantasyland for him... he was just hiding in the doorway though. They made him pose for the picture. :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I love your treasure! Did you tinker it yourself?" -Iridessa the fairy commenting on my friendship necklace

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I went up to meet Tinker Bell, Vidia was there with her. (If you haven't seen the Tinker Bell movies... I understand. But Vidia's the mean bratty fairy.) They bantered back and forth and when we all went up for the picture Vidia muttered to my dad, "Is there anybody else in your family? I need to get further away from Tinker Bell." Just before the picture went off, she said, "Watch the wings." Teeheehee!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I MET PETER PAN.
And I have a delightful picture that I shall post as soon as I get away from this terrible unresponsive hotel internet connection.

See? Isn't he awesome? Look at him, his tongue's sticking out 'cause he's concentrating too hard.

Anyways...

Peter Pan is perfect. He's exactly how he should be. Whenever you see him in Fantasyland he's always jumping up on railings and walking on them or swinging around a lightpole or just generally acting like all of Disneyland is his own personal playground. Because it is. It's wonderful.

Here's the conversation I overheard the other day when I was too chicken to push up and ask for his autograph:

Random Girl #1: (points at friend) "It's her birthday."
Peter: "So that means she's growing up?"
***awkward silence***
Random Girl #2: "Yeah...."
Peter: "Why would you want to grow up?"
Random Girl #2: "Well there are a lot of things you can't do when you're a kid."
Peter: "Nuh uh."
Girl: "Yuh huh."
Peter: "Nuh uh. Name one thing a grownup can do that I can't."
Girl: "Um... drive a car."
Peter: "HA! Autopia. What next?"

BUT ANYWAYS... Yesterday I finally caught him and asked for his autograph.

Me: "I've been looking for you FOREVER."
Peter: "Forever? That's a really long time. Did you look in the trees? Sometimes I hide in the trees."

All this time we're walking over to this group of rocks by the castle where he hangs out. He finished signing my book and goes "Here's your pen back" and goes to hand it to me. But he kept moving it so I couldn't get it. Such an ornery little boy.

Me: "Can I get a picture?"
Peter: "Sure. But not on my rock this one's mine I was here first."

So Dad goes to take the picture and every time he focuses Peter looks the other direction like he's zoning out. Then he says, "What? Oh yeah" and looks. This happened about three times. The shot was weird so Dad says, "Can she share your rock?" And Peter takes a minute and looks all thoughtful then finally decides, "No, that one's my rock. I was there first. But I can share hers."

I did get my picture. I love him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ariel: "Who has the other half of your necklace?" (my friendship one)
I told her.
Ariel: "Oh how wonderful! Flounder is my best friend. I wonder if he could wear a necklace..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tigger doesn't talk, you know, but in between visitors he was skipping around his little area because he can't sit still to save his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The other incredible thing I HAVE to mention is the excitement and warmth of everyone who works in this place. Everyone smiles. Everyone goes above and beyond. We were walking back to our hotel last night and we mentioned Tower of Terror, and a bellhop for the attraction walking next to us perked up. She stood there and talked to us for the better part of half an hour telling us little secrets of the ride and where the Hidden Mickeys are and what the bellhops do after hours. It was close to eleven o'clock at night and she took the time to make our day, even though she was off duty.

The rides are beyond cool... but the people really make Disneyland magical.

Kid Stuff

It's been a full day. We finally walked through the gates of Disneyland at about 11 o'clock, and didn't return to the hotel until a few minutes ago. That's twelve plus hour of Disneyland, ladies and gentlemen.

Ever since we found out we were going on this trip, I've been ecstatic, but there's always been this fear lurking in the empty corners of my mind: "What if I decide it's a place for kids? What if this turns out to be lame? What if I'm (horror of horrors) a grownup?"

My fear was further solidified earlier today when I felt too lame to ask for Peter Pan's autograph. I mean, that's stupid, right? Only tiny kids ask for autographs. Grow up, Melissa.

Rides are fun. Really fun. But I wasn't getting the magic.

Fantasmic! rolled around and we ended our search for a place to watch by giving up. We hadn't staked out a seat and the Rivers of America were PACKED. As we shuffled through endless seas of people I found myself annoyed with how crowded the park was. Annoyed. At the happiest place on earth. I suddenly became aware of how bad my feet hurt.

But we didn't let that break our spirits. Oh, no. We decided to save time and stake out a spot to watch the fireworks. Main Street, however, was nearly as packed as the Rivers of America. After finally finding a place where we had a decent view of the castle, we sat down, only to be told by a Cast member that soon we'd have to stand up to watch the firework show. My feet throbbed in protest.

The lights dimmed. The music began. "The second star to the right shines in the night for you..."

And Tinkerbell flew down from the Matterhorn to cast her magic over Sleeping Beauty Castle.

I really can't describe the feeling that welled up inside me at that moment, but I bawled. I bawled like a baby.

Because it was Tinkerbell. And I believed that it was Tinkerbell. She flew back and forth over the castle and waved her wand and somewhere in that moment I got lost in the magic. I forgot how tired I was. I forgot the gobs of people. I forgot that my feet hurt. All that existed was Tinkerbell. I'm convinced I'll remember that moment for the rest of my life. It was the moment I realized I'm still a kid. And I can keep being a kid for as long as I want to.

So I'm going to gaze at the castle in utter awe and believe that there's a princess inside ready to be awakened with a kiss. And I'm going to believe that Space Mountain is a piece of the galaxy pulled down out of the heavens. I'm going to believe that Mickey will always slay the dragon, and good will always win over evil, and at the end of the day Tinkerbell will always fly over the castle. And I'm going to track down Peter Pan and ask for his autograph.

Because that's what kids do.

Proton

I bet if I folded myself up so small that a hundred trillion
Of me could fit on the head of a sewing pin
I'd become so invisibly invincible
That no hammer would ever
Be able to crush me
Again.

Guess What I Do For Adventure?

I spent the better part of the morning trying to write something profound... it didn't work. But I feel bad for my poor neglected blog. So here's a hilarious YouTube video. Or at least I think it is.



<3

Surprise!

Hem hem hem hem hem...

I'M GOIN' TO DISNEYLAND!!!!!!!!!!!

I really don't think I can adequately express to you my intense excitement right now. Even with caps lock and excessive exclamation marks. You have to understand that I'm a little bit of a Disneyland fanatic. I LOVE Disneyland. I've read the Wikipedia pages for just about every ride (carefully skipping the "how it works" parts so as not to spoil the magic) even though I haven't been since I was eight. This is a BIG DEAL.

THE SETUP:
One of my great loves, as you might know, is the Muppets. So when we went to see Pirates 4 (which was surprisingly decent, by the way) and a commercial came on for the new Muppets movie... I was a little excited. No, I was ridiculously excited. You need to know that.
Anyway, I come downstairs this morning and Dad's like, "I found a new commercial for the Muppets movie... wanna see it?" Well duh! So I sit through the first little bit or so... it's the same trailer. But Dad says, "No it's not." (Oh my goodness, this is horrible writing. I'm sorry. I'm too excited right now to write coherently. Forgive me.) About halfway through the screen flashes "This isn't really about the new Muppets movie." I was lost. No clue what's going on. Then at the end, it said, "We're going to Disneyland!"
Still lost. All of you who think I'm smart, think again. Not until about two seconds after it was over did I realize that WE are going to Disneyland, not the Muppets.

AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (That's about what I sounded like, too. Along with a lot of "What? Really? WHAT? REALLY?")

We have a six-day (yes, SIX DAYS IN DISNEYLAND) park hopper pass between Magic Kingdom and California Adventure (home of one of the coolest rides of all time, Soarin' over California). One day we get into the park an hour before it opens to get to all the rides that would otherwise be crowded. We're also road-tripping, a feat we haven't attempted in... a really long time. I don't know how long ago that was. I am stoked. I am so stoked. This is gonna be so much fun!!!!!!

My brother is beyond excited because just days before we arrive, the newly revamped STAR TOURS will have opened. The kid is a Star Wars nut and he's been talking about it for ages. The last time we went he was about three, so I'm super excited for him to actually be able to remember this trip.

I'm excited for me, too-- I still have all my childlike wonder, but not nearly so much childlike fear. Or childlike height restrictions. Haha! I'm just as excited to go on the Peter Pan ride as I was when I was eight, but now I'm not scared to go on the Haunted Mansion anymore! And I'm tall enough to go on the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror! (No comment on the fear factor there.) I might even get my senior pictures taken IN DISNEYLAND... how stinkin' cool is that? To list everything I'm excited about would take pages and pages to tell, so I'll leave it at this...

I'M GOIN' TO DISNEYLAND!

Here's to the happiest place on earth!



<3

Stargazing

I have to wonder
If I were to explode
In a supernova
Would the disturbance
Shake the earth
Or would
My light go on shining
For a myriad millenia
Thousands of lightyears away?

~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote this. I got the idea in Physics today when we were talking about how light from the stars takes so long to get all the way to us thousands of lightyears away that for all we know none of the stars we're gazing up at are actually there anymore or not. For all we know they've exploded. We just won't know about it until the light from their dying breath gets to us. I guess you could look at it two ways (the poem, I mean): it's either about leaving a legacy or about nobody even noticing you were gone if you were to disappear. I like leaving a legacy. It's happier. :)

Enjoy your day. Metaphors be with you.

<3

Let Me Live

"I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly." -John 10:10

"I wanted to live deep and suck all the marrow out of life, to put to rout all that which was not life, and not when I had come to die discover that I had not lived." -Henry David Thoreau

Is it cliche to say that I have a whole new lease on life?

To recap and explain everything that has happened in the last month would be quite the undertaking, so I'm not going to try. By all rights, for reasons I won't take the time to explain here, it really should have been a rough month, and at times it has been. But overall I'm filled with this overwhelming happiness and excitement. It would make a lot of sense for me to be broken up... but I'm not. I'm probably the most content I've ever been in my life.

I want to go to Heaven. I want to go to Heaven so bad. That's the most important thing. I've got to learn to cling to the things and people that are going to get me to Heaven and run far away from the things that are pulling me the other direction.

I also have to learn that I can live on the way there. In John 10:10 Jesus wasn't talking about eternal life. He was talking about this life. Christians have the ability to have the most abundant lives possible.

So you know what? I want to live.

I want to fill my days up with people and things that make me love God even more than I did previously. I want to use my talents to His glory in the greatest way I possibly can. I want to dig into God's Word so much my head spins from how amazing it all is. I want praying to come as naturally as breathing to me. I want to be so close to God that His will is my will, no matter where that will takes me.

I want to write. Oh man, I want to write. I want to write articles. I want to write books. I want to write blog posts. I want to write poetry just to get things out of my system. I want to start the second Renaissance with Jenna. I want to read good books and understand what they're saying.

I want to sing. I stinkin' love to sing, you know that? I want to dance around my room when no one is watching just because it feels good. I want to listen to the music that makes my heart soar. I want to go walking around in the rain and feel the water dance across my skin. I want to hear thunder rolling and see lightning crash and marvel at how incredible this world is and how awesome my God is.

I want to reach for the sky, not for the ceiling. I don't want limits unless they're the limits God has placed in my life through His word and my desire to get to Heaven. I want to lay aside every encumbrance that entangles me and GET THERE.

More than anything I want to NOT WANT WHAT I WANT! I want to want what He wants, because what more could I want?

So... I want to live this summer. And I'm going to.

<3

Annoying List Post #8

Hello, friends. You know the drill.

COOL GOD THOUGHTS:
-I've been studying Proverbs for the past week, and may I just say, it's awesome. I love the Bible. It's so awesome. :)
Anyways, the keywords I've found so far are "wisdom", "wicked", "righteous", "life", "understanding", "mouth", "LORD" (SEVENTY TIMES!!), "heart", "fool", and "knowledge". I haven't really determined a key verse... The way the book is structured I'm not sure there is one. However, there's a HUGE concentration of keywords all throughout Chapter 10. So I'm thinking that's significant.
-So I don't know why, but I never thought to ask God for help on tests. I feel like that should have crossed my mind before this week, but it really didn't. But I had a physics test I was worried about, so I prayed about it right before I took it. It's not even that I did a ton better than I normally do (got a B... not bad, but I kinda wanted better), but I wasn't nearly as stressed out while I was taking the test. Which is just oddly comforting to me.
-I've been thinking a lot lately about how it doesn't really matter what people think of you, even if they think good things about you. If everyone thinks you're really faithful or you're doing better than so-and-so or whatever, God judges you by the Book, not by other people. Something to think about.

RANDOM OCCURENCES:
-My bestie Holly is dating a boy. Ah! It's kinda surreal. The best part for me, however, is that I got pink cookies out of it. You know the ones from King Soopers? The delicious ones that are a hundred calories a piece? Yeah. Those cookies. I kinda bet her that they'd be together by the end of the school year... she gets a boy and I get cookies. Win win. :) :)
-Well, first week back... not as bad as expected, but I miss break! Two tests, two quizzes, and a four page paper due on Monday. (Well, I knew about the paper over break... but I didn't know it was due on Monday. Eh. It's a report. Not an essay, a report. We don't have to argue anything. I'm not sure I remember how to not argue anything in a paper.)
-Two days ago marked one month until my AP History test, and tomorrow marks one month until AP Physics... AAAHHHH!! Nah, it'll be okay. I'll survive.
-We put more music on my brother's iPod... he now likes the Beatles and the Avett Brothers. Ahahaha! I had already converted him to Paramore long ago. The boy is well-rounded like his sister. :)
-We read an excellent poem in English. And I'm going to post it now. :)

"George Gray" by Edgar Lee Masters
I have studied many times
The marble which was chiseled for me --
A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor.
In truth it pictures not my destination
But my life.
For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment;
Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid;
Ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances.
Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life.
And now I know that we must lift the sail
And catch the winds of destiny
Wherever they drive the boat.
To put meaning in one's life may end in madness,
But life without meaning is the torture
Of restlessness and vague desire --
It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.


Isn't that beautiful? I think so. In a tragic sort of way. But still beautiful. Taking risks is hard, but if you don't you'll never truly live.

THE LATEST TRAVESTIES:
-They finally cast Peeta and Gale in the Hunger Games movie... they're going to be Josh Hutcherson and Liam Hemsworth, respectively. The annoying kid from Bridge to Terabithia is playing my FAVORITE CHARACTER, and the male lead from the Miley Cyrus Nicholas Sparks movie is playing the tough guy. AAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH! This is right up there with Anne Hathaway being Catwoman. Right up there.
-Donald Trump is running for President. BA to the HA to the HA. Really? How humiliating would it be to say that Donald Trump was our president? I couldn't take him seriously! I mean he gets up for State of the Union and goes, "Members of the Congress... you're fired. You're all fired!" Hehehe. It's so hilariously laughable.

AND AN EXCITEMENT...
I'm really, extremely, massively, wildly, heart-about-to-beat-out-of-my-chest excited to go see the Avett Brothers three months from tomorrow.
Really.
I'm not actually going to post videos, because I would have to post way too many. But I'm going to start listing songs now.
Songs I will be devastated if they don't play:
-Living of Love (haha... like you needed me to tell you that)
-Paranoia in B Major (I adore this song live. It's lovely.)
-The Ballad of Love and Hate (Again... love it live)
-Standing with You (This isn't even on an album! I've only ever seen it on YouTube! They have lots of songs that aren't on albums, apparently, but this is my favorite.)
-Colorshow
-Pretty Girl at the Airport (this is old enough that I don't know that they'll play it... but I really hope they do, because it's stinkin' gorgeous.)
-All My Mistakes
-At the Beach (okay, here's my story about At the Beach... we were at Myrtle Beach in South Carolina for Fourth of July when I was eleven or so. You can buy, like, ANY kind of fireworks there. It was crazy. All the way down the beach as far as you could see in either direction all you could see was fireworks lighting up the sky. "Midnight at the shoreline, fireworks above us, they are screaming blue"... So yeah. That's why I love that song. Not sure why they would play it in a land-locked state, but you never know. Girl can dream.)
-St. Joseph's
-November Blue
-Anything Bob Crawford. I just love Bob Crawford songs.

There are several more that I love and hope they play... but I don't have the time or memory capacity to list them all. Whatever they play, though, I'll be happy. Twenty-some rows away from the Avett Brothers. I'm going to implode from excitement. The only one they really have to play for me is Living of Love. They really do have to play that one.

Allllright, loverlies. That's all I got. Thanks for listening to me ramble about nothing in particular. I just like clearin' out my brain, you know?

Much love.

<3

Chapter 12

I always forget about this, but I thought of it tonight, so here's another chapter! Sorry it's so slow coming. Here's Chapter 10 and Chapter 11 once again if you need to catch up. Much love.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They took her back into the blinding light and into a white room. The walls reflected the bright light frighteningly well, sending daggers of perception into her squinting eyes. There were no windows. The only thing even remotely distinct about the room was a bed in the left corner directly in front of her. The guards released her and she went to sit down on it, grasping its metal railing for balance. The mattress was incredibly thin, and only one threadbare sheet clung to it like some sort of overgrown cobweb. So much for treating your prisoners well, she thought.
As if reading her mind, one of the guards took off his cap and held it to his heart, revealing blue eyes that were kinder than she had expected. “If you want another blanket, or anything, ma’am, you just let us know.” Puzzled, she nodded. He and his friend gave her weak smiles as they left the room, closing the door behind them.
The walls, floor, and ceiling were all padded with some sort of soft material. Patrick had said the place had been an airport; she would have just as easily believed it was an insane asylum. Of course, she had never seen an insane asylum—they had been done away with when she was only three years old. Coltrane Thornton had told her what they were like…
The unpleasant, unsettling thought entered her head. Who had killed Coltrane Thornton? Could it have been a man in this very building? She reflected on the boy who had once been her neighbor, the round-faced boy with tousled black hair and excited eyes. He had always loved life, even if the life he lived was mostly made up. He had been a trickster, a liar, a joker… but he didn’t deserve to die. Nana hadn’t deserved to die. Mom and Baylor hadn’t deserved to die. Nobody should have died in this ridiculous war. She imagined Coltrane lying on some battlefield, bleeding his life out onto the dirt beneath his body…
She pulled her knees up from the side of the bed and hugged them to her chest, tried to squeeze out the emotional nausea that had filled the pit of her stomach. She was both drained of happiness and filled with despair and contempt, both empty and full at the same time. She unfolded herself and laid her head on the thin pillow.
She found it horribly ironic that the only person in the world she wanted to talk to could very well have been Coltrane’s killer. She wondered if Patrick was okay, hoping she hadn’t gotten him into any trouble. He’d been through enough trouble for her already.
As she hugged her arms around herself, she felt her own cold hand on the bare skin of her shoulder. The entire sleeve of her shirt had ripped off completely by this time. Hadn’t the Sergeant mentioned something about a change of clothes? She got up slowly, crouching on her knees to peer under the bed. She felt like she was being punched in the gut as she took the Memorist uniform in her hands. What kind of sick joke was this, making a prisoner of war wear the enemy uniform? She wadded up the clothes and threw them angrily in a corner. Just as well, she thought. She was probably under surveillance anyway. She stood again and kicked the rubbery wall in frustration—the action almost caused her to lose her balance. She screamed a very exasperated scream, but she was sure it hadn’t reached anyone’s ears. She had gone from sadness to anger over the span of a few seconds. Maybe the walls were rubber because the POWs eventually went insane…
They might as well have killed her. At this point in Piper Conrad’s life, nothing, nothing at all, was worse than being completely alone.
She wasn’t sure what time it was, but she assumed it was time to go to sleep when the lights clicked off, plunging her from the brightness of the afternoon into midnight in an instant. For a moment she was afraid she had gone blind; she couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face.
“Lincoln,” she said aloud. Without explanation the cat reentered her mind. He hadn’t even come into the base with them, had he? The poor thing was probably out in the cold all alone…
“Really, Piper? You’re in a Backwinder prison and you’re worried about a stupid cat?” She was talking to herself. Wasn’t that the first sign of madness? She’d only been in here a few hours, and she was already losing her mind.
She blinked, unable to differentiate the black of her closed eyes from the black of the room. She felt as though lead weights were tied to her eyelashes, weighing her lids down. Slowly but surely, sleep won the battle over confusion and emotion.
Piper was surrounded by fire. It was everywhere around her, above and beneath, as though she had been placed in a room made of it. She could see through the flames to the other side, where she heard her cat meowing mournfully at her. She could hear Mom screaming, but she couldn’t see her. Baylor, however, was straight in front of her, the firelight dancing across his face. Coltrane Thornton was holding his hand.
“Sissy!” he said, and both of them began running through the fire toward her. She tried to tell them no, she was screaming her lungs out at them, but they couldn’t hear her…
And Patrick was laughing, his brown eyes twisted and demented in the flame.
Coltrane and Baylor broke through the flames to her side, but they were only eerie skeletons, their flesh eaten alive by the fire.
Then the lights blared on, and she was safe in the white room again, alone with her sorrows and fears.
Just as her eyes sprung open, the door did as well. She jumped in shock as one of the guards, the one who had taken off his hat, walked in carrying a tray. On it was a bowl of fruit and a slightly burnt piece of toast. She couldn’t help thinking that this wasn’t too bad a deal: she had more of a bed than she’d had on the run with Patrick, and from the looks of it she was eating better too. If she could only keep this up, if she could see another human face three times a day, she could stay sane. She could survive this.
“There you are, ma’am,” he said, placing the tray carefully in her hands and turning toward the door. He talked with the same accent as Trey had.
“I’m not a ma’am,” she said, trying to persuade him to stay. She didn’t want to be alone so fast again. “I’m just Piper. You know, though, you’re the second person to call me that since I got here.”
He laughed. “This is the South, and we haven’t seen any girls for months. You’re a ma’am. But if it upsets you, I’ll quit it.”
“The South? What do you mean?”
“The Southern United States. Or at least it used to be. I don’t s’pose you ever heard of that, huh?” Piper shook her head eagerly. “Nah, I didn’t figure. Even some of our people haven’t. See, most of us left the cities to come here, but some of us hid out underground when the United States fell.”
“What’s the United States?”
“It was a big country, kinda like the Nation but not as strict. Little bit smaller too. But it was the most powerful country in the world. But it got nuked.”
Piper’s eyes widened in shock. One word she knew was “nuke.” She’d heard her dad talking about them in low voices to her mother. They could wipe out an entire civilization in an instant. The guard saw the look on her face and continued to explain.
“Yup. Outta nowhere, too. Only a few people survived. My great-great-grandfather’s family was one of ‘em. He was paranoid for years, built a built a bomb shelter three miles underground. Started when he was twenty-three and finished when he was almost eighty. But he died of old age, unlike just about everybody else. He and my great-great-grandma survived. So we just stayed where we were for generations, in case it happened again. As far as I knew, we were Americans, until the war started. Stuff started happening. We came up again. But we remember better than anybody. We could see where the Nation was going, even if we were watching from a distance. You haven’t ever heard of Hitler, have you?”
She shook her head.
“Mussolini? Stalin?”
She shook her head again. “No.” What odd names.
“Didn’t suppose so. Is it true they don’t even teach you history at your schools?”
She nodded. “The past behind, the future before.” Another National motto.
“The Diviner wouldn’t let them teach you about Hitler and all them even if you did learn history. It’d be too risky. People would start to notice the similarities.”
“Between what?”
“Between him and some of the worst dictators of all time.”
“Dictators? What do those have to do with this?”
He looked puzzled for a minute, then rolled his eyes in exasperation. “No, no, no, not those things you write with. Dictators. People who take complete control of their governments. Power-hungry monsters, more like it. Hitler killed millions of people just because they got in the way of his vision of a perfect world.” He noticed the perked look on her face. “Yeah, I said vision. Sound familiar to you?”
It wasn’t the same. It couldn’t possibly be the same. This Hitler man probably didn’t even exist.
“Don’t you think it’s even a little strange that you weren’t allowed to leave? And your man, he’s going even further than controlling people. He’s moved to the forces of nature. Is it true they don’t even have weather there?”
She nodded. A smile swept across her face unexpectedly—the reference made her think of Patrick. The guard shook his head in one swift motion, clearly indignant. “See, that’s just not right. Man trying to take the place of God… but I bet he hasn’t told you about Him either, has he?”
She shook her head again. That seemed to deliver the dying blow for the guard, who closed his eyes, stood up, and started heading for the door. Once they opened again, Piper thought she could see tears welling against his clear blue irises, but she couldn’t be sure. Just when she thought he was gone for good, he turned around one more time.
“You haven’t ever seen a Bible, have you?”
She shook her head. He looked at her for a long time, then stared at his feet. “Have a nice morning, ma’am.” He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.