It Was the Waves

     There once was a young girl who was a champion swimmer. She won medals, trophies, ribbons, all since the mere age of 4. It was incredible, they would say, truly a natural born swimmer. The best of the best. A little fish.

     And with that talent of swimming, came the ocean. It all started when she turned 12. Her parents would bring her to the nearby beach every single weekend, and send her off to have fun. They would watch from afar as she drifted up and down in the tide, gliding and propelling forward so smoothly, one would think she was a seal.

     Each time they went, they noticed the girl would swim farther and farther away from the sand. Farther and farther, each  time, a few 20 or so meters, 40 or so more meters. They would smile fondly and murmur, born for the water she was. The audience on the beach would whisper among themselves about the rising star of a swimmer, a girl born for greatness, a daring young girl who was brave and strong enough to swim so far into the sea.

     What they never seemed to notice was that afterwards, each time, it would get harder and harder for the girl to swim back. She would gasp for air, choke of the salty water, her muscles straining, her will fading. She would beg the skies above for someone, anyone, to give her a hand, to reach out. But her cries fell to deaf ears and shallow minds.

     Eventually, the ocean, so tempting, so beautiful, and so mysterious for most, dragged the girl deep into it's embrace, which, sadly, was too deep. No one noticed. They all thought that she had simply swam farther, much farther, than usual, so it was taking a longer time.

     About 2 hours after she had long been sedated by the lovely azure sea, they began to fret. They thought, maybe she had already returned, and was off somewhere resting. Or maybe, she never went into the waters at all. Maybe someone took her away. Either way, they looked everywhere on land. They never once thought of the waters once they turned their empty heads.

     3 days after the incident, the ocean gently rolled her out again, out on to warm, golden sand, as if a tiny child rolling a snowman's body around. They found her 30 minutes later.

     2 weeks after she had been found, they had a funeral for her. On her gravestone, they generously wrote,

A Talented Lady Destined for the Stars

The Waves were Just too Strong for her That Day

May She Swim in the Heavens Forever

     Elsewhere, that young girl was floating, laughing at their stupidity. Yes, because it had all been the waves' fault, hadn't it. Always the waves, never the eyes that slid right over her. A satirical grin twisted onto her face. A swimmer huh. More like a drown-er. Yes. She was definitely never, ever, ever, a swimmer. She had just been unlucky enough to have the waters help her float.

     She laughed again, and left them to be. They'd never figure it out anyways. They never do.

R.I.P.

Our Loving Amabel

Drowned at Sea

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This short piece represents life and the hardships of life. The girl, Amabel, represents those who act strong, but really, are drowning in life, those who desperately need a hand, but are ignored. The other people, such as the adults, represent everyone who sees "strong" people as strong people who don't need help. And of course, the ocean and waves represents the many obstacles in and life itself. 

Sample Artworks for "Bitterness of Human Nature"

Bitterness of Human Nature

     She was strange. Strange as could be. Villagers whispered about her, about what was wrong with her. Yes, Veilla von Baurauche was queer. But what else could be expected from such a chaotic soul?

     Veilla von Baurauche. Even the name was chaotic. Fitting, for such a mess filled mind. The only way to let those pent up dreams, nightmares, whispers in the dark, evil laughter, wild winds, was through paper and pen. Screams turned into incoherent scratches, an image only the artist can comprehend.

     She was born different. As a child, she never cried, never screamed, never talked. Even the most expensive healer in town didn't know what was wrong with the child. It was as if when the child was born, she decided to choose the path of silence. Her parents were ashamed. How was it possible that the wealthiest, richest, most high-class family in the entire town of Arcdeville had a dysfunctional child? Cruel and shallow as those two were, they abandoned her on the side of the river, leaving her only with a twisted name. She was silent throughout the whole affair.

     Somehow, life was pitying, and an old fisherman adopted her. But this wasn't a fairy tale where the girl grows up happily and falls in love with a prince. She still lived in poverty. The old fisherman eventually passed away when she turned 16, just barely old enough to fend for herself. And that she did. But, no matter what, she continued to keep silent.

     Three years later, she was alone, physically and emotionally. When she walked down the dusty, sandy street to buy more vegetables for dinner, all other noises were blocked out. Instead of her feet ahead of her, she saw storm clouds, ice, winds, and the stars. She floated through life. Still she kept silent.

     Four years later, she had completed more that 123 separate sheets filled to the brim with black ink scratched that twisted, turned, and ripped through the pages. Even the most creative person could not grasp what the picture depicted, excluding a mess. What they didn't know was that a mess was what it really was. Chaos. Madness. Silence. Thoughts. Herself. The drawings held all of it. But no one else knew, because she kept silent.

     Silent. From her first taste of life to her last, bitter breath. She was criticized, mocked, jeered at for it. She had been avoided. All because she was different. All because she was creative. All because she was dumb.
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So that's the end of a short, very short, piece. It may have been a little confusing and twisted, which if so, I apologize. This was very spur of the moment. It's to show how people are too judgmental. Also, just to make sure it's clear, "dumb" in here means that she can't talk. The character was born without a voice, which the term "dumb" applies to. So no, she's not stupid.

Two Sides to Every Coin

There's two sides to every coin. And if you say there isn't, then you might want to check out a penny or a quarter again. But anyways, people are like coins, in my opinion. There's always this side of someone that you never knew before, all because you didn't take the time to stop and observe. And someday, you might just regret not doing that.

You see, I observe things. Mostly only my friends and people I'm close too, but I observe things none the less. Often, I piece together enough observations to create a personality, one that, to normal eyes, are invisible. And that gets me wondering, how every person sees something different to what you are? Take myself for example. People describe me in various ways. Loud, energetic, hyper, chill, philosophical, smart, artistic, weird, random, hot-headed, scared-y-cat, outgoing, even shy. Everyone sees me in a different light, because of where they know me, who they are, and what they believe I'm like. A majority of what we believe tends to be based on opinion. May it be your fist impression, or your first impression of a person carved out by what your friends think, its still opinion. Maybe that's why, when you look at things in a neutral position, it seems so different. Using facts to create a person's character gives a result so unlike one made from opinion hat, at times, it's almost scary.

So sometime on some random day, stop and rid your mind of thoughts. Just observe things. Then, consider things using only neutral opinion and facts. See what's different in life then. Who knows what you'll notice.

~LaMusicFreak

Where is the love?

Hey! So, heard this song on the radio the other day, and it really got to me. It's just so, well, life-like. So here it is. Listen to it and see, doesn't it remind you of reality in a way? All credits go to the Black Eyed Peas.

Where is the Love-  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WpYeekQkAdc

Sorry!

Hey guys! Sorry I haven't updated anything in a while, I've been busy. Anyways, to make it up to you guys, I'm writing a new series of short stories called Nighten Mansion. I'm planning on posting it on Halloween, or maybe the day before Halloween. And here's a sneak preview....
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The Living Room Spirit(s)

             A living room. The place where most families use to relax. But not in Nighten Mansion. No, here, it was considered the elite room. The place where only the best could enter, and where the best happened. 

            The room itself was large and elegant. Not at all family friendly. In fact, it could be considered as a ball room instead of a living room. Pure cream and light, cloud gray swirls painted in the marble floor reflected images from the ceiling, and a glimmering 10 feet wide chandelier with glittering crystals that threw sparkles in every direction took up the bottom and the top of the room. Looking from the doorway coming in, a cozy, flickering red fireplace was snug in the far corner to the left, while an infinite number of mahogany wooden stairs spiraled up, up, up on the right. A light colored oak bookcase towered above the ground in the middle of the left wall. And, to top it off, a majestic, 42 feet long redwood table stretched across the center of the room. Real gold embellished it's edges, and fingerprint-less glass acting like mirror was pressed into the center of the wooden table top. A single, lone, velvet covered chair was seated at the far end of that table, giving the room a beautiful, but melancholic look.

            So what was so special about this room, besides its fancy furniture? Well, to know that, we would have to wait until the unseen grandfather clock strikes twelve.

         Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong!

And there it chimes. Twelve. Midnight. Time for magic to begin.