For a New Home

The lights click on.

The spotlight focuses on center stage.

And all I need is to take one, two, three steps.

One, two and three.

And will the world suddenly turn alive?

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The way I see it, everybody in this world is an island, just drifting out in the vast sea we call our home. Drifting and drifting, far and near. Sometimes, we land near great coastline, where we all came from. The land mass we all consider family. The place where we came from. Home.

But we all need our own place eventually.

That's when we start our journey. Our search. Our quest.

It's all a quest for belonging.

For some of us, we get lucky, and we find a nice archipelago to stay with. A group to drift the sea together with. Others who will shelter you, share your pain, and share your moments. And it's nice. It's really nice. But it isn't permanent, is it?

Eventually, you'll all drift apart again, one by one, leaving with each slight current, so slight that none of you even notice you've separated, until they've all gone past the horizon. That's when you realize you're on your own again. And it's fine. It's completely fine. Since you expected it anyways, no?

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"Hey, Alec, how was the show?"

I shrug.

"Alright. The usual."

"Cool man."

"Yeah..."

There was silence.

"Do you ever get tired of where you are?"

He gawked at me.

"What are you talking about dude?"

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, but, man, you've got the life! The fame, the fortune. How could you get tired of that? You've found you place, kiddo, you've found your calling."

"That's the thing. Maybe I haven't."

Because if I did, why aren't I happy?

_________________________________________________________________________________

The point of us venturing out into the big bright world is to find ourselves. Or, at least, that's what they say.

We go out to search, to seek, to find a place where we belong. A home outside of home. Warmth. Happiness. Love.

Sometimes, just as we think we've found that nice place to stay, we get pushed off course by a storm. Or maybe, we think we can see our destination straight ahead of us, but a sudden wind shoves us off the path.

Sometimes, it's all torn from us.

And what can we do, right? We have no choice over the weather. We have no choice in fate.

So then, why does it still hurt to face the fact?

_________________________________________________________________________________

She was stuttering.

"I-I'm so e-excited to finally see you!!! I'm like, your b-b-biggest fan!!!"

I smiled.

"Well, I'm happy to meet you. Would you like me to sign your shirt?"

"Y-yes please! To Erika, please."

I did as I was told.

"There we go!"

More smiles. More lights. More people.

She squealed.

"T-t-thank you so much!!!!!"

"No problem."

No problem.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Sometimes, we get anchored down in the middle of nowhere.

Sometimes, we get lost.

But that's alright. It's all fine.

Because that's just how we live, and that's just the way we have to go.

We're all lost little islands, out at the big, merciless sea. And all we can do, is go with it all, and hope that someday, maybe, we might just find out place.

All for a new home.

All for a new home.

The Phoenix Revolt Short Update

Hello people! Terribly sorry for the lack of updating. Been given tons of new work lately. Joy.

Either way, I added a bit more to "The Phoenix Revolt", so here it is!

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Brrong………

The gong echoed throughout the valley, signalling another long, cruel day of grueling work. Reluctantly, the villagers one by one lined up and stumbled to the fields to further dig holes and plant seeds. However, one shadow slithered away from the fields, sneaking between narrow spaces between walls, until it reached a small, run-down shed in the middle of unwanted wooden furniture suspiciously moved around so it was somewhat organized. A small, lithe silhouette slid into the shed without a sound, and disappeared.

Meanwhile, up at the very top of the huge, blood red and bright gold palace, a very different scene was taking place.

“WHAT!!! How dare they!” a deep voice roared. The sound echoed throughout the enormous, golden room bouncing off the deep, crimson colored velvet walls.

“B-b-but sir, i-it is o-only a r-rumor f-f-for now. We c-can still put and end to it,” a nervous man stuttered out. A bead of nervous perspiration could almost be seen dripping from his bowed head down to the marble tiles below. It was a skinny young man who was dressed much too lavishly for someone his age. The heavy hat, droopy robes, and the pointless, extremely long gold beads around his neck made him look as though he was a little girl, dressing up in mommy’s clothes, pretending to be royalty. It was, as you may imagine, quite the ridiculous look.

The other man snorted. He was a large man, not exactly wide, per say, but huge overall. Black and gold satin robes hung from his awkward figure, while he lounged lazily in his deep red throne. “A rumor, you might say, but soon it will be true, you fool,” he drawled.

The younger man had no response.

The man snorted again. “Leave! Now! Go do something more worthwhile instead of bowing here, stuttering your head off! And, you, boy, get over here. I have another mission for you.”

The young man quickly an off, and a new young man, one on the brink of manhood, but still young enough to be considered a boy, stepped out from behind the throne, and took his place.

“Yes, Father?” the boy bravely asked.

“Go out and spy around or this, this, this rumor of a rebel leader. We must put a stop to this madness.”

“Yes, Father. As you wish.”

The boy swiftly stood, spun around, and stalked out of the room, hand on the hilt of his sword, which was hanging loosely from his belt at his waist.

Meanwhile, near the center of the village, a quite different scene was going on inside a ratty, shaky, old wooden shed of a restaurant. It had no doors, just a wide open hole in the wall. Rickety chairs littered all around inside, and multiple gray, quickly crafted looking tables we scattered about. Near the back of this place, a few strips of worn out, light brown cloth draped down from the top of the frame of a lopsided doorway.

“Ivy, more tea, table 7!” an old, but nimble woman cheerfully called out towards the back of the room.

A muffle reply was heard, and seconds later, a skinny, average height girl with long, silky flowing chocolate colored hair rushed out holding a scalding hot can of freshly brewed black tea.

“Hey, Ivy, long time no see!”

“Yeah, how’s life been for ya’?”

“Ivy, hey, how ‘bouts another round of this ‘ere sauteed vegetables!”

Laughing, she replied to each of the shouts with a calm, familiar ease and joy. More and more villagers, some wearing nothing but ripped rags, others thick robes, all dirt covered and tired, streamed steadily into this over populated restaurant. Each one, as soon as they saw her, greeted Ivy with a grin and a salute.

Sliding into this jovial scene, was the same boy from that gloomy scene before. Scanning the room, his stomach growled loudly, causing quite a few eyes to turn and stare at him. Villagers shied away from him as they noticed his clothing, the cleanliness of his shirt, and the stainless pants. And, most of all, the sword, dangling at his side. His gaze flicked to and fro unsteadily, as if he didn't know how to comprehend all this happiness. Then, he saw her.

“Welcome, sir, would you like a table?” she asked innocently, as if getting a seemingly general of the imperial army was an everyday thing here.

Opening and closing his mouth once or twice, the boy managed to mutter out a meek and awkward, "Uh, yeah, that would be great."

Slipping an easy smile onto her face, she guided him to a small, lopsided table that was crudely sawed into an uneven square, with one leg propped up with a wedge of wood to keep the table level. Sitting down onto a creaky stool, the boy blushed hotly, trying his best to ignore all the stares and gawking from the other customers. As the girl gently place the water stained, hand written menu down in front of him, she observed him quietly, with a friendly smile on her face. 

Or so it seemed, for there was a gleam in her eyes that contradicted the softness she radiated.

UPDATES

I have am will try to continue updating MIXED this weekend. I have added a short bit already, and I hope to add more tomorrow. So, please check it out!

To Find a Drop of Warmth

She stared at the screen blankly. Nothing processed.

The butterflies seemed to have froze to death, and fallen into a dark pit. The very same dark pit that was sucking up all the blushing and nerves and simply, naive giddiness that came with the sweet taste of first love.

In a Relationship

Of course it wouldn't have ended happily. 

Hands still shaking, why, she had no clue anymore, she clicked the "exit" button on the screen, and closed her laptop. 

How could it be, that merely half a millisecond ago, her hands had been trembling with excitement, stomach fluttering, cheeks flushed, but now dead empty?

Exhaling a quivering breath, she stood up on weak legs and let her feet take her to wherever. 

In a Relationship. In a Relationship. 

What had happened? How? When? Why?

Why did everything have to come crashing down so terribly, when only yesterday things had finally begun to seem right?

What had she done to receive such a punishment from the heavens above?

Why?

Her head brushed against cold glass as her feet stopped, somewhere. Lifting her gaze heavily to see she was at the door to the garden out back, she blinked. Her mind when on autopilot, as her fingers fumbled with the lock, and her feet once more took over, taking steps, one by one, to the center of the soft green grass.

Somewhere down the street, and happy little bird chirped. A gentle summer breeze rustled the leaves of the many, many blooming trees around her. The sunlight enveloped her skin.

Warmth.

Her hands stretched out in front of her, palms and fingers splayed towards the afternoon sun. Closing her eyes, she drank in the utter, pure warmth it gave her, from her bare feet to her serene face.

Another breeze, this time more demanding, more impatient, told her to go back inside, back to where she belonged, but she ignored it in favor of the precious sunlight. Because, no matter how chilling the breeze was, the bit of lingering warmth the sun still managed to give her was more warmth than anything she could find inside, or anywhere else.

She stayed in that position, eyes closed, pained heart soothed, until the peace was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Lillian? What are you doing?" a soft voice questioned.

Reluctantly reopening her eyes, she saw her older sister, head tilted in wonder, looking at her.

Her mouth opened and closed, until she had no way but the answer pathetically, "Nothing."

Something flashed in her sister's eyes, and suddenly, the warmth was no longer there, and it felt like the coldness from before was closing in on her, choking her until she couldn't breath.

"Clearly not, if you're just standing here. You never go outside during the afternoon. You're always in your room, on your computer, doing who knows what," her sister retorted, eyes narrowing like a snake, prying and suspicious.

The cold grip on her got tighter.

In a Relationship.

She couldn't speak at all as prickly, icy tears began to shove their way forward from the back of her eyes, wishing for freedom.

In a Relationship. In a Relationship. In a Relationship!

Seeing her quivering lips, her sister's look melted away into pity, and she stepped forward to gently embrace the younger girl. At this point, the tears had been successful in jail-break, and were racing away from her eyes and down her cheeks as she sobbed into her sibling's shoulder.

"He's in a relationship. He's in a relationship. He's in a relationship, Erica, he's in a relationship," she muttered as she cried. 

Erica just patted her head, as she let her younger sister cry in her arms, whispering, "I know, sweetie. It's just how love works. You can't do anything about it, but it's not your fault."

And so, the two spent the rest of the afternoon in the garden, standing in the sun until there wasn't any sun left, and letting the girl cry her heart out in the comfort of her sister's arms.

And you know what? 
She decided that maybe there was warmth after all. Even if it was only in one person.

Bittersweet taste of newly budded love

Emotions so strong, and fall so hard.

When let down, or broken

The spell can nearly kill.

But it's just how first love works.

And it's nobody's fault.

Wilted Roses

Love gives you light. Love gives you pain.

Love lost is a pity. Love is given, not gained.

A broken heart is a clock that has stopped.

Sadness overwhelming, until a savior comes

The smell of wilting roses overwhelmed the room.
It made my head swirl in nausea.
The curtains were drawn, casting the room into a dark shadow.

"My goodness," a voiced breathed out beside me, "when had it gotten this terrible?"

I could just barely shake my head. Trying to take a breath, I ended up choking on the stench of rotting flowers, leaving me to force the words out, "I don't know. I don't know."

I decided to take a few steps forward, stepping delicately, as if I were maneuvering my way through a mine field. The plush carpet, once a vibrant blood red, was now the color or a sickly purple. Dried and withered leaves were scattered across the ground, crinkling into sand with only the slightest pressure.

The lump under the covers gave a nearly inaudible groan, and quivered a bit.

I made my way to the lump in the bed, shakily placing a hand on what I assumed was the shoulder. 

"You can't stay like this forever, dear," I murmured. This was unhealthy. Oh so dreadfully unhealthy. And all for the sake of romance. How pitiful.

The bundle of sticky, sweat stained covers shifted, before knocking my hand gently off, and sitting upright. 

The human under it croaked out in a raspy voice, "I can if I want to."

They promptly flopped back onto the bed.

Sighing, I pulled the sheets off of the body, and began to clean up the room.

"It's been several weeks since you've last left the room. It's been several months since you left the house too. It's been far too long for you to still me lamenting, love."

Another grumble of disagreement.

Walking over to the mahogany curtains, I swiftly pulled them up and tied them back, letting piercingly bright white sunlight beam into the room. 

A sound of weak protest could be heard from the bed as they complained about the brightness.

I simply tossed the dead roses out the window, and began picking the dried leaves.

Hearing a slight giggle from the doorway behind me, I turned my head to see my lady-in-waiting covering her mouth delicately. 

"I'll leave you two be, milady," she stated, giving me a small curtsy before gracefully floating out of the royal chamber.

Shaking my head and sighing once again, this time in exasperation, I went back to sweeping away the dull cloud of grief and pain out of the room, all while ignoring the continuous complaints from the bed. 

Humming a cheerful tune to myself, I began to adorn a smile myself.

It really had been too long. But not any longer.

Because love takes two people.

One won't withhold.

But there are many kinds of love.

Which, for healing, might just do.

As the Clouds Roll By

The clouds were there earlier.

Now, it was nothing but a clear blue sky.

Heaving a melancholic sigh, the young adolescent shifted her weight against the soft green grass, and continued to watch the ever shifting sky.

It was another lonely hour passed.

It was quite often that she found herself on this hillside, simply watching the world alter the view.

Soft, padded footsteps.

To her right, she felt a slight thump against the ground she was lying on as her companion gently sat down cross-legged beside her.

Silence.

Then, the world changed again as the silence was broken.

"How long have you been here today?" he asked? Lazily sliding her eyes to gaze into his shimmering dark turquoise pair, she simply hummed in response.

"I have no idea. Since after lunch, I suppose," she breezily commented. Shifting again, she brought her arms up behind her head, and went back to staring at the sky.

There were a few new clouds now. Puffy white cotton balls rolling across the sky. Nothing like the feathery light streaks earlier.

"You know you have work to do," the boy said, sliding down to lie beside her.

"I know. I don't like it."

He scoffed.

"No one does. But work is work. You still need to complete it."

He turned his head to the side to see her roll her caramel eyes.

A gentle smile appeared on his face.

Silence showed up once more.

"Everything's always changing. Nothing ever stays," she murmured. Another heavy sigh.

The clouds were gone again.

He pondered her words a bit, before saying, "But it's the way of life. Just the way it is, I guess."

At this, she inched closer a bit. They could now both feel the warmth of the other's side pressing through their clothes.

"But it's so depressing to think of, no? We barely get any time here, in this place, and everything has to be rushed. We never truly get settled down. People change, and those who you hold dear leave nothing but empty shells of who they once were with you. You have to move around, forced to leave the comfort of your family for the sake of starting your own. Isn't it just sad?"

At this point, she had lifted her arms out from behind her head to wave them around, exaggerating her point.

Chuckling, the boy reached up to grasp her right hand, and drag it back down to their sides. Lacing their fingers together, he rolled his head over and smiled at her. Her eyes were sparked with a fire, lit by passion and hatred, and dimmed by fatigue, and tiresome fighting against the rules of the world.

She was an iconoclast for sure.

They gazed at each other, breathing in sync, world muted around them.

He reached out to brush a few strands of hair out of her face, and whispered, "True. But there's a beauty to it as well. The time limit is what makes everything much more precious."

She pursed her lips and frowned a bit.

"Still makes me feel upset to think about it though."

Chuckling again, he pulled her onto his chest, and and hugged her from behind.

"But you know one thing that hasn't changed?"

"What?"

"You."

She relaxed into his arms, and the two wordlessly watched the world around them change as it pleased.

Because the world could alter reality all it wants, but your own time here, and how you spend it is all that matters.

Of Money and Men

Hello lovely people!
I am terribly sorry for the lack of action on my part, but my work load has dramatically increased lately, so I just barely have enough time to make sure I get enough sleep to stay awake the next day.
Not my choice, for sure.

But, either way, this is simply a rant of sorts. I haven't done these in quite a while, so I thought, "Hey, why not".

Anyways, this is going to be on the topic of money.
It's something we all need to survive, yet I hate its power.

To think, our lives are circulated around mere numbers, symbols, pieces of colored paper, and tiny metal disks! We grow up learning that we need to work hard in school in order to get a good job. That a good job would guarantee us a good life. But what defines a "good" job? Why, one that gives a high amount of payment of course! Sure, sure, they say "it's a job you love and enjoy", or "it'll help you get your dream job". But really, is it a dream job they're encouraging you to get, or the money that a job would give you?

For instance, a young, innocent child looks up at their parents, with wide shining eyes, then promptly says, with a slight slur from the gap where their front teeth should be, "I wanna be a painter when I grow up!".

Now, some parents might be encouraging. Others would probably immediately shoot that child's dreams down. Because, in this crazy, messed-up world we live in, and call reality, being an actual painter, as what would be considered an actual job, isn't what children think it is. Now, you either need to come from a rich family, with tons of talent and immediate fame, or, which is more common than the aforementioned circumstances, work for a company such as Disney or Pixar, and draw what they wish you to draw.
Compare that to the free-lance artists of the past, such as Monet, or Van Gogh. What naive kids think what being a painter is like. Can we honestly say that society as a majority encourages that kind of "work"?

Corruption is by money, but money causes corruption.

It's like the idea of fame. Everyone wishes for it, by various means. But once you do reach it, the other people who have also reached the goal of fame influence your thoughts and your actions, changing you to a different person than who you used to be.

And maybe we simply change ourselves without noticing, and without other people's input. The question is, is it for better, or for worse?

Monster Who Feeds At Noon

Elm's Street.
Eerie, creepy, mysterious.
What many, if not all, consider a street made for horror films. The picture perfect, average, run of the mill haunted street, with ghosts and ghouls behind every rickety, rotten squeaky door, witches and goblins as your neighbors, and the undead lying right beneath your feet, ready to reach out and snatch your ankles once the clock strikes midnight.

But things aren't always what they seem.

You see, only one block down from this ghastly Elm's Street, there was another street. One that was the exact opposite of the street aforementioned. That was where the sun beamed down on the frolicking children below, bright, cheerful flowers bloomed at the front of every doorstep, and the neighbors all chat with each other from their front porches.

Many visited this joyful street, and many lived there as well. In fact, there wasn't a single empty house on that street, and they were famous for never moving out too.

But even a white rose has a dark shadow.

It was a normal Saturday morning. Eleanor Whittham was lounging in her backyard, enjoying the peace and quiet, something she rarely got to do anymore. Her life was a constant hustle and shuffle, what with her work as the local chief detective. Not to mention the fact that she had only just moved into this house a few weeks ago, and she still hadn't been able to spare enough time to unpack everything. She often found herself rustling through the many cardboard boxes in a hurry, just to find a shirt to wear, or a spare spoon to use.

However, the slow, relaxing mood here certainly made up for the rushing in the rest of her life. Basking in the warm sunlight, she could feel all the tension leaving her body, draining away like water out of a sink. She considered herself quite lucky to have been offered such a beautiful place to live. Her new sister-in-law had lived here previously, but decided to move in with Eleanor's younger brother after the two got married. Of course, selling the house would've been a pity, so the sweet girl had asked Eleanor to move in. That way, the couple could visit and stay whenever they pleased, while Eleanor could have a wonderful new place to stay. This cheery house definitely beat that old, cramped apartment she used to reside in.

But everything good must end at some point.

It was noon, 12:01 p.m., exactly, when it happened.
She had dozed off into soft, cotton candy daydreams when a bloodcurdling scream pierced her eardrums, startling her awake. Pressing a hand over her heart, she took several deep breaths, trying to calm her pounding, leaping heart. She listened again for anymore screams. There were plenty of lively children on this street, she consoled herself. It must have been them, she decided. Yes, yes, it must have been children just fooling around as usual, she thought.

But she couldn't get rid of that nagging voice hidden in the darkest corner of her mind that whispered otherwise.

The next day, it happened again.

She had been working in her paper and pile filled study, intent on finishing up her latest case. Stretching a bit, she glanced up at her clock, just in time to see it click into place. 12:01 p.m..

Once more, that  hair-raising scream echoed against the pale grey walls, shaking her to the core.

But this time, it was a pitch deeper.

Too different to be the from the same person yesterday.

Too deep to be one of the little frolicking children.

This scream was a scream she had heard before.

A scream of bloody, violent, murder.

Throwing her papers down, she raced down the golden wooden stairs, bounded over the fluffy cream carpet, out the majestic navy blue door, and ran down the street, hair flying, coat billowing, and heart racing.

She could see it. The red wine slowly flowing out of the shatter glass, only to mix with a deeper, thicker red. 

It was disgusting.

It was sickening.

It was revolting.

Hastily, with a trembling hand, she took whatever notes she needed for the final examination, and flew out of the scene of the crime as soon as she could. She didn't need much, seeing as the criminal had already been caught red-handed anyways.Though there was no club nearby, she could hear, feel the beating of loud bass and drums, rebounding through her body as that shrill shriek was kept on replay through her head. Although only seen for a second, she had already memorized the horror filled, shocked, stunned looks of her colleagues.

Tripping to a stop, she took a glance at her surroundings. Where to?

She couldn't simply pinpoint where the scream had come from with her bare ears. Taking in a gulp on air, she decided to simply observe each house down the street.

She couldn't let this go. It was her job. It was her payment.

Now then, she had her work cut out for her.

She promptly began strolling down the street in faked nonchalance.


A pale pink two-story house loomed before her.

This was the house. It had to be this one.

After an entire afternoon of walking up and down the street, dropping casual questions here and there, with various people, and receiving equally casual answers, she had narrowed down the houses to just one.

This one.

It was the one abnormal house on every street. It certainly didn't look like your typical "creepy house at the end of the street", but it was strange in the fact that no one had ever seen the actual inhabitant before.

Of course, everyone had shrugged it off, saying that it was an old, frail 90-year-old lady, who couldn't move so well.

But you can't trust everything people say, now can you?

Taking a deep breath, she began inching towards the bright red door. With each granite stepping stone she walked over, she felt an ominous feeling in the pit of her stomach grow. As she neared the door, she saw what looked like an abandoned Frisbee. Another two steps forward, and it was what looked like a dog's leash, of some sorts. Another three, and she was at the front door, standing on a yellow welcome mat. Breathing in a calming breath, she ran the doorbell. It was now, or never.

No response.

Seconds ticked by.

Then, footsteps.

Strange, very strange sounding footsteps.

Somewhere a few houses down, an old grandfather clock chimed once. Twice. Three times.

The footsteps got louder.

Four. Five. Six.

A croaky voice called out, "Be right there, dear!"

Seven. Eight.

The door began to creep open.

Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

The last thing she saw was a sickly green, then orange, then, darkness.

The grandfather clock turned 12:01 p.m..

And yet another scream, this time of a woman, resonated down the street.