Some Big News :D

So last Thursday, I actually had a play produced and performed at my school! This may not seem very significant in the eyes of some, but to me this rocks! I want to thank all the kind folks in this world who support me in life and who support others in life. Thank you: Live long and prosper! :D

Survival

So I thought of something today: Something I'm sure several people have pondered before.

"Why does zombie media fail to recognize that a cure to the 'disease' won't cure all the conflicts that are bound to have happened in between?"

For those of you who have wanted to fill those gaps, this is the story for you!

LA Quickwrite Amendment

“Don’t you see?!” Josh snarled at Reggie. His face contorted into a calmer expression, realizing that Reggie was rather taken aback. He inhaled slowly, a weathered palm covering the upper half of his face.

“It isn’t about preserving humans. This is about preserving humanity. Or better put, morality.” Reggie wore a baffled but bristling look on his face, as though he couldn’t believe what Josh had just spieled.

“What are we supposed to do if there are none of us left, huh Josh?” Reggie countered, with a frown on his face and a knit brow. His fists clenched at the same moment his jaw did.  Josh groaned into a sigh. Reggie simply turned an octave louder and a tad more aggressive at the reaction from Josh.

“What then?! If we all die, there’s nothing to save! If we all die, there’s no one to save! If we all die, what will we accomplish?! Tell me that!” Reggie bellowed. His face was a dark shade of scarlet. Josh eased him with a gesture.

Josh peered up at him from his seat, eyes filled with much melancholy. “Look, we both know that if we make this about survival, we cannot truly live. Our souls will wilt and die before our bodies do. We will wither. We will perish. And, if we are too busy watching our backs; we’ll miss the problems that are right in front of us. “ Josh shifted in his chair, still maintaining his stoic expression.

“This is not merely about the infection, Reg. You know that. More people, up to date, have died from our own ilk than…those things. We have waited, what, twenty years? No vaccine. And even if we do find one, the world will never be as it was before.”

Reggie looked like a fire that had been stepped out, the few glowing ambers ceasing to burn. He opened his mouth, but then it snapped closed. He made a soft sound in the back of his throat, a pitiful, wistful sound.

“B-but there is still a chance, man. There has to be something to live for! Heck, even something to die for would be fine! Just something to remind us that our existence isn’t in vain.” Josh gave a small smile.

“There is something to live for. Preserving our morality. Instead of worrying about individual things, we should focus on saving the next generation. We should focus on finding better lives. Think about it. Even if tomorrow the infection ended, do you think the rioting would just end?” Reggie pondered it, and then shook his head, reluctant to admit the unsettling truth.

Josh nodded. “Exactly. After what the armed forces did to us, murdering us just because their commanding officer promised them a gold star if they finished up the job, or the more loving ones that did it to save their loved ones; people won’t just forget that. Leave it to the stains of time and the pains of hunger to change an entire civilization.”

The two sat there in silence for a few minutes, perhaps digesting what had been said, or perhaps planning the next step in what they were to do. Whatever the case, a much more level-headed Reggie piped up after a lifetime of quiet.

“So, are we heading to Checkpoint B in Key West and taking the next boat out?” Josh gave a tired grin. He scratched at his beard and sighed.

“Key West, here we come.”

Quickwrite

Hey everybody! Dug up an old quick write from the beginning of this freshman year and felt that it'd be fun to share. I hope you like it!

Isabel Babel

Ms. Mayer

7^th Class

Cormac had never beheld the harrowing sight of red rains before. In the pale pink light of dawn, the drops sparkled as though they were red rubies descending from the hazel clouds above. The air was thick, ominous, and deathly humid.

Despite his eager attempt, Cormac’s spruce colored cloak became drenched with the crimson liquid. One observing from a distance might have assumed he had been bloodied from a fierce fray.

Cormac, perched upon a craggy cliff overlooking the emerald and ivory knolls of Triarichi, simply stood there for brief moments, struck by awe. The entire sight seemed woeful; the cliffs were stained like the hands of a child caught snacking in a berry bush.

The cries of distant crows nestled in decaying trees and the baying of hounds wilting in the summer heat echoed from the grand stone walls of the mountain’s face. Cormac, once stoic and mirthful at the tales of the land of the Red Rain, now quaked and buckled as though he had just greeted the Morrigan* herself.

*The Morrigan is the Celtic (Pagan Irish) goddess of war.

Trampled Rose

Hello! :D Another songfic based on Robert Plant and Alison Krauss' song "Trampled Rose." Enjoy!

Trampled Rose- Robert Plant and Alison Kraut

The moon rode high above the willow trees of down by the bayous. Humidity was sticky and heavy in the summer air. A caravan rode along, wheels clacking on the jagged makeshift roads. The horses clopped along, sweating as they rode at a brisk pace. Lanterns swayed above the hitch on the cart, frightening some of the chirping frogs by the swampy banks.

The stained glass windows of the wagon shone bright with buttery light, making the dull, blue and grey and green of the swamps appear even more ominous than before. The rickety frame creaked as a corner was turned.

Half parted wine colored curtains hid the face of the woman within the cart. The only thing one could see should they be standing by the street side would be long, elegant fingers clutching a pendant resting on the bosom of the lady. And opposite of her was another woman, gnarled fingers intertwined with the other woman’s petite hand and the hint of a wretched looking face.

The swamp water sloshed as the shadowy man driving the cart dove into a small section of bog to cross over to the banks. Even outside the cabin of the carriage the pair’s laughter could be heard. One was a hearty chuckle and the other feminine and endearingly obnoxious.

Tiffany and Tomy

A short little thing I wrote based on my experiences in elementary school between girls and boys. :D

You couldn’t blame Tiffany Morris. She was far too cute to be convicted. She was far too short to be menacing. She was far too kind than to tell a lie. So when Tommy Johnson told Ms. Crowley that Tiffany had shoved him face first into a puddle of squelching, worm-ridden mud, Tommy got put in the corner for tattling and lying.

                “But she did! Honest, ma’am, as honest as a nun’s vow!” Ms. Crowley sat beneath a large umbrella, watching the children with a ‘keen’ eye and fanning herself with the flashcards she showed her students moments before recess.

                Ms. Crowley tutted, a sound that indicated her disapproval and made Tommy’s face fall a notch. Agitation was seeping into her demeanor, and her tone was as frizzled as her wild red hair.

                “Now how many times do I have to tell you boys that young ladies do not behave that way! She shouldn’t have to apologize for something she wouldn’t do. In fact, why don’t you apologize to her for bein’ so rude! Heavenly days, child, have some respects for the fairer gender!”

Tommy frowned deeply, baffled as to what wicked role he played in this, and murmured lowly with downcast eyes.

“Yes’m.” He felt the beesting of tears pricking in his eyes as his little mud-caked legs drudged dejectedly over to Tiffany, who watched the scene unfold from afar with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

While Tommy could barely contain his tears of shame and frustration, Tiffany could hardly contain her laughter.

I knew that stick in a potato-sack would believe my story! Tiffany snickered in her own brain at the naivety of the woman. 

Bachelor's Monologue

I wrote this piece after my parent's hit a rough spot in 2013. It's interesting reading some older pieces written a while back and reflect on how much has changed (positively changed, thankfully.)

                I was not drunk. I knew what I was doing, what I was about to cast away, what I would lose. But the difference from what I did and what she thought I did is that I had done it voluntarily. I was so accustomed to Fay dictating my actions that when she told me to leave, I left.

                Every footstep was another decibel of volume to Fay’s wailing, screaming at me that if I left, she would never ‘take’ me back. I didn’t need to be taken by anyone, of course. That’s why our relationship sunk faster than a block of iron in water: I was hers. I followed her direction under some false pretense that we loved each other mutually as people rather than belongings, but I suppose after seven years of failing to please her, I couldn’t really do anything to help anymore.