1. When will it be our time? I'm left waiting and waiting. We're both crazy about each other, but the timing is never right. I want you. Screw everyone else.

2.REPO: The Genetic Opera was the last good book I read or movie I saw or tv show I watched.

3. Everything has its beauty but one has to search for the beauty, especially when you're suffering. So, blink back the tears and look at the world.

4. Hamburgers and Italian Sausage is what I had for dinner.

5. I'd like your to feel your hands all over me.

6. With you is where I want to be right now. When I was with you, I was at ease for the first time in a long time. I could finally breathe.

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to driving home, tomorrow my plans include getting home and Sunday, I want to go pick up my furniture for my apartment!

Labels: fiction, fill-in, friday, writing

July 30th's

1. It's time for people to accept the curves in their lives.

2. My mind; it's not a bad place for a different sort of reality.

3. I must be the luckiest gal to see your smile.

4. A child's laughter is the best thing I have ever known.

5. My life is simply unbelievable.

6. The last time I laughed really loudly was ages ago. Oh, how I miss school.

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to sleep, tomorrow my plans include going to the Grand Gulf and Sunday, I want to write, though I will most likely wind up packing!


July 23


1. Losing you is not the end of the world. It just seems that way. A part of me will always regret our past together, but I am unable to look upon your fate compassionately when you knowingly attempted to destroy me. Even now, you're dragging me down, using guilt to keep me from living a fulfilling, happy life. I say no more. If you are unable or just unwilling to help yourself, then how am I to save you from the darkness.
You won't drag me down anymore, Nessa. I won't let you. I'm going to walk out of here with my head held high and go to lunch with my best friend. We'll talk about baby names and the men in our lives. And I will laugh, really laugh, where it reaches my eyes. Then, I'm going to go home to my wonderful fiance, who has put up with my pity and self-loathing since you were locked up. And I'm going to kiss him, find some way to make up for these terrible weeks. And we will get married and live happily ever after, complete with white picket fences.
You and I are not one and the same. This is something I must come to grips with.
You'll always be my sister, but you're no longer my friend.

2. Sitting here, listening to the sound of rain falling, I think about all that has happened. Of the times when you've rescued me from myself and the times when you needed support, after leaving your family three years ago. I think of the joy we've shared in this small apartment. The Saturday mornings you awoke, only to find that I'd already fled our warm bed to the kitchen, where I would be lip-syncing Aretha Franklin as I burnt the toast. Or finally reuniting with your family, apologies falling from everyone's lips as your mother embraced you, all tear-streaked smiles.

3. Each and every kiss tastes so good!

4. "Sometimes, putting others first is often necessary, but when you always feel the need to do so, you become a doormat. That's what I've done. At least with you, Nessa. So much of our time has been spent together that it's as if our lives are intertwined, and I suppose they are. But I can't put you first anymore. Doing so is making me miserable, ruining my life, ruining my relationships.
I see it in their worried eyes, the fear that I'm leaving them, slowly, but surely. Not physically, of course. Only mentally, emotionally, detaching myself from those that mean the most to me. I won't do that anymore. Not to them."
Elsie chuckled. "Guess I'm still putting others first. It's just a different person. And a different need."

5. The view from our little apartment window is breathtaking, really. You can peer down onto the London alley, watching all sorts of people live their lives. It was always one of our favorite things to do: people watch. We'd spend hours weaving complex stories for the short little man in the bowler hat or the too thin woman in stripes.

6. Well, maybe there is more to all of this.

Labels: fiction, fill-in, friday, scribbles, writing

All around him, the battle rages. The sound of explosions surround him, ringing in his ears. He has great difficulty sorting out the chaos; the battle is distorting his perception. Suddenly, the air is split by a blood-curdling scream. He turns just in time to watch in horror as his precious Rosalie falls to the ground. He struggles to reach his beloved, to rescue her, though deep inside he knows he is too late. There is suddenly a very acute pain in his abdomen, but he must ignore it, must reach rosalie. He falls painfully to his knees and cries out in anguish as his vision begins to cloud. Before his world goes black, Isaac has one final thought. This isn't a war, it's a slaughter.
Isaac awakes, screaming from his nightmare. His bedsheets restrain him, trap him. He struggles to disentangle himself, finally succeeding in his escape from his wretched, empty bed. His heart beating rampantly, his breathing ragged, and his mind panicked, Isaac brings his knees up to his chin and wraps his arms around them. He closes his eyes in an attempt to block out the images which flood his min. His efforts are wasted and the images are only more vivid. His memories are torturing him, explosions echoing within his mind. Isaac rests his head on his knees and sobs, heart-rendering, gut-wrenching sobs.
It's been almost six months since that miserable battle. Isaac laughs humorlessly to himself. Some battle. It was more or less an exterminations, unjust punishment for a just crime. Hundreds of troops stormed the hidden underground city, killing, no, destroying every person they came in contact with, including women and children. Isaac's sobs intensified as he unwillingly recalled the massacre discovered at the education facility. Innocent children punished for the so-called sins of their parents.
Thousands of people had died, because they had refuted the rule of their almighty dictator. Isaac willed himself not to think of her, not to think of his beloved. Yet, the more he struggled not to think of Rosalie, the more insistent she became upon his memory, forcing him to remember her. The tears sprung anew.
Eventually, as the dawn began to light the Eastern skies, Isaac picked himself up off the floor and forced himself to begin his daily routine. He stared at himself, long and hard, in the mirror as he ran the shower. The heated shower steam fogging the mirror. It wasn't his fault, Isaac knows that. Yet, sometimes he can't help, but wonder what would have happened if they had left her alone. What if they hadn't kidnapped her in an attempt to make her father suffer? Would she still be alive? What if they had never fallen in love?
As he steps into the hot stream of water, Isaac sights. The steaming water washes over him, as if to cleanse away the pain. He remembers the day of her memorial, the rain had fallen hard and fast, as if the sky also mourned her loss. It was as if Mother Nature herself was attempting to punish the Earth for the atrocious crime that had been committed by pouring buckets of steaming acid upon it, scalding her surface. Scarring her appearance in much the same way that its history had been. The world was forever blemished.
Isaac recalled one senile woman in particular attempting to comfort him. "Remember, Dearie, her death wasn't in vain. The Good Lord has a plan." Isaac had nodded in agreement at the time, knowing it was the truth. Rosalie's death was the reason the elderly woman was now allowed to say such things as "the Good Lord." Rosalie's death had ended the war, as well as the dictator. The gruff man was unable to cope with the knowledge that he had been responsible for the death of his only daughter.
Isaac finished his routine and stepped out into the bright daylight. A breeze blew softly by and Isaac was sure he heard the light tinkling of Rosalie's laughter. He smiled slightly to himself. The world had been blemished along with his memory. Though his memory was beautifully blemished. Isaac was thankful that Rosalie had at least left him forever blemished.

- Hannah Jo 2008

Labels: blemished, death, fiction, forever, Isaac, love, Rosalie, story, war