Some Cliffs Somewhere

I don't like standing on this cliff. I can look down and see everything and it's beautiful and I want it so much, but if I jump... I'll die. I used to wanna be a mermaid...still do sometimes haha. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming...that's the life. But from this cliff, I'm trying to figure out a way to get down. There's gotta be some path, or the right rope to use to lower myself down...maybe I can get it the grocery store. Although then I'd need someone to lower me...yep, got him. I wonder if he'd help me. Maybe this guy doesn't want me to get down, cause he wants me for himself...haha. Yes, I am wanted. But he can come with me, though. I'd be so happy he helped me get down to the ocean, I'd bring him along without delay. I already want him to come. And well, I think he'd be okay with that. I think he wants me to be happy.

So...yes, gotta get some rope. Or find some spot nearby that will just kind of...become a path I can walk on to get down. Like at that part in Prince Caspian, when Lucy insists she saw Aslan but no one believes her, but then when they realize there's no other way to cross the river, they let her try to show them. So she goes back to the spot where she saw him, and the land gives way and shows them the right path. Yes, how predictable. But I don't care. I would fall to get to this ocean.

Well, I've got work to do, getting that rope y'know and convincing this guy to help me. Yes.

goodbye,
stephanie

Love for Music

It's really weird to think how many times I've clicked on some random link and it's led me to find these musicians and these songs that I now feel like I could not live without knowing and listening to. Music does something crazy and amazing, and it digs deep into my soul. Maybe that sounds cheesy. But I love it. And I am soo glad I got over that stupid idea that guitar is stupid (yes, I used to think that) and learned how to play it. I started a year ago, and it still baffles me how much I keep learning about it. The right strumming, the right beat, the right chord, the right lyrics...I still have much to learn. But I couldn't survive without my guitar and my music.

Whaddya know, I just got inspiration to write a new song. XD I probably write too many...but oh well. Those lyrics are my soul on a page.

stephanie

p.s. That is the picture of my dream guitar. <3

Fade Away

I seem to think that complaining will actually make something change, but it doesn't. It's useless, pointless, not worth it...but does that mean you just bottle your anger/depression/whatever inside? I do that too. All the time. I wonder when the last time was that I let someone see my when I was crying, or even know that I was. My parents think they know me, but they don't at all. I feel so fake around them. But then it's like...natural, at the same time. I might be sad in my room, but as soon as I walk out that door a smile and contentment sink immediately into my expression. I wonder when I started doing that. It's like engrained in my persona now...but then, I don't want them to know. It's easier.

I remember at the end of 8th grade, not the last day of school, but a couple days before it. That was the day my friends were leaving for Colorado. I cried then, in front of them of course. We didn't care, all of us were crying. I was so sad. I cried myself to sleep a couple notes, stayed kinda depressed for a while after that. And then...it kinda faded away. Of course I still missed them, but it did get easier. Only...I wish now it hadn't, because then maybe I would've picked up the phone and called them, kept in touch. Now I haven't talked to them in a couple months. I think they don't want to talk to me even, cause I've tried recently and gotten no response. I don't know what happened to the phone number I had written down.

It makes me sad now, thinking about change and how bad it can be sometimes. Why is it so easy to lose your attachment to someone? You don't wanna always be sad, so you try to forget...but sometimes it goes too far and you really forget. You see him or her again, and it doesn't feel the same. What used to be so easy and perfect just isn't anymore.

I miss them.

And I wish so many things right now. It all just gets to be too much sometimes.

sincerely,
stephanie

Edit: k, I was wrong about Ashley, thank goodness :)

Start

I've had a pretty good last two days. I hate getting up in the morning though. It's just like ugghh it's not time yet, the sun's barely up...I hate the school system. But despite boredom and classes that haven't taught me anything in weeks (*cough* french), I get through the day with laughter and good conversations with my friends. They make the day worthwhile. But something is missing.

This is from the beginning. I'm writing a story in case anyone couldn't tell :)

******

He lay on his back on hard ground — a dirt highway, heading toward far-off Atlanta in one direction and Utica in another. A parked car stood silently on this road, a little bit behind him, outside of his line of sight.

There was slow, steady breathing to his left. She lay beside him, less than an arm-length away. Above, an endless, vast, indescribable expanse of darkness and star light, hundreds of tiny flickering glows, glimmered above him. Like a painting, but better. This was real.

“Let’s just stay here, okay?” she whispered.He rolled his head to the side and smiled at her shadowy profile. “In the dirt?”

"Yes,” she said, smiling, still looking at the stars. “Let’s just stay here forever.”

My Place

It's funny how when you really like doing something, like playing softball or rockclimbing or even just going out on hikes, you don't let anything stop you--even if you get badly injured, you don't want that to make you stop running. It's the whole mind-over-matter philosophy, I guess. I just noticed it earlier when I was at my church, once again off by myself trying to find a way into this canyon (I definitely talked to Audrey a lot today, I just couldn't resist going back to this place, and of course I had to go alone). It's really far down though and about a thousand bushes and trees are in the way, plus it's a very steep hill.

Today I finally got down to this little place that's not very far down, definitely not half-way, but I still felt accomplished. I don't think anyone else really goes down there...I'm the only one crazy enough to try. I like it though. It's like my special place, where I can just sit and think and listen to music. Shoulda remembered my headphones today...Anyways, I cut myself so many times on random sticks and stuff though, lol. At least I didn't rip my dress.

Lately, I've really been wanting to make a random stranger smile. I actually did today, though it was more her comment than mine that made her smile, but I was the cause of it. But that's a new goal of mine now. To make people I don't know very well smile, and even the ones I do know. All I have to do is...smile and look friendly. (oh god for some reason the creepy chocolate guy popped into my head...ahh scarred me for life. it's so weird running into him in the hallways....)

So, I hope everyone who reads this has a good day tomorrow. And the day after that, too :)

sincerely,
stephanie

Yay.

Well, thank God. <3

But something's gotta change. I can't mess up anymore.

Please, please.

I'm crossing my fingers.

And repeating the words to this song over and over in my head.

Fly.

I would like to fly. Just stretch my arms and feel my feet lift up off the ground. Go higher, and higher, floating on air. Up into the clouds, letting every bit of worry and frustration and sorrow behind me.

Up there, I think everything would be simpler. Nothing to worry about, unless some ravenous flying monster finds you somehow.

But, it would get lonely after a while. I'm not a bird. I'd need someone to talk to.

Dinner

Pristine wine, the color of pale raspberries, stared up at Claire inside the glass. Her reflection rippled back at her. Light red lipstick, a stoic face.

"Monday,” spoke her father, in response to some question she had disregarded.

“Is it really necessary for you to go and visit that filth, dear?” Mrs. Clemett purred. She sat on Claire’s right-hand side; they were separated by a single seat.

"Yes,” he replied, firmly, from the head of the table, three seats away. He smiled shortly at his wife, then turned to the man seated on his right — a gentlemen friend, and the previous owner of the factory Mr. Clemett had just signed the papers for.

“I’ll instruct the boss to get everything in top shape for your inspection, Mr. Clemett,” said the man. “Feel free to purge the place of anyone who refuses to meet your standards.”

“I hope that won’t be necessary,” chuckled Mr. Clemett. “You’re already short on workers, correct?”

“Not terribly short, and more will come soon.” The gentlemen sipped his wine.

Claire looked up shortly, eyeing the stranger’s manner; he was plump and seemed comfortable here, used to the luxury surrounding him. A millionaire, no doubt, with no regrets about selling his property. She held back the urge to laugh as he suddenly burped and covered his mouth, not hurriedly.

Claire forced her eyes back on her plate. She stirred the raspberry jelly and potatoes with her fork, then stuck a bite in her mouth. Her father was speaking again, but she paid him no heed and focused on the food. It was the same quality of food she had eaten her whole life — the kind prepared for hours in an enormous kitchen by maids who appeared out of nowhere, whenever called upon, reciting, “Yes, Ma’am” and “Thank you, Sir” at will, out of habit. Disgusting. You earned money, yes, but by living through habit and expectation, without free will.

A clock ticked faintly in the background. Fleeting moments passed by like the stones she and Jane used to toss haphazardly into an old pond. Drop, drop. Tick, tock. Gone, disappeared into darkness.

“Mr. Tard, are you familiar with any upper-class gentlemen like yourself who might be on the look-out for a distinguished math? Of course, we’d like to find someone for our daughter.” Her mother spoke suddenly, and the words jumped out like a flash of light in the darkness Claire had enveloped herself in.

She looked up abruptly, her fork and a piece of white chicken meat half-way to her mouth.

Mr. Tard laughed heartily. “Oh, certainly. New York isn’t exactly a marketplace for such men, but I can assure you there are several who would jump at the opportunity to settle with a nice lady like your daughter. I’ll put them in contact with you, if you like.”

“Yes, that would be wonderful.” Mrs. Clemett looked more than a little pleased.

“It’s no problem at all.” Mr. Tard smiled again and wiped his mouth with his napkin before tucking into his chicken once again.

Claire sat there, unmoving, her heart beating faster than normal but rhythmically in her chest. No one met her eye. She felt singled out, under a spotlight, but also ignored, like she didn’t exist at all. Just a name, a number. Just someone to marry off.

Her father struck up conversation again.

She ignored him. “Mother, don’t you dare think I’m going to let you control who I marry, too,” she hissed. The men didn’t seem to hear her, as Mr. Tard was responding in a good-natured voice.

“Young lady, you are seventeen, and you will do as I say,” Mrs. Clemett whispered back in a harsh, firm, but low voice.

Claire hit her fork loudly on the china plate, purposefully missing the vegetables. The noise echoed off the ceilings. Conversation ceased and all eyes turned to her.

She paused, swallowing, trying to wipe some of the anger from her face. If the guest hadn’t been there, she would’ve risked her mother’s annoyance. “Sorry,” she said, flatly, with a hint of sharpness in her voice. “I should’ve put my attention fully on the food.”

Game

A small stone, just big enough to fit inside a man’s fist, skidded on the dirt road. It rolled clumsily forward, slowing. Then it stopped, barely bumping a rock already lying on the road, previously subject to the same treatment.

“Aha, I win!” Sandy hollered, kicking dust off the road with his foot and spinning away from his friends. The dark emptiness of an old inn stared back at him through a broken window. But on either side, the buildings were dimly lit, and residents slept soundly at this late hour.

“Shut up.”

“Ain’t so funny now, eh, Steve?” A boy in a plaid jacket chuckled, nudging the loser with his elbow.

“Well I woulda won, but for this…damn wind, or lack of it.” Steve looked grudgingly at the dark, cloudless sky, as if cursing it for this treachery that lost him a game.

“Well cough up them smokes and put ‘em right here.” Sandy grinned and leaned gracefully forward, holding out his open palm.

Steve faked a laugh and dug into his pocket, producing an old pack of cigarettes. Sandy grabbed them from him at first sight. “Thank you very much.”

“Toss another round? Let me win ‘em back?” asked Steve, coldly.

“Fall asleep and dream about getting these back, pussy,” Sandy replied, coolly, whipping out a lighter and sticking a prize in his mouth.

His other friend laughed heartily and the two moved forward, ignoring Steve. Sandy kicked the rocks out of the way and blew smoke into the air.

Through the smoke and hazy light from a nearby streetlamp, he squinted and saw a figure down the road, walking in his direction. An unfamiliar figure, with the look of someone who wasn’t from New York; the boy glanced uncomfortably at the buildings around him as he went.

“Hey!” called Sandy, waving some of the smoke out of his face with a free hand. “You there!”

The boy stopped in his steps, suddenly on his guard. New place, new people, got to be careful.

“Yeah?” he called.

A smile curled at the edge of Sandy’s lips and he picked up his pace; the friend followed his lead; he heard Steve trudging along behind him, also moving faster. Not six feet away from the boy, Sandy slowed and commented, “You look new here.” He paused and smiled warmly, not wanting to scare him off; certainly he looked imposing to the boy, with his two friends flanking him. “The name’s Sandy.” He held out his hand.

The boy’s eyes flickered to Sandy’s companions, then back to Sandy. He swallowed and smiled a little, still seeming unsure. “Jeremy.” He shook the produced hand. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“Sure, but it’s no problem.” Sandy puffed on his cigarette momentarily and blew out smoke again, as he continued, “Newbies ain’t detested here, like in some places. You go to Brooklyn, you’ll have problems, sure, but here it’s not so bad.”

“Right,” said Jeremy. He paused. “You got a job?”

Sandy nodded. “Factory and odd stuff, like everybody else.”

“Think they’ve got an opening?” Jeremy smiled awkwardly. “I’m short on cash and I’ve been looking around, but everything’s either closed or kicked me out.”

Sandy laughed. “Sure, in the middle of the night. Yeah, I might be able to help you out there, though. At a more reasonable hour.” He paused, considering. “Meet me in a couple hours at old Peter’s lodge. You look low on sleep, too.”

“Suppose I am,” Jeremy chuckled, backing up as he prepared to walk away.

“Okay, see ya later then.” Sandy smiled, throwing his cigarette in the dirt and squishing it with his foot. "Don't oversleep."

Exception

A piece of paper. Crinkly-edged, yellowish, fading print, crumpled, folded in a pocket for the last half hour.

“Are you Mr. Carter?”

“Yes.”

Jeremy swallowed, eyes resting on the paper in his hand hesitantly. “A man said you’ve got a room.”

Carter stood on the other side of a long desk. He squinted at Jeremy through glasses too big for him, taking in the dusty, though presentable, boy in front of him. Brown trousers, boots, tan suspenders, grey wool shirt, jacket. “Got money?”

“I’ve got three dollars and sixty-two cents, but I’ll be getting a job soon.” He pulled the money out of his pocket and held it out for Carter to see.

Carter eyed it with some disdain. “If you can get a job, you mean.” He looked up and grimaced a little, turning to the wall behind him. There, nails stuck out of the wall looking hazardous, holding rusty silver and bronze keys. All but three pegs were empty. “Fine, boy.” He pulled off the brown one and turned, tossing it to Jeremy. “You’ve got enough for four days rent.”

Jeremy nodded and hesitated before emptying his pocket into Carter’s outstretched hand.

“I’ll give you a week.” The owner of the boardinghouse spoke roughly; this was a stretch, not ordinary.

“Thanks,” said Jeremy, seriously.

Carter nodded, fingered the money, and stuck it in his pocket. “Then you’re gone.”

Cold Beach

I'm cold but I can tell it's not only due to lack of warmth. It's something else, too. *sigh*

Today I went to Torrey Pines beach for the first time and it was SO cool! We went hiking out the cliffs and stuff, to get a good view of the ocean. If we had more time we would've gone further, but it was awesome nonetheless. :D I can't wait until I have a car I can drive out to the middle of nowhere and finally see the night sky when there are zero lights. I guess I've had this view once before, but it was in Vermont and it's kinda scary outside at night, so my mom and I just stayed right by the house. I didn't lay down in the field or anything. Wow I miss that place.

On another note, Valentines Day kinda sucks. It's just so blatantly obvious when you're all alone and you know it.

It Pours

songs are fun to write XD especially in the rain! except it's kinda difficult when you're standing & trying to hold the flashlight, paper, and pen...but still fun

and OH MY GOSH it's finally break! I am so. excited.

Photograph

Claire stood in her spacious bedroom on the second floor, in front of a large window whose curtains she had thrown back, the view was not so lovely as she had wished; just the pebbles on the driveway and the dusty car. Back in England they had a fountain on their front lawn, and fresh green grass and a rose garden.

So much for a better life.

She grimaced and pulled the lace curtains back over the window. Some sunlight still went through the white lace, but the room darkened considerably.

As she turned, she glanced over the furnishings; rose-adorned wallpaper; a lamp on the ceiling in the middle of the room; a large bed to her left that was less comfortable to lie on than it appeared; a dark wooden chest at the foot of the bed; an empty oak bureau against the wall to her right with a rectangular mirror above it; a desk in the far right corner; and wide open space in the middle. Claire’s two suitcases lay here.

She sighed and walked to the mirror, her high heels clicking on the wooden boards of the floor. Her room had no carpet yet, but she oddly liked it that way. She resolved to convince her mother not to put any carpet in while she reached up and carefully removed the purple silk, feathered hat from her head, setting it on the dresser. The light brown curls beneath it looked golden in the faint light from the window. Her hair was normally straight, but sometimes she curled it in rags and pinned it up in a sort of bun with her diamond headband, the way it was now.

Content with her hair, Claire turned to her suitcases and reached down, lifted one up and lugged it onto the bed. Her long, double-layer, white-and-gold dress threatened to get caught on her shoes so she did this carefully. Then she undid the two buckles on the smaller of the two suitcases and opened it.

The black-and-white photograph lay tucked beneath her journal and pair of brown pumps, on top of the little box which held her favorite jewelry and other prized possessions.

She pulled it out with delicate fingertips, trying not to smudge its edges. Her own face peered back at her, smiling, shoulder-length hair, arms around a girl with long black locks and a grin that matched her own. This was Jane, her best friend, the girl who would forever be her favorite person in the whole wide world. And she might never see her again.

Claire’s mouth twisted and she angrily blinked back the water threatening to fill her eyes.

“Claire, come down!” Her mother’s loud call came from the bottom of the stairs, just down the hallway outside her bedroom.

She didn’t answer right away, well aware that she wouldn’t be able to keep the anger out of her voice. It was her mother, after all, who had pushed their move to America the most. Yes, her father had good stakes in this country. But Claire might’ve stayed in England if she had been allowed.

She didn’t like this place anyways.

“Coming!” she called back, no longer hesitating, sticking the photograph into its special place and shutting the suitcase roughly.

She glanced once at her face in the mirror — her hot cheeks looked redder than usual. She twisted her mouth again, wishing she could do something about them, but tossed the idea aside instantly. It wasn’t worth it.

Live Laugh Love

Haha some things about school are always so hilarious. XD Makes the day seem better when parts of it aren't really that great...but it's better to be happy than sad.

Therefore, people shouldn't look down on you if you laugh a lot -__- You're just happy, that's all. It's a good thing. :)

I Need More Time

I hate getting that sinking feeling, when I feel like things are really hopeless but I can't think of what to say to push myself in the right direction again.

As much free time as I have these days, I still feel like there's not enough. I have too many things I wanna do. I wanna watch a bunch of disney movies + the others on the list Jen & I came up with (we should probably write them all down so we don't forget).

I wanna keep writing more of my current story...but that requires some research, so I need the time to do that.

I wanna go through Erhistaut and make changes so it's better. There are a lot of slight things I wanna change. Then I'd like to go back and read my first story & see if there's anything I can salvage from it.

I wanna spend an entire week, non-stop, playing my guitar and writing music. I wanna perfect the stuff I've already written and record it all somehow.

I wanna go off and have random adventures with my friends, and sleepovers, and just hang out with them more. I wanna see people.

I need to get a job. Badly. Because I need the money to learn how to drive. I need to learn how to drive.

But first, I need time. But the numbers keep changing on my clock. Just freeze for a little while. Come on.

Sunday

I realized today how much I love my church school class. There are only like two other girls in it plus our teacher, but it's really cool and relaxed. Random movies come up very often (lol), and I learn so much about God and things related to him. Every week something comes up that I really need to hear. It makes me happy. :)

stephanie

<3

There's something bout the way the street looks when it's just rained, there's a glow off the pavement...

Idk why, but when it rains & and I'm watching a movie I love or doing something I love, I just feel so happy and I wanna keep writing and watching the rain forever and ever.

I wanna be happy like this forever. :)

Train

He was on a train.

Third seat from the front door of the compartment, left side. Alone.

Across the aisle, a man peered dreamily out his window, sipping water from a cup and fingering a cigar in his hand. In front of Jeremy, a different man in a suit had his face hidden behind a Chicago newspaper. “CANCELS ASSESSMENT AGAINST MRS. KENNEDY” read the headline. Jeremy couldn’t see the rest of the story.

A woman had just walked through the compartment door, clutching a purse and looking fearful. Now she stepped carefully forward. The train bumped around incessantly, moving people this way and that, threatening to knock them out of their seats completely. The woman made a loud noise as she fell into an open one. Her face reddened and she looked determinedly at the back of the seat in front of her, not wanting to show her embarrassment to the world.

Jeremy turned his head slowly as the train jolted him around in his seat. There was a thin layer of dust on the outside of his window, blurring his view of the countryside. Pastures with grazing cattle rolled by. He had never been further north than St. Louis before, but there was nothing unfamiliar about this place.

He fingered his rapidly disappearing spare change in his pocket. That scared him — the notion of an empty pocket.

Nothing left but lint and sand. Nothing to do, nowhere else to go.

Just emptiness.

He sighed and closed his eyes. They were brown when open—not light or dark, just brown. Plain, like the dirt. His hair was straight and a very light brown, almost a dirty blonde. The dust made it look darker.

He had left Dardanelle five days previously on foot, walking and walking along deserted highways and busy towns where no one knew his face. Twice, someone let him ride in a car. The last one took him all the way to Salona. There, he caught his train for New York.

Now the iron horse rolled bumpily but steadily forward over its tracks.

He hoped it would lead him somewhere good. Somewhere where he needed to be, where things would be okay. So he wouldn’t have to worry about empty pockets every again.

Cage

There was annoyance in Claire’s pale green eyes as they ran over the whiteness of the house. It was. So. White. Painful to look at, even.

The doors were her savior — big, dark oak, straight out of the picture she had painted inside her head. They looked so out of place amidst the pure white walls around it and the flowery drapes hanging in the front windows. But they were perfect.

“It is quite picturesque,” her mother was saying. She half-smiled and moved her hand as if a maid would come running at her whim. She turned swiftly, with all the poise and elegance she possessed, and projected this hand at the boy driver. He stood by the propped open door of the car, pulling out the last suitcases. There were at least five on the pebbled ground around him. “If you could take those inside, please.” Mrs. Clemett added the “please” only for necessity’s sake and let no hint of a question appear in her words.

But the boy complied, chewing on the straw in his mouth as he picked up several suitcases. He had no clear expression, but Claire knew he hated his work.

“It’s too white,” she said, crumpling her black gloves into a ball in her hand and steeping carefully but smoothly forward in her low high heels. “If you stare at it long enough you’ll go blind.”

“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Clemett, turning her head to admire the house again. “The white looks stunning. If only the door weren’t so brown and...prominent.” Her voice hinted at disgust.

“That’s the part I like.” Claire laughed and walked up the steps past her mother, whose common look of displeasure was melting into her face. The boy walked back outside just then, nodding to Claire in acknowledgement as she went through the wide open doors.

Her eyes paused momentarily on him. He had nice features — light tan skin that might have been soft if he weren’t exposed to sun and dust all day; sky blue, mischievous eyes; and short brown, scraggly, curly hair beneath his grey wool cap. He seemed around her age of eighteen, give or take a few years.

But he was a commoner, probably one of the factory workers. So Claire made no outward recognition of his presence. He must have seen her looking at him, though.

She walked purposefully through the coat room into a long, fairly wide hallway. There she paused, noting a small oval mirror to her left above a shelf with china figurines. Her reflection stared back at her. Green eyes and long lashes; pale, clear skin, light pink by the cheekbones; a small nose and dainty, slightly pursed lips; and ringlets of light brown hair falling out below her purple silk, feathered hat from Paris.

They were the face and features of a wealthy, privileged girl of British descent.

But, though subtle, there was fluster and annoyance hidden beneath Claire’s porcelain complexion. Her cage.

She didn’t want to be here.

speak

every 15 minutes.

That got me thinking. You can never know how much time you have left to live, how many more days you'll see pass by before you're gone. How many more times you'll see a family member or friend. Anything can happen, anytime.

So now I'm thinking, I better not hesitate. I better not hide something important from someone or fail to tell someone I love that I love them. I can't let anything go unsaid.

Because what if something happens? What then?

What if you never have a chance to speak?

blah

I really don't like chemistry. :(

Even my computer is being annoying today...

Uggh I wanna write so bad right now.