Musings

Joined : 30 Dec 2005 Posts : 230

Disclaimer: I said that I wrote, and it is true. I write essays and things for English. I don't actually write, you know, fiction. Yes, I know, it sounds like a copout for doing poorly, but I'm just saying up front that I'm not one of those accomplished writers.

I had written a story, long, long ago, and the few people who commented decreed it predictable, but well written. I had accepted that as good enough.

I am going to do that again. Comments are welcome, very welcome. I know that I have torn apart other, fledgling writers' stories up, and this is your chance to extract revenge. Don't do it by not leaving a comment though, because that will make me sad. Not only that, but it won't make me a better writer.

The last thing: The title is going to be subject to change simply because A. I didn't want to release it without a title, B. I'm too tired to think of a good one, and C. Because I feel like it.

--

January 1st, 2009.

I do not actually know the specific date. However, I have decided that, since this is my first day keeping this diary, it shall be New Years Day, for the new year symbolizes birth, change, and transformation, and 2009, because my whole life transmuted in 2008.

At least, I am very sure of it. It could be possible, though, that I am simply non compos mentis. That, however, to use a solecism, would suck.

I suppose that I should start back at the beginning. William Theodore Foster told me too, at least, and I am inclined to do what he dictates. Or, rather, dictated, since he is, of course, not talking to me at the current moment.

The best way to tackle this momentous task is to write it as a story. I am fairly sure that I shall remember more details like this. And, besides, dramatic embellishment never hurt a story. This is no courtroom, and so I shall be the only witness. I do hope that I do a satisfactory job, for it will not do to do poorly.

--

“And so it can be proven that global warming is indeed a fact. It is not a myth. It is real. It is time for the public to tell the president, ‘Hey! We know that you know. And we want you to do something about it.’ Thank you.”

I bowed and awaited my parents. They both were silent. Evidently, they were thinking. Finally, Father opened his mouth.

“Excellent. I believe that you’ve prepared very well. Carry on.”

“Yes, very good.”

Perhaps it is good at this point to describe myself. It is...it was, rather...Odd. I do not recall. If I were forced to guess, though, I would venture around June of 2007, in the Year of our Lord. However, that has nothing to do with my description – oh, how I have been carried away. Nevertheless, William told me that it is good, so I apologize in advance. I have not written a story in a long time, despite the fact that this story is very real, and so it will ramble, and perhaps be incoherent.

In any case, I was a sprightly young chap of sixteen, I believe. I was a mutt, of sorts, because of my mixed heritage. I was a strange and volatile combination of Japanese and Chinese blood, the dragon and the crane, growing up in America, alone among eagles. I always wondered to myself about how an imperialistic and bloodthirsty warrior ever decided to consort with a beautiful Chinese girl, but then, love transcends races, does it not? Cupid struck, and so I was melded. I looked very purebred Chinese though, and it is likely that I confused more than a few people of Asiatic descent, although admittedly only they would be able to differentiate between the different races of Asia. In either case, I looked stereotypical – black eyes, black hair, slightly slanted eyes, an overall “Chinese” look about it. It is rather hard to describe in words, and so I pray that you, the reader, are able to visualize me. You may picture me as the Joe Smith of China, or, in the native, the 王大中. My face blended in quite nicely with other Asians, and perhaps, I could have been a spy in another life, since I was easily forgettable.

I was going to try to avoid describing my personality, but I am afraid that it will not do. It will be shaded by my bias, but I hope that the truth – Veritas – can be shown through the murky viewing pane that is my word. I was precocious, and that is not a lie. I was quick to learn, and very witty. I really do hope that I do not come across as arrogant and elitist, because honestly, those things came so naturally to me that I never thought about how much “better” it made me, or even the significance of it all, at least at first. Perhaps I can even say that I was not particularly gifted, but rather, curiosity and a love of learning grew in my so strongly that I could pass for a wise person. I was quick to laugh as well. How I loved jokes! I used to watch stand up comedy quite frequently, and I loved it. And yet I was not perfect, no matter how nicely I may write about myself. I will admit that I did have a mean streak and an urge to dominate that really reared itself toward high school and blossomed whilst there. I became acidulous and bellicose, confident in my quick wit to supply me with repartees. And, if I ever was on the verge of losing, I unleashed my Parthian shots. I decimated debate teams, it has to be said.

But that is talking far too much about me. My parents were in the 20th anniversary of their happy marriage. They had argued, but usually calmly, and usually while respecting his or her significant other’s opinion. I hoped, deep down, that I could be like that, for at the surface, I would never admit to admiring my parents. My dad was the Japanese one, as I had alluded to earlier. He was fiery and exciting. He was the Protestant preacher of the old days without the Protestantism, or the preaching, or the old days. His face conveyed a wide range of emotions, and when I was little, I used to wonder if his face would just explode and tear at the reams from the raw emotion he exuded. My mother was a nervous, small woman, although all Chinese mothers have to be like that – it is part of the job requirements. She talked quickly, and yet there was that slower side of her that I rarely had the opportunity to see that Father had fallen in love with.

I have warned you, the reader, about digressing, have I not? Now it is the time to pick the story back up. I was about to return to my insane hours on the computer (for my parents were very laissez-faire about me once I reached high school age – as long as I received my straight A’s, I had almost free reign over my life, as long as nothing illegal was done) when my baby sister cried out.

“I’ll check-” my mother began. I did the paradoxically rude and polite thing and interrupted with “No, allow me.”

I got up and went around the newly purchased leather couches, down the hallway, and made a left to reach my sister’s room. Her nursery was very pink and very frilly. It was expected. She was a baby, as I said.

“Hey,” I said, saccharine exterior fully assembled around my personality, “what’s up, Dog?” Before I make any lame justification for my pop culture reference, let me state that her name was Catherine, or Cat for short, and therefore my nickname for her was Dog. She cried. I strolled over and discovered that she was wet. I sighed. Being a polite child was really not the easiest thing. I was thoroughly annoyed with her, and yet did the mature thing and said nothing about how easy she must have had it doing nothing but eating, sleeping, and relieving herself. A small voice in the lack of my head told me of the consequences of doing so. Anyway, I changed her and soothed her back to sleep.

I gamed on the computer for far too late than I should have, and I got into bed. I daydreamed – or is it nightdreamed? – about certain things. Such as, what if I were rich? What if I had a new life? Would I do anything differently?

I pondered until I remembered the test coming up in Biology AP. I jolted myself out of bed, pulled the book out with my notes, and studied until Morpheus took me into his arms. I slumbered the sweet dreamless sleep. It was, perhaps, the best sleep I had had in a long period of time, although when I woke up, I will admit that I did not look very good.

I pondered until I remembered the test coming up in Biology AP. I jolted myself out of bed, pulled the book out with my notes, and studied until Morpheus took me into his arms. I slumbered the sweet dreamless sleep. It was, perhaps, the best sleep I had had in a long period of time, although when I woke up, I will admit that I did not look very good.
_________________
The usurper has struck.
I am Serena's little girl.

Joined : 30 Dec 2005 Posts : 230

Okay, here is another part.

--

January 3rd, 2009

It looks as if I have discovered something today. Today is Monday, the traditional start of the week in Asia, as opposed to the Sunday of the Western world.

I have not been able to bring myself to write yesterday, for Sophia U. Karzt decided that it would be beneficial to my health and well being to be taken to some type of county fair.

It was fairly dull. Nothing there interested me, and, well, the things I had to endure while there! I shall not dwell on it. The past is more important. Excuse me, once again, for writing as if I were peregrinating aimlessly throughout the countryside, for that is how I feel, and nothing shall change it.

--

Coincidentally, today was a Monday. I awoke at promptly six in the morning and thought of Christmas. It did not particularly excite me, and I suppose it was due to my emerging sangfroid, which reared its head at the beginning of adolescence and now continued to bloom. I tried to think about presents and the joy of Christmas, but I kept being reminded of commercialization and the cost of giving gifts.

How ironic, I thought. I protest this destruction of Jesus Christ’s birthday, and yet I worry myself with giving gifts.

I went through the routines of my normal everyday morning routine which I do not deign necessary to recall in detail. I left my house at promptly 0630 hours, as usual, and began the thirty-minute walk to my cyclopean school.

How huge indeed it was! It was a fearsome beast, and many things lurked within its hallowed halls. It was a marvel of technology, cutting edge and Promethean, with right angles, glass, and an overall look that screamed, “At this school, we learn.”

As I walked in, a cold wind blew ominously. The trees looked especially stygian today, so dark and bare they were. I shivered, although I told myself it was because of the cold, and I sighed.

The classes were uneventful. However, for my sake, I shall list them out in excruciating detail. I apologize. It is for my sanity that I get every minute detail of these classes correct. Again, I apologize.

My first period was English 3 AP. It was run by a bright, cheery woman named Ms. Duff. I absolutely adored this class. We were encouraged to speak our minds and to analyze items with our own perspectives, and not to be force-fed other people’s point of views. The debates that raged on in this class were legendary.

It was here that I presented my speech on global warming which I had assiduously practiced last night. It began with “So, obviously, our topic here is on global warming” – Or was it “Imagine this: A polar bear sitting on an ice cube.”? Perhaps the exact quotation is not important. I demolished a small, nervous kid named Ricky Martin. I felt sorry for myself, since he was not a worthy adversary. I believe I garnered 110%.

My second period was Physics AP. What can I say about it except that I fell asleep in this class again? Mr. Zark was the absolute most boring teacher I have ever had the misfortune to be taught by. He droned on and on in a monotone that gave the emergency broadcast signal a run for its money in pitch consistency. I read the book well anyway, and I received high marks, with no thanks to this fool.

...How odd. I cannot remember the rest of my schedule. But how long as it been? The names, they flit before my mind, neurons zapping, on the tip of my tongue. I am sure that if anybody asked me how my fourth period class with Mr/Mrs. ______ went, I could immediately answer, but it has been so long. It has been too long. This blur! My pulse is pounding on my temples quickly, like a man escaping a gorgon! Oh God, I cannot remember for the life of me! I

--

I have calmed down now. The paean songs on this infernal contraption which lies near me have succeeded in reducing my anxiety. I do not know if that is a good or a bad thing. I have always been self-reliant.

I remember walking home, and looking up at the sky.
I wish it would snow, I remember thinking. I was wistful. We never received snow in Southern California, or at least, around the area where I lived. I walked, and I remember watching things that made me glad to be alive.

I remember the cool wind, blowing on my face, letting me know that I was indeed alive.

I remember crunching the leaves that had fallen, relishing in the sights and sounds of this world. I remember geese migrating, pinecones falling, and squirrels frantically storing nuts.

I remember a little boy who could not have been more than six. He was beaming from head to toe. He was so happy that I could not help but smile back. His parents were also content. I could tell by the way their hands grasped each other and the way they laughed to each other, sharing another irreplaceable moment of time in a finite life.

“I’m sure Santa Claus will know that you’ve been a good boy,” said the father.

He laughed, and I relished the laughter. I wished, for a moment, that the world could be free to laugh again like that, to drop their wars and their genocides, their weapons development and their hatred, and just share in laughter and joy.

I then remembered the Winter Finals, and my smile turned into a Plutonian scowl that made infants cry and street cars stop in the middle of the street just to let me pass.

I tramped to my house, flinging upon the front door as was my custom, and yelling “I’m home” in Japanese, then in Chinese. It was a habit that my father had taught me, to always state when you are going out, or coming in.

“Welcome home.” My mother, cuddling my sibling. She said something incoherent.

“Hello to you too, Dog.”

I worked uneventfully on my homework and studied until eight, when my father came home with a briefcase.

“You will not believe it.”

“What?” I said.

“We’ve bought out another company.”

“This calls for a celebration!” My mother.

“Yes!” I pumped my fists in the air. We were all bloodthirsty cutthroats and very mercantilist.

We all cheered. I remembered the nature of the day, and said something very cliché.

“I know it is cliché, but Mother, Father...I love you all very much. It seems like an odd place to say it, after this joyous news, but I was suddenly reminded of nature and the good things of life as I was walking home. I only bring it up because it is the time for my evening walk.”

I stood up and put my coat on. I walked by the mirror in the hall and admired myself – a young man with a dashing black jacket that screamed “sharp”, a matching black T-shirt, and jeans.

“Take care of yourself, handsome,” I said, to the mirror. To my family, I yelled out “I’m leaving,” first in Chinese, then in Japanese.

“Take care of yourself,” they responded, as they did every day.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and initiated my circular walk. It was a simple stroll around the block, which was good for exercise. I was also tired from the homework.

The sun had already set, but streetlights illuminated my path. It no longer scared me as it had in the past, even when I had been with my parents.

It was uneventful. A few cars passed me by, and I felt very much alone. Normally, there were a few pedestrians with me, but today, I was eerily alone. Perhaps it was because of the tests.

I turned around a corner and into an alleyway. This part I had called “The Narrows” when I was young, for it was exactly that – narrow. I used to be mildly claustrophobic, and this place did not do anything to alleviate my fears. It was dark, save for the light from the houses that lit the way above, but down on the street level, it scarcely did anything. Therefore, it should not have been a surprise when I tripped over a black box and hit the floor. Unluckily, a box happened to be where my neck chose to land, and it overturned, depositing papers onto me.

After a minute of unsavory words, I recovered and took stock of the situation. I was unharmed and there was nothing to worry about.

I glanced at these papers which I had overturned. It was curiosity. I had said earlier that I had an unquenchable thirst to learn.

It was odd. It was a fox, and yet he was not a fox. He was a fox and a human, strangely combined. I looked for a word...anthropomorphic. That was it.

In the dim light, it was rather difficult to make out the details, but it looked surprisingly well drawn. He looked so happy and playful, but he could not have been more than five. I looked around for a signature, but it was so fine that I could not read it. I wondered if I would be able to take it home and show my family the discovery, but before then, another drawing caught my eye.

This one was of a girl this time, but she was a raccoon. It was frankly similar in content. She looked innocent, like the other fox. This signature was illegible as well.

I looked around some more, and I was amazed. I found dragons, rats, tigers, more foxes, wolves, bats, and all sorts of animals. They were all eerily young, and they were all so happy. I wondered if this was a collection. But why was it out here like this? Every picture had obviously been drawn by a different artist, and yet they were all good. The emotions conveyed were raw, and yet they were all the same. Perhaps the owner had more, and these were the subpar ones. Perhaps he had grown tired of the similarity between the drawings and culled out the worse ones and kept the stellar ones.

I was distracted from my pensées at this point by footsteps. I remember thinking exactly that: “How dare you distract me from my pensées?” and then immediately afterward thinking “Oh, how insane I am, thinking of Pascal and the test at this moment.”

I did not know what to do, and I panicked, which I did not do often and did not deal with very well.

“Are these yours? I am terribly sorry for ruining it. I shall restore it to its natural state, I really shall, I-”

I stopped. He was tall; how could anybody be that tall? I thought insanely that he must have been seven feet tall. Perhaps it was just how it appeared to me, sitting down with my imagination running rampant.

His eyes suddenly went ablaze in light. I thought that lightning had struck, but there was no rain.

Then why am I wet?
_________________
The usurper has struck.
I am Serena's little girl.

Joined : 30 Dec 2005 Posts : 230

January 4th, 2009

Today, I politely submitted a request for a trip in order to visit a certain William Theodore Foster. The request was empathetically declined by Ms. Sophia U. Karzt.

What's so bad about him? Is she attempting to circumvent trouble ahead in my life? The nerve! That antediluvian lady shall indeed pay, to use a cliché. How I like clichés, now. I think they help me express myself in a nice trite way.

It is similar to how my life functions now. Every single day is fairly monotonous. And yet, for all its similarity from day to day, I cannot get over it. The only thing that is new is writing this journal. I do hope it will allow me to cope with the boredom.

--

I awoke.

That is rather odd. I do not recall slipping away into sleep.

I took stock of my situation. I felt small. Oddly small.

That is a fool thing to be wasting thoughts on.

I coughed. Water dripped from my pants. I felt very stupid, very scared, and very violated. Why, I cannot recall.

I decided to get a second opinion on my situation. I was face up on something hard. I was not where I was before. It was still very suspiciously dark.

I tried to lift my right arm. It came off with minimal trouble, which meant that whatever I had was psycho..psycho something. The word escapes me. It was a disease caused by my mind only, and not by anything else. Anyway, I determined that my extremities seemed to be capable of at least basic movement, which was good, but not very encouraging

I lifted my left arm in a similar manner and felt the ground around me. It was hard, and there were little rocks that shifted and tingled my hand slightly. I knew that this was a good thing, for it meant that no nerves were damaged. I patted my jeans. They were wet, for some odd reason. I patted my way up, to my crotch. It was soaked with something that smelled absolutely vile.

It smells like cat urine...

I groaned and patted myself down some more. My chest too, was covered in this vile stuff. Thankfully it petered around around my head.

I had been afraid that I had lost bodily control of my bladder function, but, perhaps, I would have preferred that to what indubitably had happened to me. I shall not delve into further detail, but let me just write that it has to do with the man.

Ew ew ew ew ew.

I was in such a hurry to leave the area that I almost forgot about the drawings. In the end, I decided to take one home and frame it, because surely, with so many of these drawings, nobody would notice. It was of a bat, a female one. It was colored in quite nicely, although it was quite odd, since she had blue hair. A rather odd color scheme, but, I supposed, artistic license. Ah, well. I remember taking this one because I could actually read the signature on it.

It was signed Seraph. I remember thinking that it was a pretty name. Angel, I thought. A little angel.

I returned home and decimated the bar of soap in the shower, devoured the lion's share of the dinner to glares from my mother and father, fooled around on the computer, and promptly went to bed at a decent hour, dreading the week before finals, where the teachers inevitably gave insane amounts of homework in an effort to force students to remember absolutely every bit of information that was stuffed into their minds.

You can then imagine my surprise when I awoke, not in my comfortable and cozy bed, but face up on a veritably uncomfortable bed of leaves and twigs.

I - ah, it is the time for cleansing. I shall write more after.
_________________
The usurper has struck.
I am Serena's little girl.