The First Time

He appeared at the door with a rose in his hand, those dimples carved deep in his cheeks. She smiled, a little flush to her cheeks. She had never even had to try to flirt, they were drawn like magnets. She pulled him inside, found some water for the flower. It had been two months, and he always seemed to surprise her with his kindness. He seemed so serious at first, but she always managed to loosen him up. Tonight she was going to take him to bed and loosen him up until the exhaustion pulled them both into sleep.

Patty

Patty jumped out of the way when an empty soda bottle came flying down the hall. "Idiot!" someone shouted. She couldn’t help but agree. Patty continued down the hall to her locker, keeping her eyes open for any more flying objects. She opened the small drawer in her locker she kept makeup in, and opened it, retouched her pink lipstick and grabbed the eyeliner she’d borrowed from Stacie. Now Patty was ready to try to scrape together a group of friends willing to help out with the foam tank at the school fund-raiser. Anything to help the public school system.

Passion

It was a cool dark Saturday night. She lit one last candle before he walked in to see her dressed like the little vixen she was. When he arrived, tired from a long day at work, he wondered if she was just a figment of his imagination. "My Beta Kappa sisters gave me the idea." She smiled as he walked toward her, his body now buzzing with excitement. Her heart pounded like a drum as she ripped his shirt from the Princeton Charter Club off. She kissed him with such an intensity, he felt it rock him, body and soul.

Creativity

A long time to have words lost. Missing the free flow. Desiring to express, yet nothing seems to emerge. Seeking an outlet, a trigger, something to make all those words come back again. So many ideas, so many interesting starts. The trouble is making an end, completing, thinking it all the way through. Getting up the motivation to do, not just get excited, but to create. Is it possible to make something of nothing, to make something worth making. Strange how creativity stalls, sputters, and then sometimes can flow like water. How can the creativity be made to flow again?

It's Okay

She stands up and looks out at the faces staring back. For a moment terrified, everyone watching her every move. Then she notices the expressions, calm, anticipating, and kind. She was always so afraid of being judged. Two girls then lean in and whisper to each other. She wonders if they are talking about her, then thinks, ‘who cares’. She then smiles, realizing everyone is judged to a point in this situation, and she can only be as good as she can. She fights to please herself now and no one else. She begins to speak and breathes, it’s okay.

Faded Road

So long gone down the road, hard to look back and see anything that resembles anything recognizable. Started out with the best of intentions, and the strongest of determination. How quickly it all falls to the ground. Intentions fade into habits that get lost when all will to continue ceases. Where once the thoughts and ideas flowed freely, now is nothing but the vague notion of where all those ideas went. Trailing along a path that is no longer clear, the footsteps stagger about, hoping for some alternate road. Questionable there is passion enough left to follow any other path.

Carry with you

As the world begins to crumble around you, and all that lies in your wake are broken dreams and strewn regrets, stop a moment and look. Stare it down, refuse to be afraid. The instinct is to run, to flee as fast and as far as you can. But perhaps if you can just stand and look back and not be consumed by what follows you, it will cease to haunt you. Your past is forever tied to you, never to be truly cut free. The key is to not allow yourself to be destroyed by the things you carry.

Drabbles

Drabble on, I seem to get stuck sometimes. It seems like such writings should have some kind of rhythm, like a poem. So many drabbles I have tried to start, but only end with the delete key. None of these will ever be masterpieces, but I can’t seem to just let them be a scattered mess. Though in reality that is all they really are. A scattered mess of ideas, from pure fiction, to carefully constructed reflections of my feelings. So hard to say something meaningful in exactly one hundred words. Make it sound thoughtful, not just some jumbled mess.

Ending

Waiting for an ending. A little terrifying as you try and stare it down. Still not feeling ready to let go. Why it all has to feel so final. Yet somehow it seems you’ll never see these faces again. Every walk down that path, or through that hallway, starts to feel like it could be the last. When it all started with so many hopes, and dreams. So much promise of all the things you desired, now fallen to the ground, dust in the wind. Continually turning around, hoping to make this feeling, this moment linger just a little longer.

Don't

Don’t say see you later, when we will never meet again. Don’t ask me how I am, if you really don’t even care. Don’t tell me it will be alright, when you don’t know that for sure. Don’t just be friendly, if you don’t want to be my friend. Don’t say I’m funny, when you’re really laughing at me. Don’t tell me lies, when you know it will hurt more in the end. Don’t promise me anything, because you can’t promise it won’t all go wrong. Don’t walk away without leaving something behind, because I still want something to remember.

Perceptions

Ever feel like people should come with labels? To tell you all the vital factual information. Would you alone get to walk with out one? Probably not. How then would you label yourself? Could you? What would others consider vital information about you? What label do you think you already wear on your back? I never know how others see me. I guess I assume people see me as I do. Perhaps that’s one of my biggest problems. Even though I know we all perceive differently. What do people perceive of me? Is it more correct than what I do?

His Park

He looks back and forth before stepping out. Looking up at the fluffy white clouds as he stepped up onto the other side of the street. He smiled and waved at the old lady who ran the corner market. Stopping at the corner for traffic. Nearing the park he spotted his favorite swing was free. His step quickened and he sat down in the swing. He looked to his left at the kids on the jungle gym. This park had been his favorite at that age, and still was. He came here to reflect, to seek solace in hard times.

Consumed

Every few minutes it’s inevitable. A thought that does nothing but distract the mind from everything else. Maybe it’s the change of season, or maybe it’s just random. But guys are on the brain, and there’s nothing to be done about it. It changes how my days run, how I sleep. It’s disruptive, but somehow I can’t stop it. Maybe I don’t want to stop it. Or I only want it to stop when I finally get my way. I want this to end differently than all the times before. I don’t want it to wear off until I’m satisfied.

Behind the Curtain

She spotted him as he slipped behind the curtain. Curiosity made her follow, she pushed through the dark velvet and saw him standing there. He looked at her a little surprised, then smiled at her. He asked what she was doing here. She only shrugged, and moved to go. He motioned her to come all the way in, asked what she thought. She said it was nicer in here than out there. He nodded and smiled at her again. There was a moment of silence between them, then he said she looked nice tonight. She blushed slightly and moved closer.

Lust

He grabs her arm and pulls her in. Click, lock, no one else can come in. Their lips lock, their hands begin to wander. The passion takes over as fingers seek buttons, and their covers are quickly shed. Her fingernails dig into the soft flesh of his back. A soft growl, somewhere between pleasure and pain rumbles in his throat. Her back against the wall, she hooks a leg on his hip. They pay no matter to the people passing by the other side of the door. This moment can not wait. Patience is not to be had any longer.

In the Darkness

In the darkness everything is obscured. The vision is cut down, cut off, everything is unclear. The little dots of light only serve to sooth the other senses. Giving the impression we can see through the darkness now. Twisted visions all the while leading us astray onto strange paths. The eyes adjust to the altering conditions the best they can. So poor the vision in darkness is though. Even with the brightest of flashlights, darkness remains just beyond the reach of the light. So many ways for the light to twist and bend, leading us to places we never planned.

Note: I know, it's April Fool's Day and I'm all serious. What can I say, April Fool's Day has never been a holiday I was much on embracing.

Safety Wall

She reached out to touch, smooth, cold. Leaning back she breathed. Her safety, where she could see all. No one could come up behind her. Everything covered with her peripheral. Then it all went dark when she closed her eyes. Still so much noise. All the talking, movement, life going on. She could black out the sights, but the sounds remained to assault her ears. Eyes open again, moving from person to person, from tree to bench. Leaned against the wall, she was none the less a part of the scene. Regardless if anyone else noticed, regardless of her wills.

Drifted

She sat as things rolled by her. Lost in her own world. She saw the cars pass, she saw the people out the window. She heard the faint rumble of the conversation behind her. The details of the faces, the color of the cars, the words that were spoken, none of that registered to her. Her mind was too removed from typical thought right now to notice such things. She tilted her head to look up at the sky. Blue, interrupted by streaks of hazy clouds. Her mind drifted toward them. She blinked her eyes a moment just to breath.

Gravity

He sat above the rest, looking down. Wondering if anyone else was aware of the perspective a place like this gave. Everyone was so small, so insignificant. His feet hung over, swinging lightly. A sharp breeze stung his face, he did not shiver. He had no more sense of feeling cold or warm. His body had gone numb to the elements. As his mind went numb to the world. Looking at a penny he pondered gravity. He decided to test out those old laws. Held the penny out, stood, and let go. He and the penny racing to the ground.

Survival

She turned and looked away. No longer willing to look. To see as the world fell around her. Closing her eyes, covering her ears. Just shut it all out and it might all fade away. The voices will not be silenced. They scream to her. Her hands pull from her ears in defeat, fingers tighten in fists. She opens her eyes and screams. If only she can drown out the other voices. If she doesn’t see them or hear them, she can pretend they don’t exist. If she can just stand a little longer, she might survive until the sunrise.