It's very windy today. So windy, in fact, that my outdoor table collapsed itself and flew a few metres to the right. Needless to say I haven't bothered trying to go for a bike ride. I'm not certain I'd even move if I tried riding into the wind. And riding with the wind? Ha, I wouldn't even have to peddle. I've lost all my energy on this medication anyway. Even getting out of bed is proving a huge effort at the moment. Stupid kidneys.
I feel like going out and getting totally trashed. I know I'm not supposed to drink but right now I don't care overly much about that. The idea of getting blind drunk and just forgetting, for an evening at least, some of the stuff that is bugging me sounds endlessly appealing.
I've been watching the Ashes for a bit today and Australia are doing it nicely. England are 3 wickets down chasing another 530 odd runs. They're certainly never going to win and I imagine only rain will save them from defeat.
I was supposed to clean my room this weekend but unfortunately more fun options kept presenting themselves so my room is still an appalling mess. (Bear in mind that gouging out my eyes with a pen is a more fun option to me than cleaning my room so it isn't really surprising that it didn't get done.) However, I did have a dream last night that I cleaned it. It was so very tidy. Kinda disappointing when I awoke this morning to find it still a mess.
I'm also supposed to go and do the food shopping which is another thing I'm currently avoiding. Sometimes I enjoy the supermarket but I don't think today will be one of those times. It doesn't hold quite the same appeal when you basically have to stick to the fruit and vegetable part.
Hmmm clearly I don't have a lot to say. Hehe probably because I have done absolutely nothing productive this weekend. It's been fantastic. I went into work for 2 hours yesterday morning and have avoided the place since. Nice.
Below are a couple of short stories I wrote ages ago. I thought I'd post them again, just because. The first one I think may already be on here somewhere but I've edited it a wee bit since then. The second is pretty true to my initial relationship with Sam. (Uh, not the Sam who posts comments on here, a Sam who is long since out of my life.) It is also the story which my very first proper film was based on.
Both were written in a very short period of time and not really edited all that much so they are both pretty rough. But, that's why they are getting posted on here, because I'm never going to do anything else with them.
The BoyThe sound of gunfire faded and the smoke began to clear. For a brief moment there was total silence. Not even the sound of birds chirping could be heard. The silence of death. Then, all at once, the silence was shattered. A woman’s cry rose up; the horrible, devastating sound of a mother in denial at the death of her child. Anguished cries and calls for help built in force until all memory of the silence was erased.
The boy stood still and stared out over the bloody battlefield. He was far too young to have been involved in a war. He should have been playing soccer with his friends, not killing people. But, killing was his fate and he had done it well. His side had won. The war was over. Generations filled with hate, with blood. It was over. Finally.
A man in an official uniform came over to check on him, but the boy paid no attention. He could not tear his eyes off the horrible, bloody scene around him. A father, holding his little girl in his arms, her body still and lifeless. A child, no more than five years old, crying over her mother’s dead body. A husband, trying to get near his hysterical wife as she tries in vain to get their son to wake up, he will never wake again. A father, lifting a soldier’s body off his twelve year old daughter, she died from the same bullet as the soldier while he raped her. A wife weeping over her husband’s body, he had died to save her. A family with no-one to cry for them because they all died together. A bloody massacre.
The boy cried for all of these people. He cried for himself and for those he had lost, for those he would never know, for those he would never again talk and laugh with, for those who were so filled with hate they started the war that killed these innocent people. There was no bravery, no pride in his eyes. All that was there was sadness. Sadness for a world gone mad, a world where a boy had spent his childhood training to kill people, a world where that same boy had just completed that mission and had killed. He had killed for a reason he didn’t understand, he had killed because that’s what he had been told to do. His instructions had come from adults who should have known better, who should not have sullied children with their own bloody battle.
His body was still that of a boy, but his innocence had been taken away from him. Never again would he laugh with his friends. Never again kick a ball just for the sheer joy of being young. It was his fate; his fate to live while others died. The war outside was over, he was alive, but not unhurt. A war still raged within him. For the rest of his life this scene would never leave him, it would haunt his dreams. The war itself was over but its effects would last forever.
My Dark Haired AdonisMy dark haired Adonis; I watch him as I sit at my desk. I know I’m supposed to be paying attention to the lecture but he is in my line of vision and he’s all I can think about. He stretches his arms and shifts a little in his seat, completely oblivious to my eyes on him from three rows behind.
He rakes his hand through his dark hair as I watch, leans a little to his left and props his head up with his hand. The minutes tick past and I watch as he idly twirls a pen between his fingers. I wonder what he is thinking about. Perhaps his thoughts are of a girl? I can’t even possibly hope that he is thinking of me.
The lecture ends and we all amble out the door. I lose sight of him in the throng of people outside the lecture theatre. I wander aimlessly, wondering how to occupy my time until my next class. I know I should study but the only thing I want to think about is him, my dark haired Adonis. I don’t know what it is but there is something about him, something that makes me unable to get him off my mind.
The hallways are quiet, most people are at lunch or in class. I am deep in thought as I round the corner and do not notice the figure coming towards me. I look up just in time and my heart skips a beat when I realise it is him. He smiles at me, the sort of smile you give someone you recognise but either are not sure where from or you just don’t care enough about to grace with a spoken word. My brain locks up and he is gone before I have a chance to think properly. Did I smile at him? I think I did but cannot be sure. With my luck if I did smile it probably came out as more of a grimace than a smile.
My weekend passes slowly but finally Monday comes and it is time for class, one of the ones that he is in. I head towards the classroom, hoping I will see him today. He does not come very often anymore. I tear my mind away from the thought that perhaps he has a girlfriend that he is spending the time with. Three days a week I have classes with him and I always go hoping to see him. If he is there my attention is distracted by his presence, if he is not there my attention is distracted by his absence, wondering where he is. Either way I cannot win.
He does not come to class today so I sit in misery. I try to concentrate but it is in vain, my thoughts continue to be plagued by him. I console myself with the thought that tomorrow we have our compulsory class, the once-a-week class where I know I will see him.
I am right, and when tomorrow comes, he is already in the room when I arrive. I am early and there is no-one else in the room yet, just the two of us. Do I dare sit beside him? I gather all of the courage I possess and place my books on the desk beside his.
He flashes me a grin as I sit down. “Hi Tess. Do anything exciting over the weekend?”
His voice sends shivers down my spine and it takes a second before I become aware of his words. When I do I start a bit. He knows my name? I finally remember to answer him, hopefully before my silence becomes too obvious.
“Not really. You?” Not the most original, or even interesting, conversation but the best I could manage under the circumstances.
“No. I had a big assignment due yesterday so I had to spend the whole weekend on it. Pretty sad actually.” His smile is rueful as he tells me this.
I am spared from having to come up with a response by another person arriving. The new person takes his attention away from me and I regain the ability to breathe properly. The rest of the class passes uneventfully and I pack my things slowly at the end, hoping to leave at the same time as him. He is in my next class and I can’t help hoping we can walk there together. Or, if he is not going to class, maybe I can see where he goes instead. My plan is thwarted when he tells the tutor he needs to discuss something with her.
I leave and walk on my own towards the lecture theatre. As I wait for the elevator I see him, but he walks past, obviously he has decided not to attend the lecture today. I contemplate following him but decide against it, unable to bear the idea of him seeing me and realising I am following him.
I sit tiredly in my seat but feel quite proud of myself for coming even though I know he will not be here. The lecturer begins to talk and I take notes but am not really paying attention. I cannot stop thinking about our conversation earlier, if it even rates as a conversation. He knew my name. He actually knew my name! I calm myself down by telling myself that he probably just has a really good memory and remembers everyone’s name.
I hear the door open but for once I do not look up to see who is entering. As the person approaches the seat beside mine I glance up and to my surprise it is him. He takes the seat beside me and for a moment I cannot breathe. I turn to him and nod slightly in acknowledgement, he nods back and pulls out his books. For the rest of the class I am completely oblivious to anything but him, he smells wonderful and his scent invades my nose, making thinking far too difficult for me to bother with. Somehow I manage to continue taking notes, if only to make sure he is not aware of the distraction he is causing me.
The lecture ends and he rises from his seat. I stand too and put my books into my bag. I am determined to leave the class at the same time as him this time. But, instead of leaving he starts to talk to someone behind us. He sits on his desk with his feet on his chair, effectively blocking that exit. With a sinking heart I realise he is not planning on leaving yet and I cannot stay without looking suspicious. I turn to my right but find that the girls there are still sitting in their seats talking, they do not seem to have any intention of leaving just yet either.
I turn back towards him, I know I should just say excuse me and get him to move his legs so I can get past but my shyness overtakes me and I am unable to say anything. Instead I just stand there goofily, wondering how long the stupid girls on my right are going to continue talking. I wonder if he is aware of my predicament and wonder how he could possibly not be. But, if he is, why does he not move out of my way? Finally, after an eternity, the girls on my right pack up and leave. I am so relieved I scurry away without a backwards glance, cursing myself for not making conversation with him when I had such a good opportunity.
Two days pass by and I am running late for class. I glance at my watch just before I enter the room and notice with relief that I made good time across campus and the lecture won’t have started yet. I push open the door and glance up to find a seat. I find myself looking straight into his eyes, he is standing in the aisle and must have looked up to see who was coming in. Our eyes connect before he looks back to the person he was talking to. My shoulder brushes his slightly as I walk past to a seat.
I sit down and take out my books. He takes a seat as the lecturer clears her throat to begin. I smile in satisfaction as I notice that he is directly in my line of sight. I lean back in my chair silently and watch him; my dark haired Adonis.
Labels: I'm great, writing
