revised writing. . .
8 minutes is all it takes.
It is 7:54 A.M. it’s cold outside, and I’m alone.
I’m thinking about him, even before I open my eyes. They were soft and squishy, sometimes I liked him, other times I didn’t. My eyes were crusted together in such a way where I could not open them without a large degree of pain.
Pain, caused by the dried tears to seal away what I was afraid of. Truth is I wasn’t really afraid, I was deeply terrified. Not like scared of heights terrified.
This was from deep inside of me. A hatred. I didn’t even knew existed, but it was there alright. Lying right next to me, or maybe it was inside of me. It had to be inside of me, because it hurt. I felt like I was killing myself from the inside out.
Laying in my bed, where the blankets were tied around me in such a way where I felt cocoon from everything. Being constricted like that I could tell I had a bad sleep. The feeling rushed through my body that caused me to wake. That feeling when you know something is suddenly different in your world. It’s not by choice and it’s not by fault.
A telephone call:
“Brrrrrrrrrnnnggg”
“Brrrrrrrrrnnnggg”
“Brrrrrrrrrnnnggg”
“Brrrrrrrrrnnnggg”
“Brrrrrrrrrnnnggg”
It was such an annoying and alarming ring. I was hesitating like never before, almost shaking. Now I was quivering and still hesitating. I never knew it was possible to produce adrenaline from hesitation. This was the adrenaline rush of my life, I knew it too. The phone rang 3 times more, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I was a bird that was too young to fly. Deep down I wanted to bury myself in my blankets and never leave my nest I call home. Two more rings and I was finished, and I would never know who was on the other line, but I knew.
His name was Kevin, he was that change, it was him on the phone. I told myself NO, I said I would absolutely not, and my curiosity got the better of me. That solid colored white piece of plastic suddenly holding the answer to his question.
He wanted me. He wanted me and my endearing love and I was in no mood to let it go. What was I to do, a 16-year-old high school girl. Not knowing who she was, what she wanted, so carefree and free spirited, I didn’t know what love was. I didn’t know if I wanted it or, not.
The only love I knew was to a father, having lost a mother. Even that wasn’t even close to what I was about to drag my innocent self into. The intensity of our situation, two teenagers passionately feeling that they have found love amongst each other. I gave in almost immediately. I let my life go, for the next 6 months; I let it go into that stupid phone. Not knowing later I would hate that phone. I would hate myself, for hating that phone.
It’s now 8:02 A.M., still cold outside, except I am not alone.
.......................................................................................
I know of a ring, one specific ring. The ring that changes someone’s life. More than that though, telephones don’t just ring about anything. They’re only heard by those who listen, vulnerable to life’s most subtle changes. Mom was dead. I knew that. She escaped her child’s life through an ivory plastic portal, where the cord only connected one way. I now lay in my bed, it’s cold outside and I’m alone.
The phone hung upon the kitchen wall as it was 14 years before this moment. An old 911 sticker placed cautiously on the receiver by hands that couldn’t have been older than 6. This particular telephone had never delivered news such as this. The feeling of suffering was something I knew much of, the three of us had sunk , as a family to the lowest depths of emotional disaster that my brain was possibly able to imagine. The phone didn’t want to be answered but, had to commit the duty . 6:52 P.M, my father eased from his chair. His aching muscles keeping him from devastation. Something that would cause him to grow weaker. A weak even he didn’t know. A weak none of us knew. He walked in such a manner that made the floor creak buying time and growing fainter as he waddled away. The phone was ringing and then. Stopped.
*Complete and utter silence carried on for the next 10 or so seconds*
During this time I felt like something amazing was happening to me, as if I was gaining power. The last ounce of happiness I was to experience for years to come. My Father’s shadow appeared on the hallway, the silhouette of his hand cupping over his wrinkled eyes led me to believe that something was gone in my life. I watched his shadow fall to its knees. I watched it cry as he begged for fresh air. The oxygen level in the room seemed to lower as I violently attempted to inhale. I was strangling for more. Just to feel alive again, not knowing that was how she left my world. It was at this very moment when I realized. My Mother was dead and; I was the survivor.
Creating a circle of arms and tears between the three of us, we really were perfect together. The stains on the carpet and scratched window screen were perfect. Anything to trigger a lost memory made it absolutely priceless in value. Minutes later there lay our three bodies sprawled out amongst the living room floor, still mentally crying because we were physically unable. Slowly I could feel my body rejuvenating itself, every gland producing more adrenaline increasing my ability to stand. Any liquids draining immediately from my stomach regurgitating themselves onto the floor. The swiftness and pressure of the operation left me feeling faint. I was now the one in the hall. It was quiet, and I was alone.
..................................................................................
more to come soon.
because i love to write now.
i love love love it.
but not as much as i love to paint.
i actually should be painting instead of writing.
i sort of have some paintings due at the end of august.
uh oh.
<3 ang-
It is 7:54 A.M. it’s cold outside, and I’m alone.
I’m thinking about him, even before I open my eyes. They were soft and squishy, sometimes I liked him, other times I didn’t. My eyes were crusted together in such a way where I could not open them without a large degree of pain.
Pain, caused by the dried tears to seal away what I was afraid of. Truth is I wasn’t really afraid, I was deeply terrified. Not like scared of heights terrified.
This was from deep inside of me. A hatred. I didn’t even knew existed, but it was there alright. Lying right next to me, or maybe it was inside of me. It had to be inside of me, because it hurt. I felt like I was killing myself from the inside out.
Laying in my bed, where the blankets were tied around me in such a way where I felt cocoon from everything. Being constricted like that I could tell I had a bad sleep. The feeling rushed through my body that caused me to wake. That feeling when you know something is suddenly different in your world. It’s not by choice and it’s not by fault.
A telephone call:
“Brrrrrrrrrnnnggg”
“Brrrrrrrrrnnnggg”
“Brrrrrrrrrnnnggg”
“Brrrrrrrrrnnnggg”
“Brrrrrrrrrnnnggg”
It was such an annoying and alarming ring. I was hesitating like never before, almost shaking. Now I was quivering and still hesitating. I never knew it was possible to produce adrenaline from hesitation. This was the adrenaline rush of my life, I knew it too. The phone rang 3 times more, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I was a bird that was too young to fly. Deep down I wanted to bury myself in my blankets and never leave my nest I call home. Two more rings and I was finished, and I would never know who was on the other line, but I knew.
His name was Kevin, he was that change, it was him on the phone. I told myself NO, I said I would absolutely not, and my curiosity got the better of me. That solid colored white piece of plastic suddenly holding the answer to his question.
He wanted me. He wanted me and my endearing love and I was in no mood to let it go. What was I to do, a 16-year-old high school girl. Not knowing who she was, what she wanted, so carefree and free spirited, I didn’t know what love was. I didn’t know if I wanted it or, not.
The only love I knew was to a father, having lost a mother. Even that wasn’t even close to what I was about to drag my innocent self into. The intensity of our situation, two teenagers passionately feeling that they have found love amongst each other. I gave in almost immediately. I let my life go, for the next 6 months; I let it go into that stupid phone. Not knowing later I would hate that phone. I would hate myself, for hating that phone.
It’s now 8:02 A.M., still cold outside, except I am not alone.
.......................................................................................
I know of a ring, one specific ring. The ring that changes someone’s life. More than that though, telephones don’t just ring about anything. They’re only heard by those who listen, vulnerable to life’s most subtle changes. Mom was dead. I knew that. She escaped her child’s life through an ivory plastic portal, where the cord only connected one way. I now lay in my bed, it’s cold outside and I’m alone.
The phone hung upon the kitchen wall as it was 14 years before this moment. An old 911 sticker placed cautiously on the receiver by hands that couldn’t have been older than 6. This particular telephone had never delivered news such as this. The feeling of suffering was something I knew much of, the three of us had sunk , as a family to the lowest depths of emotional disaster that my brain was possibly able to imagine. The phone didn’t want to be answered but, had to commit the duty . 6:52 P.M, my father eased from his chair. His aching muscles keeping him from devastation. Something that would cause him to grow weaker. A weak even he didn’t know. A weak none of us knew. He walked in such a manner that made the floor creak buying time and growing fainter as he waddled away. The phone was ringing and then. Stopped.
*Complete and utter silence carried on for the next 10 or so seconds*
During this time I felt like something amazing was happening to me, as if I was gaining power. The last ounce of happiness I was to experience for years to come. My Father’s shadow appeared on the hallway, the silhouette of his hand cupping over his wrinkled eyes led me to believe that something was gone in my life. I watched his shadow fall to its knees. I watched it cry as he begged for fresh air. The oxygen level in the room seemed to lower as I violently attempted to inhale. I was strangling for more. Just to feel alive again, not knowing that was how she left my world. It was at this very moment when I realized. My Mother was dead and; I was the survivor.
Creating a circle of arms and tears between the three of us, we really were perfect together. The stains on the carpet and scratched window screen were perfect. Anything to trigger a lost memory made it absolutely priceless in value. Minutes later there lay our three bodies sprawled out amongst the living room floor, still mentally crying because we were physically unable. Slowly I could feel my body rejuvenating itself, every gland producing more adrenaline increasing my ability to stand. Any liquids draining immediately from my stomach regurgitating themselves onto the floor. The swiftness and pressure of the operation left me feeling faint. I was now the one in the hall. It was quiet, and I was alone.
..................................................................................
more to come soon.
because i love to write now.
i love love love it.
but not as much as i love to paint.
i actually should be painting instead of writing.
i sort of have some paintings due at the end of august.
uh oh.
<3 ang-