Hi guys!

There was this day where I just felt smacked in the face by inspiration, and I wrote this really short story. I'm not really sure where it came from, but here it is. In case you want to know, the song this guy is listening to in the story is Pills by The Perishers. I decided to experiment with writing in second person ever since I read The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern, and this is the least messy story that's come out of it.

Have fun!

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You sit across her on the tube, like you do everyday, slipping in your headphones. She looks at you, and you look at her, just like you do everyday, but then both of you avert your gazes, not sure whether you’re strangers or secret lovers, because you feel this strange affection, but it’s not really love is it? Pieces of song drift into your ears as you recover.

My fists can fight for two...

And then suddenly, you’re walking over to her, just for once, being someone that you aren’t, and then, suddenly, you are you, just sitting next to her, talking to her, and you both know you’re best friends in an instant, but her eyes are too pretty to look into platonically, so when slipping your earphone bud into her ear, you ask her if dinner at Il Volo is fine. Of course its fine, only both of you know Il Volo is where every flies off the ground, into romance, which drips off of the air, and that both of you are very okay with this, because your romance for each other already cloaks the air and of course everyone can tell, of course, this is love this is love this is love and we are all in love both of you sing, the distance only deepening what both of you knew to be true. 

My love can blind you…

That night at Il Volo is where you take off, where the ground beneath your feet is finally removed. Sex on the first date, of course this is true love, and sharing dessert is also great on the first date, true love is true love and anything can happen oh anything can happen and both of you are singing as you take off and that’s the last both of you knew about the ground. You are floating on clouds, and this is true love.

Within the next month, both of you are living together, and you are living together in a fairytale and love is literally dancing in the air. You can see it in the bow of the tuxedo as you walk down the aisle, and all he can see is you, you in your little white gown, all ready to kiss him as his Mrs. Perfect and this is so much of a fairytale with the wind blowing your hair, and February whispering beautiful promises in the air.

Ooooh, ooh.

Then suddenly you are having your first fight because he is tired and you are also tired and this is the first slip up but it’s also the last isn’t it? Isn’t it?

One may think we’re doing fine…

Then suddenly that slip up seems so mild, and some nights when it’s not that bad, you can actually creep up into the same bed and share some human warmth with this person who is a stranger, who you once loved and with who you took off the ground at Il Volo, but you are landing and this is not okay, this is not okay.

I hope my arms can blind you…so you'll never have to see what we’re going to be...

Sometimes you are okay, and you smile stranger smiles across the dinner table, but once you take a walk after dinner, if any road takes you near Il Volo, both of you shy away, because suddenly the song this is too hard and we are too fast and crashing is inevitable is stuck in your head and both of you smile and hard, tight smile, and you turn around and head home in a chilly silence.

We need lies to make it through the day...

Both of you are only hanging on by a thread and that thread is thin and only one of you can hang on but this was true love and true love always lasts, always, and both of you were picture perfect but now it’s not and the voice of doubt it singing in your head saying is this it? is this it? can it be it? I can’t sing anymore god please end this for me I don’t want any pain. 

We’re not okay...

This is hitting both of you quick so you both recreate fairytale scenes, but they need actors, and actors are not what you are and both of you once prided yourselves for your honesty, but now you are shabby pretenders, shabby thieves with unshaven beards and hair that hasn’t been washed in a long, long time, but you cling to each other like you need each but you don’t.

But that’s one thing I would never…say to you

And then suddenly you remember the words of the song, and the song is not telling you your fists can fight for two, the song is desperately hoping you can, because this song knows your secrets, and this song knows you’re not okay. This song hopes loves can blind you but this song knows because it is a knowing song and when it sings in your head it sings in the key of paranoia paranoia and you are collapsing, collapsing and going to sleep shaking in the dark. You have hit ground zero. This is an airplane crash, no, a nuclear bomb inside the both of you, with no survivors.

...But that’s one thing I would never…say, to you.

And then suddenly the song ends, and it ends in three sad piano chords, and you are sitting in the Tube again, and she can see through your eyes that something has gone wrong.

Next morning, when she sits on the Tube, she sits in the corner, and you sit exactly where you used to sit, but something has changed and the air is not the same when she is not in it. Repeat, repeat, you have hit ground zero.

Hey people!

I know that I haven't written in forever, but today, I want to talk about a social issue.
The equality between men and women, boy and girls, and how their childhood is shaped, to be specific. To get my point across, I'm going to use myself as an example, because, well, you won't really realize what's happenning until it's narrated like this.

When I was five years old, my parents began to send me to a tennis class. I was hesitant at first, but I loved it. I spent two hours afterschool there everyday, and my teacher was pleased with me because I was able to hold my own and actually play a match with all of the older kids. This was beautiful, and I began to think of it fondly, but, then came a major setback. The school I was going to lasted until 3pm, and I got home by 4pm, which was when my tennis classes started. I also had homework to do. So, we stopped my tennis classes, and as a compensation, I began to ride my old, discarded bike with my friends, and I had started a trend. All of us began playing on our bicycles. Healthy, active, and great.

I thought I had a pretty active childhood, and that my parents had encouraged physical activity for me despite the stereotype of dolls, playing house and other things. But then my brother was born.

From the beginning, it was the expectation that he go to the park everyday. That was fine, you know. I had to go to the park too. Everyone in my neighbourhood did. But then, we moved to a different country, and my brother got older. For some reason, my parents got all worked up about him having a sport. My mother put him in swim classes for competitive swimming, football (Americans, that means soccer in English), and when the schedule didn't work out, insisted my dad make him play a sport on the weekends.

To be fair, they did the same for me. But the weird part was, with me, my parents tried once. If it didn't work out, then it was too bad. But somehow, for my little brother, playing a sport was of the utmost importance, and if he didn't find one (which he still hasn't) then the world would supposedly come crashing down.

Now, my parents aren't sexist, and they're the ones who put me in the more liberal mindset, telling me that I didn't have to be a conventional girl, getting me toys meant for boys as well as girls (which shouldn't exist, as in, toys are for both sexes what the hell, but okay). But what I'm trying to point out is that certain stereotypes are ingrained in the minds of people. If you EVER find yourself thinking, "But that's such a 'guy-thing' (replace synonyms with things such as 'manly') to do" or "That's only something a girl could think of" or "That's so girly" or, my personal favourites:
"You're so manly" and "I cried like a little girl".

The thing about these things is, we've grown up with them. My parents would've never realized it, and they still haven't, that all my life, through my physical activity, I have been trying to prove to them that I wanted to do a sport too. And I never got the chance because of circumstance, or because of difficulties staying afterschool with the team, my shyness, the fact that I broke my leg, and so many other things.

When I was 7, I got a basketball hoop in the backyard. My brother went to soccer classes with a professional coach.

This stuff is seared into our minds like it's normal. And only now, people are beginning to realize, it's NOT fair. I am branded as the weak and unable to play girl in PE. Whereas other boys got passed to and scored eaily in basketball, I had to steal the ball from my opponents, guard it from even my teammates and score a swoosh shot to prove myself to my teammates. My 'guy-friend' who wasn't even able to dribble 5 meters without passing was passed the ball instead of me even though everyone knew he couldn't play. I was closer to the hoop, open, and able to shoot, because no one thought I was even worth guarding. Three reasons I should've been passed the ball, but I wasn't. Sexism is everywhere. It doesn't matter what you're thinking, if you ever catch yourself thinking something is typical of boys or girls, or that someone won't be able to do something because they're a boy, or a girl, stop yourself. Please. The only way to make people less sexist is to start the change with you, to make yourself aware, so you don't endorse sexist things by accident, so you yourself can teach the others around you through just thinking a little bit more.

Is it really that much to ask?

The Problem with my Bluebird

Charles Bukowski once wrote about a bluebird.
The one who he wouldn't let sing,
the one who couldn't see the sun shining.

But I have a different problem -
I want my blue bird to shine,
to cause commotion.
I want my buebird to be alive.

Have you heard of blue babies?
They haven't enough oxygen,
and my bluebird is starting to feel a lot like one.

They smother it down,
not asking whether it can breathe,
but whether the pressure is enough,
can I still pump out a tune in the key of A?

My bluebird is dying
crying
screaming.

But no one hears it.
I am running out of breath,
and my bluebird is suffocating.

Locked inside a cage of my own volition
I cannot scream nor can I shout,
and I am stuck with my own bluebird
asking me why I don't get out.


Based on: x

Hi my cutie patooties!

So, recently (or two months ago), I had this idea for a story that revolved around the Pied Piper of Hamlin, and the children that disappeared. So, I'm going to sit down and write the introduction for it now, because I figured, better now than never, and because I'll never do it unless I force my self to sit down and write it. Enjoy! (This will suck, so get out the popcorn and be ready to laugh disdainfully, plus, give me sassy feedback!)

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Waking Up

She opened her eyes, feeling strangely old and new at the same time. She was in a cave, she thought, vague memories of the past slipping through her mind, as she tried to gather where she was and how she got here. Around her were a thousand stalctite, glittering like daggers from the roof of her mysterious abode. Suddenly, she heard a great grating noise at the end of the tunnel, as if someone were trying to open the doors pf the cave. She dropped down immediately, her instinct telling her to blend in, shielding her eyes from the little light that trickled through from such a great distance. She was so, so weak and tired, as if she had slept for thousands of years, only to wake up for a great destiny.

Suddenly there were two men, traipsing down the mass of bodies that she had neglected to notice, their eyes filled with horror and wonder. They thought aloud, wondering what a mass of chlidren were doing here, and why behind a cave? Were they even alive? She wanted to raise her hand, to ask for help and ask for them to help her survive, but she was so, so, befuddled by everything.

 She had questions of her own.
 What was the name she was recalling in the grey darkness? Who had led her here?
Only one thing seemed clear to her foggy mind, the only thing that she knew was as true as the stone floor she lay on, and as sharp as the rocky dagger sky she knew lay above her:
The Pied Piper will save you. 


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Here it is guys! Tell me what you think, and please tell me how I can improve it! I only had 15 minutes to write this, and it's not a full fledged introduction, but I'm trying my best, since I've never written a story before. What should I add to it? Is there anything that's boring/too literary and not enough information? Help me tons!

Good night my little ducklings!
Anoushka

Dear Future Husband,

How are you doing? I do hope I like you. My curiosity (or is it fear?) is eating me up. I want to know how we met!

Did we collide into each other, me dropping my books like the flustered angel that I am, and your hand brushed mine as you helped me pick them up?
Or did we share an umbrella in the rain, the proximity of our bodies creating more lightning than the storm above our heads?

Neither, I hope.

You see, future husband, I have a problem. I hate perfect love, and I hope you're nothing like the perfect boys I see on TV. I want you to be as normal as possible. In fact, when we meet, please don't bother doing your hair ( I won't). When we collide, laugh at me for being clumsy because I was probably reading when I so rudely became the prow of the boat to your Ursula's chest. Then, proceed to hold my page for me, so that I can pick up my books, because you udnerstand perfectly well that no girl (or boy) needs help picking up a couple books (or maybe this time I was smart enough to use that extraordinary invention called a backpack?!). Anyways, comment on the book I'm reading and ask about it, then proceed to sit down with me at the table and prevent me from reading. I will certainly be unpleasant and may make many subtle comments about how I would prefer to be alone and reading, but you will already have found out that pestering me is something you enjoy, so you will cheerfully ignore anything I say.

Next, I hope, we do not have instant crushes on each other. I hope to like you as a human from the very start, but please, do not expect me to swoon into your arms at first try. Hopefully, maybe by the times we've known each other well enough to exasperate the living hell out each other, I'll begin to notice I like hugging you. You'll begin to like hanging out, just the two of us. Slowly, we get comfortable with the idea of liking each other, and maybe I'll tell you that I have never kissed anyone, and you'll laugh and call me lame. Promise me you'll do it, or I'll be too embarrassed to ever show my face to you again. Admitting is not something I easily do. I need my back-up comic relief when I am not capable of making my own particular brand of punny jokes.

Then maybe the first time we'll kiss you'll call me inexperienced. And laugh. Make me laugh a lot or I won't even think of marrying you. And be prepared to live with a bunch of dogs once you complete that requirement. You'll be feeding and walking them, while I get to pet them and witness clever tricks (you'll be in charge of those too, oh we're going to have so much fun!). We're an equal opportunity kind of couple. Or rather, we will be.

And going on dates. Right.
I'm promising you, our first date will be hell. I'll probably think up something really romantic like wall climbing, and in the middle, I'll faint from my undefeatable fear of heights, but you'll catch me. And then I'll yell "Just kidding!" in your face, cleverly untangle my harness and rope from yours, and monkey up the rocks while you hang suspended (and dumbfounded) in midair. Ha.
Just kidding. I'm really bad at wall climbing.
WAIT. Maybe our first date will be one of those typical dinner date things. Or going to the movies?
I'm crossing my fingers, because if you take me to an Avengers movie, I swear to God, you will be the last boy who I'll be looking at in that theatre. And you better agree with me that everything Nick Fury says is to be followed by either "Nick Fury is a religion" or simple admiration with the phrase "Oooooooh!" Otherwise bye.

Oh, and when you propose to me, please don't write a speech. Please don't tell me your life changed after you met me, because the only life changing thing I made you do was switch to NickFury-ism, the greatest religion of them all. And maybe I did encourage you to get a tumblr account, which might have led to your higher procrastination levels. Okay, don't mention that when you propose to me. I'll say no out of consideration for you.
Convince me. 
I already know you're great. That's probably why I let you in this far. I don't do that with many people. Convince me that I'm worth marrying. Make me laugh (I have a bad sense of humour so this part's easy). This is why I asked you to leave out anything that I worsened for you in life. You already know that I'm too shy to even ask someone to close the window if it means that it might inconvenience them. I wouldn't even let you tie my shoelace when I broke my hand. I honestly don't think I'm worth it. Please, go make me look in the mirror at that face of mine, and tell me that behind it lies the most superlative person you've ever known. Don't tell me I'm pretty, because I'm tired of people who think that's the one thing a girl wants to hear. But you already know that. So you 'll call me lame, with a dash of poor humour and nerdy, all of the things I really am, and you will tell me that it's worth knowing.

Dear future husband, whoever you are, thank you for coming this far with me. I probably love you, and have a harder time saying that than I should. Just kidding! I shower for your sake, so you should know that I am already putting 100% more effort than I did for anyone else.

Long live Nick Fury,
you-remember-your-wife's-name-so-yeah-hey-it's-me