“if only you could see”

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Labels: fiction junction

 [this is loosely based on part of a dream I had last night]

The heat was nearly unbearable. There might have been eight or ten people in the room. More like ruins, if you ask me. I don't recall anyone's face...except for his.

Jaw clenching, temple quivering. Sweat beading up and dripping down his forehead, hair slightly matted on his head.

I didn't fully understand what was happening. His hands were gripping a long piece of wood, then, suddenly producing a knife of sorts, he started swinging with great fervor at the wood. Chips and splinters flew around him, as a defined point began to form before my eyes. My brain recognized the shape as one of a spear, but I didn't understand why.

I'm told this is what happens when you're in shock: your brain can recognize things but nothing really makes sense.

The knife disappeared as quickly as it came, and he tossed the spear upright between his hands, testing its weight, its balance. I watched as his muscles twitched, his general lack of clothing on his upper body were to thank. And just as the reality of my surroundings began to settle in, he screamed out in a mixture of anger and pain, and I watched as wings began to erupt from the blades of his shoulders. The skin broke as they emerged from within, reopening old scars I hadn't noticed before, and blood spurted out, sprinkling my cheeks. I was sure it would have felt warmer than I expected, except I was even more sure the heat in the room was suffocating me. I didn't even notice I was holding my breath until I started to feel light headed and a tightness in my chest. I stared as he stretched his shoulders out, wings now at full span, blood slowly trickling down his back. He turned slowly, eventually facing me, a grave expression clouding his features. He reached forward, cupping my left cheek with his oversized hand. I stared wordless up at him. My ears started ringing, and I watched as his lips moved but I heard none of what he was saying. I focused on his lips as they formed shapes and tried to will the words but the buzzing in my ears was too great. He leaned forward, pressed his lips to my forehead. I could feel his breath as he whispered something, then he took a few steps back.

His wings began beating against the air, stirring up the dust covering the ground, and he slowly rose before me. Even though I couldn't hear what he said, I felt sure I knew as I looked into his eyes. For a moment he hung there, suspended in the air before twirling around and shooting off into the dusky sky above. A slight chill quickly settled in and the ringing in my ears subsided. I continued staring up into the sky, squinting for any sight of where he flew off to. I hardly noticed someone had grabbed my hand until I was ripped away from where I was standing, my legs carrying me to wherever I was being taken.

Labels: dream journal, fiction junction

First position. A pause.

Second position. A quiet shuffle.

Third position. A sharp intake of air.

Fourth position. Slightly parted lips.

Fifth position. A sigh escaping.

Ever since she lost her virginity, Lidiya could only climax if she thought about the five positions of ballet. Classically trained since the time she could stand upright, her mother had hopes of her being prima ballerina in a Tchaikovsky creation. And through bloody toes and tears, Lidiya worked hard to make her mother's dream a reality.

Her childhood was not an easy one, between school, ballet, and a mother forced to work multiple jobs in order to pay for lessons. Lidiya was home alone most of her life. Ballet was the only constant presence in her life. As a young girl, she wanted badly to please her mother, to wear the pink tutu and laced up pointe shoes. As a teenager, she tried to rebel, but no one was ever home to notice. Her ballet instructor did, however, and the thought of disappointing her was too great so she poured herself even further into dancing.

In high school, Lidiya was no longer among her peers, but rather attended a national school for dance. A rigorous program, they had students practicing in the studio upward of four hours a day, not including the cardio routines they were expected to maintain. Between eating disorders and sleepless nights of perfecting her pirouette or grand jeté, Lidiya would soon find solace in two things: alcohol, and sex. She had been recruited by a dance company by the time she finished school, and she often joined her peers for drinks after practices and performances. Familiar faces from her company would often swirl together those nights, as everyone shared cigarettes and drinks in nondescript cups. In those early days, her small frame lent itself to a low tolerance for alcohol...and an inversely proportional sex drive.

Lidiya took comfort in the one night stands with the knowledge that, if even for a few hours, someone noticed her. Someone wanted to hold her, to feel her. Yet despite the attention from her male peers, she couldn't escape from the grasp ballet had over her life. It started as a release through self-pleasure: she'd touch the soles of her feet together as she caressed herself, eventually making her way between her legs. There was the familiar feeling, of warmth and of pleasure, one she could uniquely bring to herself. And in her mind she'd imagine the five basic positions - the foundation for all movements required in ballet, and in her life.

Her mother passed away one day without much fanfare - Lidiya was touring with her company when the stage manager broke the news. She hardly flinched, though somewhere deep inside she knew she was supposed to feel some sadness. It was that night Lidiya gave the best performance of her life.

At least, that's what the card read, accompanied by flowers in a crystal vase that was waiting for her in her changing room. The card also had the name of a restaurant written on it with a time, and the letter V just below. Lidiya flipped the card between her fingers.

"No name?" she thought, studying the sharp lines of every letter. She didn't recognize the handwriting from any previous secret admirers, few, though persistent they might be. Intrigued, and having the desire to not be alone just yet, she changed into her streets clothes, pocketed the card, and hailed a cab back to her hotel room where she could shower before heading out to the restaurant.

The restaurant was dimly lit, and a low hum carried the many voices of the patrons to Lidiya's ears. Despite trying to pick appropriate attire, she still felt underdressed. She was nervous, but felt a twinge of excitement. As she approached the host's stand, she suddenly released she had no idea what to do or say. A young man stood at the other side of a podium, with finely groomed features, wearing a black suit. Lidiya could feel his eyes as he looked her up and down, an expression on his face she could only describe as indignation.

"Do you have a reservation?" he asked, almost accusatory. Like he knew she didn't belong there. Lidiya opened the small purse she brought with her, and pulled out the card. She handed the card to the host, and she could hear as he sucked the air through his teeth, a small tut as he read the card. He looked up at her, first in disbelief, then he turned the card over. His face paled immediately, and this time when he looked at her, she could feel the fear as if he committed some faux pas.

"R-right this way."

He briskly walked towards the back of the restaurant, weaving between booths and servers carrying trays containing all sorts of culinary delights. Lidiya scarcely could keep up with him. They soon approached a booth tucked away, she would not have known it was there had the host not led her. He muttered some pleasantry as he quickly left her to make his way back to the front. She finally looked at who awaited her in this hidden retreat.

An older man, though not as old as she had expected, with finely chiseled features, pouring two glasses of what looked like champagne.

In her experience with "adoring fans'', most were men in their early fifties, working through mid-life crises, with wives and children waiting back home. The distinct lack of wrinkles was the first thing she noticed. The lack of a wedding band, the second. The man looked up at Lidiya, and even in the low light, she was struck by his blue eyes. He smiled as he stood from his seat.

"Will you join me for dinner?"

Labels: fiction junction, Viktor's Girls

5:42 A.M.

Yuliya squinted at the sideways green numbers, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes once more.

5:55 A.M.

Only thirteen minutes have passed? Yuliya thought, as she lay in her bed. It was still dark out, and she hadn't slept a wink. The digital clock on her bedside table taunting her.

Today was the day Viktor promised to bring her to see Marta. Despite her lack of sleep, she was anxious. Excited. She turned on her back and stared at the ceiling above. Visions of seeing Marta and her father played in her mind. Oh, how she longed to see them. But what would they think of Viktor? What would her father think...? The happy visions dissolved away as the uncertainty slowly creeped in.

Why worry about something that hasn't happened yet...?

She pushed all thoughts of the impending meeting out of her mind. She slowly sat up, and glanced at the bed across the room. Galine's small form, made bulky under layers of covers, lay nearly motionless. The rhythmic rise and fall of the covers reassured Yuliya that she hadn't disturbed her younger roommate.

At least one of us is sleeping...

Yuliya gingerly swung her legs over her bed, and lightly set one foot on the floor, followed by the other. She grabbed her bath robe she kept draped over her closet door, and wrapped herself in it as she quietly left the room. The faint scent of freshly brewed coffee made its way down the hallway, and Yuliya let it guide her to the kitchen. As she neared it, she could hear whispers of conversation.

Yuliya stopped shy of the entryway, and watched as three of the house servants engaged in light conversation, and sipping some of the fresh coffee she sought out, no doubt brewed by one of them. She felt like she an intruder, witnessing the nonchalant behavior of the three men before her. She watched as they laughed at some joke she must have missed, and just as she was about to announce herself, one of them caught her eye.

"Oh!" One of them exclaimed, suddenly straightening up. The other two men became startled at the outburst, setting off a chain reaction of events. Coffee splashed out from one of their mugs, burning the hand holding it. A small shriek of pain escaped the lips of the unfortunate man, who instinctively let go of the mug. In a blink, the mug hit the stone kitchen floor. The shatter echoed in Yuliya's ears, as the three men simultaneously fussed at one another, and moving at once to clean the mess. Yuliya was embarrassed to be the source of the mishap, and she wondered if she should retreat back to her room. As she went to step back, she was interrupted by one of the men.

"Miss...?" he started, a hint of annoyance as he spoke.

"Yuliya," she replied, stopping in her tracks.

"Can I get something for you? You shouldn't step in the kitchen while there's still broken shards on the ground."

Yuliya felt like he wanted to blame her but refrained from doing so, whether out of obedience to Viktor or some other reason she couldn't name. She took a quick glance at each of the three men, one who set to cleaning, one running his hand under water in the faucet, then back to the one addressing her.

"I couldn't sleep... so I got up and could smell the coffee from the hall..." her words started spilling out, voice trailing off at the end. She was now painfully aware of her position, and the fact she was only wearing a bathrobe. A slight flush began to creep up on her cheeks.

"I'm sorry for startling you all."

"He'll live," the man spoke as he jerked his head back towards the man at the sink. "Nothing really surprises us anymore, so I suppose it's a nice reminder that there still remains things to be unexpected. I'll get you a cup."

As he turned around and stepped away from her, Yuliya wrapped the bathrobe a little tighter, to prevent any other potential mishaps. Hardly a minute passed and the floor was clean once again, and she only just noticed the water wasn't running anymore. The other two men had actually completely disappeared from the kitchen, and Yuliya wondered where they might have went.

"Here." A mug filled with coffee was presented to Yuliya from the remaining servant. She carefully grabbed the cup, and took a sip.

"Thank you...?" Yuliya started, realizing she didn't know what to call him.

"Luca." Yuliya nodded and gave him a soft smile. Over the years, many staff came and went, but few had she learned their names. She didn't really know why that was... some of the more tenured staff knew her name. Shouldn't she extend the same courtesy? They all shared one thing in common: life in this strange estate. Though, she knew there was a separate wing entirely for the servants, and wasn't actually sure just how many people kept the house.

"If there's nothing else, we should really get started on breakfast. Wouldn't want to keep someone waiting." Luca stated, and without waiting for a response from Yuliya, he turned around a disappeared from the kitchen.

Thanks for the coffee... she thought, as she walked back down the hallway. She passed her door, still closed, and made her way into the living area. It was Yuliya's turn to be startled, as she hadn't expected to see a figure wrapped in a blanket sitting on one of the couches.

"Morning.." Galine called out mid yawn.

"You're up early too?" Yuliya joined Galine on the couch, and Galine offered her some of the blanket. Yuliya pulled the blanket behind her shoulders, and tucked her legs under her as she sat down. Galine stretched out across the rest of the couch, and laid her head in Yuliya's lap. She looked up with sleepy eyes.

"I was dreaming about eating a large sundae....but as I went to take a bite, the bowl slipped from under me and fell on the ground, shattering into a million tiny pieces, and I jumped awake. The sound seemed so real.."

"Oh is that so...?" Yuliya asked, not alluding to the fact she knew what exactly it was Galine heard. She continued to sip at her coffee. She leaned back, looking up once again at the ceiling.

"Why are you up so early? Are you nervous about today?" Galine asked, stiffling another yawn. Yuliya looked down at the girl laying in her lap, and for a moment she swore she saw Marta staring back at her. She set the coffee cup down on the small end table, and rubbed both her eyes. Galine blinked at Yuliya, and tilted her head slightly.

"Maybe a little bit..." Yuliya admitted, "It's been a while since I've seen my sister. Or my father."

"Hm..." Galine pondered aloud. "If there's one thing I know.... your sister is lucky to have you always thinking of her. I know I feel very lucky that you're here, with me. I always wanted an older sister to watch after me.... and at least I have you."

Yuliya's eyes started to water hearing Galine's confession. Marta was probably around the same age as her. Maybe in a different life they would have been best friends? Maybe in a different life she wouldn't have had to leave her younger sister behind to fend for herself.... but she had to do the best she could for her. It took Yuliya years to forgive her father for leaving, and now she wondered if Marta could ever do the same for her.

Yuliya smiled and leaned forward just to enough to plant a light kiss on Galine's forehead.

"You're too sweet. Let's go get dressed before anyone else comes out here and takes the good seats at the table for breakfast, hm?"

At the mention of food, Galine sprung up from the couch with energy Yuliya didn't know anyone could muster this early. She draped the blanket over the arm holding the coffee, and made her way back to their room, wondering how she would mentally prepare for the day.

Labels: fiction junction, Viktor's Girls

The ambulance flew down the street, siren announcing its presence to the public. The driver called over the radio a status report. Aleksandra stared out the passenger window, forehead pressed against it. The streets blurred by. The words spoken were garbled. Time was moving in slow motion.

It would continue to do so for the next few weeks.

Aneurysm. It happened so suddenly. Painlessly. Nothing to be done.

Labels: fiction junction, Viktor's Girls

 As I was working yesterday, I happened upon an idea..... a Christmas tree made of homemade ornaments! And because I have an excess of floss for cross-stitching.....

My M.O. is to start a kind of project/craft/hobby and...never...see them through... or do one or two small things and that's it. I've got loads of materials left. But not this time! I don't want a six foot tree, just something cute and small. We've got two cats and if they're going to knock over a tree I don't want it to be: really tall, or filled with fragile ornaments. This one is going to have a little Santa holding a sign that says Merry Welcome! To continue with this idea, I'll probably complete a few Christmas/Santa themed ornaments, and then perhaps ornaments with designs that are significant for Alex and myself!

Ideas for personalized ornaments:

• cats 
• guitar
• computer
• pizza
• sushi
• glasses
• concert tickets
• train
• fourth of july/fireworks
• beer can (generic ipa)
• more???

 Good afternoon!

I'm mostly taking notes for myself, in case I misplace the notebook I started writing in....

blog sections:

• fiction junction (for short stories)
• lifestyle (need to come up with a better name; but posts as the name implies)
• gastronomique (food & drink posts)
• audiologue (music posts)
• other?

It's been two years! And honestly, activity probably won't pick back up on here until the beginning of the new year....

But I just wanted to make a quick post saying I'll be reviving this blog! The first thing I want to point out is I've gone ahead and secured my custom domain name. There's so much content on this blog, a little over 13 years to be precise! And I'm not the most technologically adapted person, so rather than try to figure out how to migrate all of this content elsewhere, I just went ahead and purchased the domain name because, again, 13 years.

I'm probably going to spend some time fine tuning how I want my page to look, phasing out the old photos in the sidebar with photos I own, and some stylistic changes.... I also want to play around with the tools offered to me through Google Domains...

I know 2020 has been a rollercoaster of a year, and honestly, I don't think Mr. Bones is ready to let us off this ride.

The letter is stamped with [return to sender].

Avery Orson Schei,
You were born June 2nd, 2018, at 3pm.

From the moment you were born, you were a heart breaker.

You weighed 4 lbs and 10 ounces at the time the emergency c-section was performed. Due to unforeseeable complications, you passed silently sometime during the night, and in the morning, mom could tell something wasn't right.

At the hospital, mom gave birth to you, and your sister, Elliott Parker, who weighed 4 lbs and 7 ounces. Your sister held your hand as she stuck her tongue out at the camera taking pictures.

When your mother held you for the first time, she knew the love she felt for the last 33 weeks was real. The hopes and dreams your parents had for you may never be realized, you won't get to grow up like other children will, like your sister will.

But you will never have to face the hardships of this world. You will never have to experience disappointment, or sadness. And you will never cause your parents any disappointment or sadness.

You were born, still. A perfect, innocent heart forever.

This letter is addressed to Dianna and Jacob.

What set of plans have ever called for the loss a child, before they even have a chance to begin?
What better place is there for a child, than in his mother's arms?
What good is "there's still more time" when time has stopped for this one?
What love you had for one cannot be simply replaced by another.
Avery will forever hold a place in your hearts-- one that can never be filled by anything else but the love you have felt for him, and may continue to feel.

Your grief will come in waves expected and unexpected. You have each other, and everyone here, to stand by your side, and break the waves through it all.

This letter is addressed to Liam.

You were, and always will be, Mommy's little boy. Her firstborn son that filled her with a light only parenthood could shine upon her. You are your father's smile and kindness. Some days, mom might hug you just a little bit tighter and you won't understand why, but you'll squirm or hug her just as tightly and go back to playing. You may not have the little brother you hoped for, along with a sister, but you can still be the big brother you wanted to be, for Elliott.

This letter is addressed to Elliott.

There might be some days where you can't explain why you don't feel 100% whole. It's okay because you can carry the memory of your brother with you, always. You weren't identical twins, but you shared the womb with your brother, and that is your special bond.

Maybe there will be days where Mom or Dad looks at you, and in your eyes they also see Avery's. They don't love you any less; they might keep you closer to the heart, taking extra precautions along the way, because the loss has made them wary to the world.

This letter is addressed to Mimi and Pawpaw Erik.

The loss of a child is unimaginable. To watch as your own daughter goes through the unimaginable is even harder. You hope and wish and pray that everything goes just the way it's supposed to.

But then it doesn't.

And in that moment, she is no longer the strong woman who has raised her son for the last five years, no longer the wife of a husband who she supports faithfully. She is your little girl. Your first daughter, and you cannot take her hurt away. You can't kiss the spot where it hurts the most, put a band-aid on it, wipe her tears away.

But you can teach her that it's possible to go on. That you can continue to live and love, even in the face of something as insurmountable as this. Because you have your own strength from experiences to give and do what all mothers must do at some point-- sacrifice a part of yourself for your children.



[originally written 02.03.07]
[minor edits have been made]


My fingers caressed the ivory keys. From above, the crystal chandelier caught billions of streams of light. And as the light waves bent in the many prisms, spots of multi-colored light were cast on the bare walls. This room was my room, a lonely little piece hidden away in the expanse of this house. The chandelier was the only friend of my grand piano.

There were no chairs save for the piano seat. There were no paintings hung on the wall, no exquisite vases to give the room a flavor. Often times, I came in here not to be alone, but to be loved.

Pressing all the right keys meant that the piano would sing for me a glorious tune. Pulling back the curtains meant I fed the chandelier and in turn, the chandelier told me a story full of color, full of life. As a child, I had no patience for such things. I never thought being alone could be satisfying. I always tried to get the attention of those around me, and sometimes it would work. When people wouldn't listen, I would go outside to tell the flowers about the adventures of my day. But too soon would the flowers die, and I would soon accept the concept of being alone.

Labels: fiction junction, The Vault

Can I ask for my love to wait?

For a second to catch my breath.
For a moment to bide my time.
For a minute to gather my thoughts.
For an hour to write them down.
For a day to practice what I'll say.

Can I ask for you to wait?

For a second to hear me out?
For a moment to just sit down?
For a minute to listen to me say,
"For an hour together, I'll smile with you."
"For a day together, I'll feel love's weight."

Labels: fiction junction

Walking down the hallway, she advanced slowly, like moving through a space filled with agarose gel. Her limbs felt heavy, reluctant to continue forward despite her efforts. The dim glow of the lights from above guided her forward on this path, no visible doorways except for one at the very end of the hall. She knew that if she could make it there, the payoff would be rewarding. The silver bar across the door seemed to shine particularly bright, and as she drew near it was almost blinding. Upon reaching this only exit, she placed her left hand carefully on the bar, and with relative ease, she pushed it open.

Stumbling forward, the world no longer felt like a thick suspension, but rather light, and airless. Where she found herself was not outside, as she originally hoped, but in a square room, with no windows or other doors. She stepped in cautiously and the door closed behind her. She turned quickly as the door clicked shut. As she reached for the handle, it disappeared beneath her grasp, as did the door itself. She felt the wall, seamless where a frame once was. She turned back to face the empty vastness of the room.

A couple of steps forward, and she noticed a small thimble on the ground. She bent down to observe it. Rather than a dimpled, rounded ended, she found a sharp point. Taking the thimble in her hand, she placed it over her right index finger. A light glimmered off its pointed tip, yet there was no visible source for said light. Drawn to its gleam, she firmly pressed the point into the palm of her left hand. Blood quickly rose to the surface, and began pooling in her palm. Tilting slightly, the blood began to drop off the side of her hand. As the drops disconnected from  the surface of her skin, they drifted slowly to the ground, transforming into petals in their descent.

She inhaled deeply, and lightly blew at the small pile of petals that gathered by her feet. They scattered about, flipping and twisting in wind of her breath. She reached for an errant petal, and as she made contact, the petal dissolved into a red fluid on her fingers. She brought the red stained digits to her lips, and licked at them cautiously. Strangely cold, yet the familiar taste of copper soothed her. She moved to gather the remaining petals, each turning back into blood at her touch. Soon her hands were covered with more red than she recalled losing, and the room started to grow dark. The floor beneath her feet became unstable, and she recalled the feeling of being in an earthquake. Unable to regain her bearings, she closed her eyes. Upon feeling a sharp tightness in her chest, she reopened her eyes, and was met with a darkness. As she laid in her bedroom, covers drawn close to her face, the ceiling fan hummed softly above.

Labels: fiction junction

I've been having these thoughts weigh on my mind and I wasn't too certain how I should get them out... Everytime I dwell on them, I feel an emptiness, one unlike any I've experienced.

Pardon me while I speak a little overdramatically, but it feels like something akin to someone dying. Slowly fading out of existence, never hearing their voice or seeing them again. You could talk to them but there's no response. And without saying goodbye, there's this thin layer of dirt covering a deep wound left in the ground.

A void, if you will.

Without this closure I'm starting to doubt the validity of the experience. I can't say all of this because I hardly knew you. So let me indulge myself as I write these words.

It's my secret pity party, because let's be real: no one's reading this, except for maybe one person.

/////

In less than two months one of my best friends will be moving a few states over. I'm fairly terrified because she's one of the first new friends I made whenever I moved out here. It only took three years. And she's been such an integral part of my life for the last six years. I'm so incredibly happy for her, she discounts herself all the time, so sometimes I wish she'd look in the mirror and recognize that everything she has accomplished is so amazing and wonderful and 100% her own doing. Without her, my life seriously be entirely different right now. I wouldn't have an associate's degree, I wouldn't be working on my Bachelor's degree, I simply would not be the person I am today had she not become a part of my life. I'm going to cry when she leaves. I know this goodbye will not be forever--- our friendship is such an incredibly strong bond.

Sorry for rambling so much.

I've been working on some new material for some old material. I can't get Viktor's Girls out of my head, so I've been working on some artwork in order to spark some new life into the project and I intend on writing more for it. Their stories are not finished-- and I'm looking forward to the journey they take me on (and yes, I'm speaking as if the girls are real)!

Writing this is a little bit harder than usually because some of the fingers on my right hand are bruised, my index, middle, and ring. And also the tips are cold to the touch, I am wearing a long sleeved shirt. And in the cold of the room, the night wrapped around us, the ceiling fan humming, and no blankets to keep us warm, except for your hand. Through a strained voice I told you...all the things I kept locked away, except for when I sifted through them, finding happier times, but now they are all laced with the bad thoughts from the now. And then you shared with me. Our stories were...almost the same. I think that's what made you sad and happy the most, because you found that you were not alone after all.

[Welcome to The Vault. I'll occasionally tag posts with this label to denote drafts that were originally written some time ago but never published. I won't be editing these posts beyond minor proofreading because I'd like to maintain the integrity of the original content. It's likely I won't recall exactly why I wrote something. I know of the date however I can't simply push forward the post from draft to published because it will place it at the date it was originally written, and no one would know I've published "new" content. I hope you enjoy.]

Labels: The Vault

Hello all!

Please pay no mind to this post, it's for an English assignment!

Thanks and have a great day!

Somehow these managed to go unposted....

...and by somehow, I mean I never finished them (big surprise). I wish I could find the source material.

Forever lost in the depths of etsy.

[There is more. I just haven't finished typing it up yet. It's also very likely I'm going to rewrite portions of this. I've also contemplated rearranging the order of what I've written so far. Enjoy.]



It was a warm morning. Aleksandra felt conflicted about whether or not she should prop the shop door open as she watched people constantly pass by through the front window. With elbows propped up on the counter, she imagined stories for each person passing by. How she longed to be outside. The bell attached to the door frame jingled, starting Aleks out of her day dream. She straightened herself and brushed nothing off the apron she was wearing.

"Day dreaming again?" a man asked.

Aleksandra smiled.

"Only because it looks so wonderful out there..." she spoke, letting the last word trail off.

"I thought you enjoyed working with me in the shop?" the man asked with a grin. Aleksandra's father, Ruslan, maintained a flower shop as the family's main source of income. His upbringing was an extremely modest one, and quick to teach his daughter the same principles, as soon as Aleksandra had finished with her schooling, he insisted she work in the shop with him.

"I remember as a young girl, you used to go around with the watering can, feeding the plants. When it was full, you had to use both hands to carry it. And that's if you managed to keep all the water from splashing out!" he reminisced.

"Dad..." Aleksandra started.

"Oh I know... look at you now. You've grown into a beautiful woman. I guess it doesn't do you any good keeping you inside on a day like this..."

"Really?!" And before her father could speak another word, she ripped off her apron, making her way out the door. But not before pecking her father on the cheek.

"Love you!" She exclaimed, and the bell jingled her departure.

Aleksandra immediately squinted as the bright sun glared in her eyes. She placed her hand against her forehead, and took a good look around.

"Where should I go first?" she thought.

She walked around aimlessly for a bit, then decided to visit the open air market. She always enjoyed browsing the myriad of trinkets and foods to be found there. Fresh fruits and vegetables. Fish heads staring up with their dull eyes. Meats hanging from hooks and baked breads scented the air. Matryoshka dolls and lacquer boxes, painted with familiar scenes from childhood fairy tales. The market was packed. Summer time meant lots of visitors from all over the world. Aleksandra did her best to keep to herself as the hawk like merchants and shopkeepers targeted the foreigners, charging easily double or triple their usual rates. Aleks shook her head at this. She knew her father would disapprove. He was an honest man, through and through.

«Excuse me! What is this? Can you tell me how much it is?»

An older gentleman interrupted Aleksandra's thoughts, pressing a toy in her face and shooting off questions in rapid succession.

«Are you paying attention?! I asked you, how much is this?!»

Aleksandra stared at the man, attempting to the understand the words that escaped his mouth. She vaguely recognized some of the words as English, but what little she learned in school was long forgotten. The man stared expectantly at her. She felt herself getting flush with embarrassment, and looked around. No one responsible for the goods was nearby.

«не говорю по -английски» she blurted out, then pushed past the man before he could say anything else.

She suddenly realized just how crowded the market was. People pushing past one another. Merchant owners shouting out. Children running around. Aleks felt the world spinning around her. She kept running through the crowd, trying to find a way out. She could see a small gap in the crowd, a beam of sunlight illuminating her exit. Just as she was about to make her way out, a couple suddenly stepped in her path, and she ran straight into them.

"Oof!" She exclaimed, as she stumbled backwards.

"Watch where you're going!" The woman exclaimed. She stared at Aleksandra incredulously. As Aleks tried to regain her bearings, she took a good look at the woman. She was tall. Possibly the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen, despite the look of annoyance mixed with disgust in her face. Aleksandra felt her ears burning.

"Now now..." the man started. The bass of his voice was calming. It was then she took a look at the man she ran into. He, too, was incredibly handsome. Blue eyes that pierced like crystal daggers.

"I'm sorry..." Aleksandra mumbled, now finding herself unable to face the man.

"No. Excuse us," the man replied. He stepped aside, pulling the surly woman with him, and with a grand gesture of his free hand, motioned for Aleks to moved past them. Aleksandra nodded her understanding, and hurried along. She refrained from looking back at the couple, as she made her way towards a cafe where she could retreat from the crowd. She ordered two drinks- one for herself, as well as tea for her father.

Too much excitement, she though, as she made her way back to the shop. As if in response, an ambulance rushed by on the street. Aleksandra sipped from her cup, the hot coffee seemingly melting away all her worries. Her father never drank coffee, but it didn't stop him from keeping a pot from brewing at the shop. The regulars appreciated the small gesture, taking a cup as they admired the colorful vegetation.

Aleksandra hardly noticed the sound of the siren growing louder as she neared the shop.

She turned the street corner, and the flashing lights danced off the walls of the shop. The familiar bell on the door jingled incessantly as emergency responders rushed in the shop, and escorted out any customers.

Aleksandra felt the world spinning once again. She stood transfixed as she watched the medics bring in an empty stretcher, and then exit with a man fastened in. She moved forward as the reality of the situation dawned on her. Dad..?

A batty woman stood nearby, watching the scene unfold. Aleks recognized her, coming in nearly every week with the same order.

"Oh Aleksandra!" the woman exclaimed. "Where were you? I was just stopping by to..." The woman's words fell deaf on her ears. She felt the blood pumping in her ears, drowning out the world.

"What happened to father?" She asked bluntly.

"Oh, my dear. One moment I'm debating on which color would best accent my kitchen, and before I know it, your father collapsed on the ground! I used the shop's phone to ring an ambulance."

Collapsed? Why?

For as long as she could remember, her father was as healthy as could be. The slam of the ambulance door startled Aleksandra. She dismissed herself of the old woman and approached one of the medics.

"What happened?"

"We're not quite sure yet, but we don't have much time. Who are you?" The young medic asked.

"I'm his daughter!" she could barely keep herself from screaming.

"You better come with us. He's unconscious, and barely breathing."

Labels: fiction junction, Viktor's Girls

No regular post today, I spent my lunch typing up part eleven to my story!

Sorry 'bout it!

 




My last day of working here will be July 31st.

I'll be sad to go but I'll be so happy to be back in Lafayette!

I've been offered summer work here, so I know that I am welcome back, and that's great news. <3 p="">

Viktor's Girls




The link above is the notebook I've created on Evernote for my inspiration for my story, tentatively titled Viktor's Girls. I started writing this in 2009, and stopped writing for it mid 2010. This is my attempt to strike up some creative fuel in order to continue writing this story, and hopefully finish it within the next year or two.

It's no master piece, and I'm certainly not a critically acclaimed author, but this is a very fun storyline that I enjoyed writing. I don't know where I got the inspiration for it initially....but I would love to see it completed.

In the meantime, if you've never read it, or need to be refreshed (I know I do...) here are the links to the entries. There are 10 total:

Love hurts. Part 1.

Anna Molly. Part 2.

Wait, there is a light. Part 3.

Panic Switch. Part 4.

Thomas Bailey Aldrich. Part 5.

Perhaps a stranger she could love. Part 6.

But I can try for your heart. Part 7.

I am dying. Do you hear me? Part 8.

I knew a woman. Part 9.

Two in the campagna. Part 10.

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

Labels: lunch box ramblings

Sorry everyone! I missed posting lunch box ramblings for the last TWO days. ):



BUT:

There will be one today! (yay!)

AND

I'm working with a friend to look at illustrating a story of mine! (it's for Viktor's Girls, if you must know...)

I'm really looking forward to what comes from it! <3 p="">




Sunlight breaks through the clouds!

She stretches out, back arching, fingertips reaching.

Like a blanket, the sun warms her skin.



I'm super glad the sun decided to make an appearance today, especially as the work week comes to an end. We work half days on Friday (7am-11:30am), there won't be a lunch box rambling, but don't fret! A regularly unscheduled post will be sure to happen.


You know, I mostly write shorts involving one or multiple people, but I never give them names. Do you feel like it is harder to connect to the characters because of this? Or do you find it easier to submerse yourself in the story telling itself, allowing you to create your own vision of the characters?

It's a potentially bad habit I've had since I started writing. It's easier for me to write of I don't name them, but then the multitude of HEs & SHEs sometimes feel monotonous....and maybe a bit confusing.

Until next week!

Labels: lunch box ramblings

Feeling pretty sick.

No real entry today. Sorry. Tomorrow is another day.

Labels: lunch box ramblings

The scrape of flint against metal.

The blue-orange flames dancing in the breeze.

A cigarette dangling between lips.

Rubber tires spinning on asphalt.

Fluorescent bulbs dimming out, then bursting back to light.

The still surface of the water, reflecting back porch light.

A nighttime scene.

Din and roar.

Mind alive, racing with thoughts.

She sits alone on a balcony.

Inhale. Puff. Exhale. Smoke.

Keys jingling, a lock clicks, door opens, shuts again. Click.

There are no words spoken. Only the symphony of the night, playing its song.

Can you hear it? Close your eyes.

You're alone again. The sole member of the audience. Conduct the scene with your mind.

How will it play out?

Pen scribbling words in a memo pad.

This can be your story. How will it play out?

She brushes her hair. A different blush applies foundation. Which lipstick will she wear tonight?

A matte red sets the mood. Liquid black eyeliner sets the view.

Will she find love? Or a fleeting night of passion?

Alone at the bar, but not alone in the room. She catches his eye. He offers a smile. And a drink. She accepts, and invites conversation.

Companionship.

A moment.

He sets money on the counter, then takes her hand.

She took a cab, but he brought his car. A silent ride.

Lights blur as they drive on. The night blurs as they carry on.

Clothes fall off. Lips press on. Skin blending with skin.

A touch. A moan.

Sweat drips down his forehead. A sigh escapes her lips. They fall asleep, tangled in each other's lives.

Dawn breaks. Light spills through a window. She makes her escape, but not before leaving her trace. A phone number written on an old receipt, placed on the empty pillow her head once lay.

She takes another cab, bringing her back home. The familiar landscape of her home, welcoming her back to her solitary life.

Labels: fiction junction

Look. I know what I said about making my own lunches.

But, I just didn't feel like physically eating something today. So I'm just going to drink my lunch.

Unfortunately it looks like rain is on the menu for most of this week. Sitting in the sun was like a warm hug, and for some reason it felt inspiring to me. Hopefully it'll be sunny next week.

I watched the space day Snapchat, featuring astronaut Tim Kopra. He introduces himself, and the next two snaps were short clips of his view of the earth. Like most people, I've seen photographs of Earth from outer space, and it looks cool enough, but for some reason watching Kopra's clip, I got a much better sense of the magnitude of our planet. I felt a tightness in the chest, a true moment of awe.

Of course, the planet is huge, but most human beings will never truly get to feel that kind of perspective that Kopra appreciates on a daily basis. I have to admit, it made me feel sad. That will be something I'll likely never get to experience. If I kept a bucket list, I would certainly add "see Earth from the ISS" as one of those items. Then again, what would be the point of adding something to a bucket list you could never accomplish? You could say, "Well, Rachel, you'll just need to do what it takes to make your dream a reality."

And you might be right.

I was going to add something here along the lines of, "In other news...." however, I don't think I have anything else to say! Hope you enjoyed your lunch break (for those of you working a standard work day).

Until next time!

Labels: lunch box ramblings

Originally, my plan was to take my lunch outside at the park, as I started doing last week, however it's been a mostly overcast day, so I decided to stay in the office.

It's Monday, so here we are starting the work week over again. My day usually goes something like this:

7:00am (or earlier): arrive at work
Noon (or slightly later): lunch time!
1:00pm: back to work
5:00pm (or later): leave work

We're allowed to work as much overtime as we want, however I'm not allowed to be at the office by myself, and my status being less than a year in this position, I'm not completely self-sufficient to work OT a lot, but I still manage to get some overtime here and there.

What do I do? Oh, right. I haven't been here in over a year. Well, let me tell you!

I am a drafter for the surveying department of the engineering firm I work at. I make maps, basically. I really enjoy the work, and sometimes I get to go out into the field as well!

(On the left, below the concrete ledge, you can see the ~40in. pipe I crawled through to make it to the curb inlet you see on the right. It was about 7 feet down.)

Labels: lunch box ramblings

I am excited to announce a new....project? If you will. Monday-Thursday, and posted no later than 1pm..... I present to you...


Lunch box ramblings! -cue fanfare-

I've been going to a nearby park for lunch this last week, and all I do outside is eat my lunch and play Drop7 on my phone. So I figured: why don't I write while I'm outside?

At first, I was going to call it lunch time ramblings, but my 1pm posting time is after most people's lunch break, but if I call it lunch box ramblings, then I can share what is in my lunch box (so to speak...) And then just, whatever I've written while sitting outside. It might be a short (short) story, or just some thoughts of mine. I'm hoping to get two things out of it: I practice writing more, and I make myself more accountable for bringing lunch to work instead of buying it ($5 a day for lunch can add up...)

So there you have it folks! I hope you find this venture entertaining, interesting, thought provoking..... All of that jazz. I'll be starting Monday, May 16th, so I'll see you then!

It's not unlike me to be sitting in the dark, mentally alone yet physically in the presence of others. It makes me wonder why I'm still awake when the rest of my part of the world is quietly sleeping.

Why am I alone?

Will I stay this way forever?

It is secretly the thing I am truly afraid of, more than anything in (this) the world. I used to be afraid that my dad would not live long enough to see me get married. Now I'm just afraid I'll never find someone that loves me enough to marry me. Afraid I'll never find someone that loves me.

I realize that it's really important that I love myself first before I should worry about loving someone else or them loving me. But really... I'm so dependent on this feeling it really makes me hurt whenever I think about it.

There are so many more important things I should be worried about right now (like sleeping because I have an interview in the morning...) but here I am...

It's been close to two years since I've told a significant other that I loved them (or had one tell me they loved me...)

Honestly I am afraid to say it anymore.

I also don't want to be the first one that says it because that scares me as much as just saying it at all now.

The last time I wanted to say it, it ended up being only one sided. The time before that, "we" said it..and it was fleeting...or probably just said too soon. Before that, I ended things and probably broke someone's heart, even if only for a short matter of time...

I secretly don't think he will ever say it to me. That scares me too...

Am I wasting my time?
Is he too afraid?
Does he know what love is? Do I?

I think I'm going to leave it at this. His snoring has reminded me I need to sleep, along with that 2 in the corner of my screen .. thanks for reading.

Labels: selfpost

Those night time bike rides through quiet neighborhoods.

The conscious conversations between two souls.

Life and love and future endeavors.

The hill we rushed down as we picked up speed, and the tough climb back up the other side.

The breakfast you made, the eggs and toast, the cup of tea, and the tears that ran down my face because everything seemed so perfect and yet it still wasn't right.

The music that played as we danced on the wooden deck, minds oblivious to those around us and eyes catching glances at one another, and our feet, making sure we were staying in time.

The stars that fell out of the sky as we laid in the bed of the truck on a gravel road in the middle of the night, eyes looking in every direction, and collectively gasping as they lit up across the sky.

The beautiful voice singing along to the guitar that played as we sat on that metal bench, eating gelato, and feeling our souls inexplicably in sync with theirs.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one that revisits these experiences, or is this something everyone does? Am I alone in my reminiscing or is there someone also thinking of them at the same time? There are triggers too.

Matchbox Twenty songs. Bike riding past certain streets. White cars. Silver trucks. They make me happy to remember them. For some of them, I just have to also remember to let them go....

"What about that one?"

I did my best to follow her finger pointing into the vast sky. Warm pinks and vibrant oranges painted across the sky, colors only visible at dusk from the quickly setting sun. The clouds looked like cotton candy stretched out. I told her just as much. A sleepy smile stretched across her face.

"I can almost taste it," she said with eyes closed, pretending to pick it out of the sky and eat it. Head resting in my lap, her hair felt like satin as I ran it between my fingers. We were sitting alone in a field alongside a quiet road. I watched her for a moment longer before looking into the sky again. The pinks and oranges soon made way for the deeper blues and purples. The once playful clouds were now somber patches of gray hung in the sky. Nighttime always came too soon. Seconds turned into minutes turned into hours whenever I was with her.

Crickets and the occasionally passing car made the soundtrack to the bike ride back to her place. The passing headlights would create an aura about her that was best described as heavenly. I sighed as we neared her driveway. We dismounted our bikes and said a few words about the next day's plans before saying our goodbyes. I watched as she started walking towards her door, and I noticed her slight hesitation. She put down her kickstand, and rushed back to me. She quickly muttered about forgetting something, before lightly tugging on my shirt, pulling me down towards her, and her upward, into a kiss. I felt a warmth quickly creep into my cheeks, and myself losing balance of the bike at my side, just as the kiss ended. Her cheeks were just as flushed as she looked at me just a moment longer, before retreating inside with her bike. I rode home with thoughts of warm pinks, vibrant oranges, and hair like satin between my fingers.

Labels: fiction junction

Reaching for your fingertips is a little like trying to keep sand in the palm of one of your hands. The grains spill out between my fingers. Yours brush lightly against mine, but for some reason keep falling out of reach.

Is there something wrong with my hands? I take a good look, turning them over, running my eyes along the lines that make up the relief of my palms. Skin golden from long days spent in the sun. Two week old nail polish chipping away, revealing nails grown out a little too long. A sigh escapes my slightly parted lips.

I look up and you're gone again. You never stay too long. I think I can smell you on my pillow case. Hugging it tight against my chest, I bury my nose in my pillow and inhale deeply. Your scent is faint...or maybe my mind is playing tricks on me again.

I thought I saw you the other day, riding my bike past the café where we first met, but I knew it couldn't have been you because there was some other girl hanging on that man's arm. I tried calling you but you didn't answer. I didn't see you again until the next week, and that's when you told me you'd be leaving. Head tilted, I asked where you'd be going. You gave me a sad smile and the only word that came out was "away." The word echoed in my mind as I stood to reach for your hand, but your fingers slipped out of mine as you walked away, like grains of sand, and you never looked back.

Labels: fiction junction

I think if it were even possible for me to hate someone (there's really only one person I truly dislike..)

But even if I could ever bring myself to hate you or say that I hate you...

..I am fully convinced that you wouldn't care.

I wish I could feel that way.

I wish I could just flip a fucking switch and just stop caring.

Even better, I wish I knew why I cared so much! Why the fuck do I feel this way? This really sucks.

Is it some kind of game for you? Or...maybe you don't even realize anything? I'm still a person that deserves responses.... I don't even want fucking answers...just respond like you used to...

It turns out that maybe I lied? I didn't know I still felt this way...but obviously I do...

also unrelated note, my teeth fucking hurt. not making this any better.

Just writing out a few goals that I have for the remainder of 2014! It's crazy to say that, isn't it? 2014 just got here and it's already more than half way done! Time flies by way too quickly. Time is such a relative thing...Whenever I'm at one job, two minutes feels like no time at all when I'm taking orders, making orders, and sending them out the window. At the other, two minutes takes much longer than I think while waiting for this disc to finish spinning so I can wipe the polishing compound off of it and hand it to the customer...anyways! Back to goals for the remainder of 2014. These are in no particular order as far as my list goes...some are definitely more important than others though..

Here I am again...four months later...I guess I don't really know what it is that I want...do I want it all right now? Why do I treat it that way? I'm 24 years old...I have so much time ahead of me...I just want love and happiness and someone to hold me right now....

It is a time like this where I obviously need to take a step back from myself and breathe deeply and really think about myself and what I'm doing and where I'm going....as hard as I want to be independent and say that I am..... really I don't think I am....it's like I need someone else to validate myself....that shouldn't be true..

I get so much joy and happiness from feeling wanted and cared for... but really it's not there...

I need to want myself first right? This sucks a lot.

Good thing I have plenty of stuffed toys to keep me company..

I think I am officially crazy. 2:07 and I'm alone in my room crying. Over a situation that I have created myself and I feel like I can't do anything about it..I have created a situation that is a non-situation. I know I am speaking in codes or rather words that just simply don't make any fucking sense but I know what I'm talking about and really that's the only thing that matters right now because I want to be sad and alone right now. I mean I want to just sit here and cry about it so that I won't be sad anymore, like getting something off my chest. I can pretend there are other people are here but whenever I think of them and who they might be or could be I come up empty. I don't think there is anyone I want to talk to. At least..

The thing that sucks the most about this is I only have myself to hold accountable for. You would think I would act more consciously...

Sometimes I feel like I have no one. I am looking around my room like there might be something in here to make me feel better but there are only stuffed toys and stupid fucking memories. I want to break something. I want to scream really loudly or maybe just drive somewhere that isn't here. I can't do either one of those things though because it's nighttime and people are sleeping and I have no one to scream at- and I don't have a vehicle or valid driver's license. Soon though, whenever I can drive, I would like very much to just drive somewhere very far, probably at night, park and look up at the stars and...what?

Why do I feel like I have no purpose? Why do I feel like no one gives me purpose?

Slowly...piece by piece I am ridding myself of all of the completely unnecessary things in my life. I think that's what I'll do whenever I wake up. I am making breakfast for my roommates just like I made them dinner- and then I will finish this purge I have started.

There is nothing better than typing away at this keyboard. When I'm trying to write anyways. Not that I'd be doing anything else with a keyboard....but what I really mean is, I used to really prefer to write using a pencil. A mechanical pencil. Wooden is alright... but the words can really just spill out from my fingertips. I don't really have the time to stop myself from writing my thoughts because it's so much easier and faster to type than physically write. Less time for the mental filter to block out the words I want to say. Sometimes my words get lost in this digital age...backing out before a saved page, the screen shutting off and the computer restarting, restarting, restarting. In an endless cycle, then I have to unplug the screen from the wall for the rest of the day. Whenever I plug it back in, my ears are met with the mechanical whine of a failing monitor...and soon the cycle will happen again. I'm not really sure how long my monitor will stay on before it shuts off, I just have to make sure to remember to turn my screen off rather than letting my computer go into sleep mode or it won't start back up again, and if it does then it'll black out within a few minutes of waking it up.