10/365

Friendship: Write about being friends with someone.

Thomas Klaken found himself in a terrifying situation when be befriend a girl from his school named Louisa Aerosky. Louisa was new to Rockefeller Jr. High School in Jasper, Alabama, unlike Thomas, who had been a student in the city of Jasper since he was a child. Klaken was a native born Alabamian. No one was quite sure where Louisa was from, not even the teachers fully understood where she was she transferred from because her paperwork simply stated “RUSSIA, RUSSIA.”

No one in Thomas’ school had even been to Russia and their only understanding of Russia was that communism was bad for just about everything they stood for in America; this was grounds enough for the kids to exclude her from any social gathering that happened during or after school hours. This, unfortunately for Thomas, was how he happened to meet Louisa, and how his first interaction with Louisa would be the sole event that changed his life completely.

The weather is Alabama is always quite fair and if it isn’t fair that means the weather is horrid and on this day, the weather happened to be horrid. A common occurrence in Alabama around February was what locals called “nado, weather,” or simply put, tornado weather. Thomas, like most Alabamians, had seen his fair share of tornado warnings and tornadoes; but tornadoes were completely new to Lousia.

The school day was coming to an end, and like most tornadoes, they came towards the end of a school day around 1pm. “Why couldn’t they come in the morning so I didn’t have to come to school”, thought Thomas. Thomas heard the sirens whine in the background of an otherwise normal day of school. The students stopped to listen to the echoed sound that seemed to be a layer above anything else that made a sound. It seemed almost apocalyptic, the minutes before a tornado. There was a calmness in the air and the sky looked like leafs in the fall just as they start to change colors. Every student and every teacher intently stared at the sky almost as if waiting for some sort of prophet to return from the heavens with information that could possibly help them in anyway.

It had begun. The students formally stepped out of their classrooms and into the hallways to sit down with her heads against the wall and the thickest textbook, which was always the history textbook, over their heads. Teachers yelled professionally with a slight pinch of fear in their voices for students to get into position. Students and teachers are trained to remain in this position when the fear of a tornado becomes all too real. It was always even more apparent to the students the seriousness of the tornado warning if teachers always sat down in the same position as they did. This was one of those days.

Thomas sat down and looked at his inner-ankles and noticed a bit of hair starting to grow on them. He forgot to wear socks today. Thomas thought about school and what he would do after the tornado warning had pasts and what he would do at home whenever the bell rang. Thomas understood the seriousness of the situation but he couldn’t seem to careless because of how normalized this process had become to him. However, next to Thomas was Louisa, who, according to Thomas looked terrified of the situation and felt the need to constantly look at her surroundings.

“Don’t worry about it,” Thomas said to Louisa.
“Why shouldn’t I? It’s a tornado! That thing can kill us.” Louisa spoke when a hurried voice that seemed to have nowhere to go.
“This happens all the time, like, 10 times a year in Bama.”
“Alabama sounds like hell.” Louisa replied without looking at Thomas.
“It ain’t so bad.”

Thomas looked at Louisa, who seemed in no mood to reply. It was then that the stillness emptied the air around everyone in the school for a brief second before a trickling of hail slammed against the school walls and windows. The sound of category-5 winds slugging hail against structures sounds like a swarm of locust coming to devour whatever lay in its path. The teachers and the students knew that before the tornado came hail and after the hail came the fear. Thomas felt the same fear that Louisa was filling now. Tornado warnings were just tornado warnings but hail meant a tornado was surely going to hit near you.

There was a shattering bang that seemed to come from all directions that caught everyone off guard. A few of the teachers could be heard screaming and ducking next to the children for cover. Thomas quickly looked over at Louisa who seemed stoic and unmoved by the recent progression of  events that continued to turn worse as the minutes went by. Louisa looked over at Thomas and smiled because she knew he knew what she knew, and that everything would be okay regardless of what was to come next.

What came next was the most devastating tornado in Alabama since the early 1900s. Several teachers had died and hundreds of students did too as the tornado destroyed everything in its path. Thomas and Louisa were two of the unlucky ones and perished during the horrifying weather.

 

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9/365

Animals: Choose an animal. Write about it

i rest before sleep to remain restless for the majority of the evening, so that up until dawn, i lay awake in a trance of unprovoked thought. i have come to understand and realize that as a person i am not sad, i am not depressed, i am what i allow myself to be. even as i write i begin to feel as though i am elevating upwards towards something new, a sort of enlightenment or sorts, an aufklärung. i understand who i am and why i am this way.

life is a constant struggle of understanding why we are reactionary to principles we can’t control, but if given enough thought, we can understand we are doing what we are inadvertently apart of.

i have found answers beyond what i thought capable. my minds thinks freely and more abstract, i am more human because what makes me human is what i don’t understand about myself. i understand all this now. my body is not and my existence is not, but me as a being that has come to understand what i am and who i am, well that is more than me.

one needs to begin to traverse the perils of self-understanding and wallow in the incomprehensible and appreciate it. we are flawed and we hate what we are, but we are just that.

so then what? we hate ourselves and forlorn? the opposite though, appreciate the very ideas that we are more than our physical self; love yourself for just that.

8/365

Dream-catcher: Write something inspired by a recent dream you had.

 

I don’t sleep. Every night, every dream, every second under the veil, I can see your face all over again; I can see each minuet detail of every facial expression you’ve ever made contorted into one hideous disfigurement of the love you used to represent to me. You come in closer towards my face and do what I can only comprehend as kiss me on the cheek. There is no sensation from it; there is no feeling like there used to be. A part of my mind seems to remember this feeling, like a wind chime remembers a tune after each breeze of wind, but it doesn’t stick onto the conscious level and in the end, only a distant hum can be heard from the wind hitting the chimes.

I miss you. I know that is what my dream is telling me. There isn’t a hidden message in it. Explanation need not be Freudian because the answer is very clear and right there. I miss you. During the day, aside from daydreams that carry me on a treadmill placed in a pit of mud, I can ignore it and just try to move on; It is only when I sleep that I truly can see your face again and here your innocent laugh. Love is the painful process that has recycled my brain into nothing. To cry that it is unfair is clique, but to say that it isn’t is ignorance.

Every sentence she spoke and the words she learned to use so perfectly to form the exact statement I wished to hear, melt in my dreams. I can see the physical words, drenching the floor around me taking the walls with it, and with walls of thoughts crumbling, the viscosity of your words cling to me pulling me down further into your words; and I wonder if I suffocate here in your words, would I die in my sleep like I would in my dream. There is no help shaking them off and like seed pods stuck to wool socks, your words attach themselves to me and soon begin to sprout and root me to the floor. Every thing you’ve ever said to me bounds me to the place in my head that is killing me.

I wake up the same as I do every morning; the only thing that changes is that each day I wake up it becomes more painful than the day before. There is no gauge that is showing me how much longer I can go before the pain and the memory just become too much for me to bear. Nothing seems that real anymore to me, not even your mother. She tries her hardest everyday to be there for me but I can see even in her that she’s crushed physically; she’s a waif; a drawn up figure with nothing of value in a 3 dimensional world because of her habitual morning cocktails. We both have our methods of handling each night, but I couldn’t tell you who’s was healthier.

Every night I hope the same thing – that my dreams aren’t the last place I will see you.

 

7/365

The Rocket-ship: Write about a rocket-ship on it’s way to the moon or a distant galaxy far, far, away

The last group of Americans tersely murmured with one another. There was an overwhelming sense of dread that circulated among the crowd. Today was, what was coined by the Meteorologist, the Great Unveiling of Mankind. All precautions were done to ensure that this day would never come but it seemed that no matter what the city of Peoples did, the end was still inevitable. That is until the Doctor had a great revelation and convinced the town of what would be needed in order to curve the smoldering doom. The plan was simple and everyone, aside from a single family, was fully disposed and eager for the plan to commence. It made perfect sense for the single family to not be supportive of the Doctor’s grandiose idea.

What exactly is the plan? The father asked the 3 men standing by the door in religious garbs. What the father could assume was the leader of the 3 men explained that the Doctor believes that a sacrifice need be made to appease the intergalactic overlords. The Doctor understands the fanatical concept of this demand but, without explaining more than a schoolboy’s thought process, he said that they had simply run out of ideas. The father protested but 2 men pinned him down and the leader left to take his son.

Without fight, the boy was taken by the man. He was too young to really understand what was happening, but the sight of him seeing his father struggling built in him a tantrum-filled fight. The man did what he could to calm the boy down before he simply pulled out a garage-made handgun and shot the boy with it. A small zap of electricity came out of the gun and it stunned the boy, soothing his emotions and putting him into a catatonic state. After a few seconds of the father screaming, he too was soon shot by the stun-gun.

The boy was put into a clay pot shaped like a portly-round bottom, skinny top; he was placed at the bottom of the pot. People gathered around and chanted a pray aloud hoping this would be the final testament to their love for the Holders, as the townsfolk called them. From within the pot can be heard a feint knocking sound against the clay as it was loaded onto the launching-dock that was used to transport objects between the Survivors and the Holders.

“May the Holders be pleased.”
“May the Holders be pleased!”

The clay pot was launched upwards and taken by a lurid blue beam that left everyone watching blinded for a few minutes. Bits of clothing and hair were burned by the impact of the light. Nothing was said after the boy was transported but everyone seemed much more hopeful that the sacrifice would suffice. The Survivors awaited patiently for their fate, while the father of the boy eagerly awaited his chance to see his boy again.

6/365

Eye Contact: Write about two people seeing each other for the first time.

It was a dream I’ve had since I was a child watching the Atlanta Braves pitch strikes and whack home-runs outta the park and into the crowds of fans hoping to catch a ball and pass it down from generation-to-generation. The dark thing about dreams that nobody tells you about as a child is that no matter how badly you want it, no matter how badly you think you deserve it, no matter the cost, the egregious truth is you most likely still won’t achieve it. It’s something you don’t wanna tell kids; you don’t wanna break them at such a young age to the true forlorn of American society. We tell’em they could be the president, that they could be astronauts, or that they could write the next War and Peace. This is the fundamental lie of being a human. There are days when I’ve build a good alcoholic foundation for thoughts to rest on, and I boil the ideas a bit, heat’em up, toss’em around and make something stupid from’em; but I can’t seem to understand why we set ourselves up for failure at such a young age.

On all levels, I am a failure. I feel like a failure because I failed at what it was I wanted the most as a child. It’s amazing what things stick from childhood and what things don’t. My childhood dream became my teenage dream, and then it became my young adult dream, and then it became my adult dream, and now it has become nothing but the giant reminder that I see everyday in the mirror, on the odd day I have the courage to look into the mirror, that I failed myself; I failed myself today, yesterday, tomorrow and worst of all, I failed that little boy wearing a Braves hat slapping his hand into a glove his father bought’em because he had a wild dream that he knew would come true and that there weren’t gonna be nobody stopping’em from getting it. I failed that kid.

Season tickets are still something I waste a good 5 grand on yearly. Not sure why I still do it, but, I guess some part of me is still that kid that thinks any day I can still make the dream come true. The thing about being a kid is that you never stop believing, you never give up on it. There’s something about being an adult that just wears you down from these cheap jabs that come from multiple angles, but kids, they ain’t aware of this yet. I bet, I bet my season tickets, if I saw my younger self in front of me today, right this moment, he’d look at me and smile, he’d say “Gosh darn, any day now, I’ma make it on that field.” Too many days spent sulking at the image of letting that boy down.

“I think from some of the questions you’ve answered here, Sully, I think I’m going to refer you to get a full mental evaluation.”
“So you mean someone else is going to tell me I’m crazy?”
“No, Mr. Sully. I believe this evaluation will better allow us to treat you for whatever is causing this depression. Maybe it’s not clinical depression but some other underlining cause and we need to get to the bottom of it.”
“What do you think it could possibly be? You know, aside from the obvious.”
“Personally, I think it would just be best if you went ahead and got the mental evaluation before I myself made a proper diagnosis.”
“You’re not leaving me with much comfort here, doc.”

I think it’s fair to believe life comes in waves to simply harm you; to do nothing more but assassinate the very ambitions that keep you going. It’s almost like life is a game being controlled by some grand-player and its goal is to see how long it takes to break us; how long it takes to crush us before we’re already spelling out our epithet and picking the lot that we wish to fermentate.

“Clonazepam?”
“We are going to see if it helps.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“Let’s be hopeful; but if it doesn’t, we will need to see you again and try out some other options.”

A part of me is hopeful that this works. I can’t stand anymore; I can’t stand seeing that boy in my dreams looking down at me with a frown on his face all teary-eyed and whispering his disdain for me.

“Thank you, sir. Have a nice day.”
“Thanks… You too.”

I took a single pill and closed the medicine cabinet. I looked at myself in the mirror for a glance, turned off the light, and rolled out of the bathroom.

“Dream big, kid.”

 

 

5/365

Food: What’s for breakfast? Dinner? Lunch? Or maybe you could write a poem about that time you met a friend at a cafe.

We felt welcomed. There wasn’t any sort of doubt in that. The Jamisons were nice people for the most part, and this was the first time they had actually invited us over. My friend Doug told me that the Jamisons had lived in the neighborhood for over 4 years now and no one had ever gone over to their house. Although, he did mention some sort of old-folk tale about the Jamisons and how they used to live in England and moved here after they were ran out of the country by a cult or some nonsensical madness like that. I didn’t believe a word of what he said and to be fair, I don’t think he believed a word of it either, but that didn’t stop him from sharing it with me everyday leading up to the dinner.

My family wasn’t too worried either. My parents thought they were nice people and they were happy know that the normally shy and reclusive Jamisons were actually trusting our family and inviting us over. They viewed it like a kind of honor in a sense, not sure why. My sister, on the other hand, was not excited about the dinner at all. She had talked to the Jamison’s daughter in school, Natasha, once before and described it as “discussing nuclear science with a house-cat.” She had no interest in befriending Natasha and feared that this dinner was a way of getting our families to bond so that Natasha could find a friend in school, as mentioned before, she was quite lonely in school and after-school. Although I never got to talk to Natasha, I know my sister could be a jerk sometimes and I had always thought Natasha was kinda cute in a quirky kind of way; so, I was looking forward to getting the chance to speak with her even if my sister wasn’t interested.

The dinner was tomorrow, but before then, Nikolai wanted to give me some advice on how to handle the situation. We planned to meet after dinner at the neighborhood park, which is about 10 minutes from my house and about 10 minutes from his house. It was the perfect meeting spot to be honest. Our parents didn’t like us sneaking out late, but it was easy to just hop out my window and sneak over to the park for an hour or so and just come back inside. There was always this sweet-spot of time, just after dinner, where my mom and dad would sit on the couch and watch some odd soap-opera type show that had they glued to the TV for the entire hour, and the best part was it didn’t have commercial breaks, so I knew they wouldn’t bother checking up on me unless I screamed or some jive like that, but to be fair, I never did that dance, they knew I liked my personal space after dinner, and I mean, hell, what 15 year old would want to be with their parents after dinner watching some sappy, laugh-track ridden, nonsense that only adults found funny.

My room was perfect for sneaking out late at night. I was on the second story of the house, but the window in my room and the roof were connected, so I could easily just hop out of my window and walk on the roof of the house that was directly above of the garage. The jump was from only one-story, so I stuck the landing every time. I packed my usual bag: a flashlight, some chewing gum, a knife (just in-case), my cellphone, and some spare rope that I never found a use for but Nikolai always told me to bring “just in case,” but I never knew what that case included. I quietly left my room and closed my window. I did the usual jump and landed it with a perfect ’10.’ Before I ran out towards the park, I looked back into the living room window and saw my mom and dad watching the show like no one was watching them. It gave me an odd sensation, like they were a show that I was watching, like I was the viewer in their world just as they were the viewer of the lives’ of the soap opera stars. This left me feeling strange. I sort of enjoyed the feeling I got while watching them. It made sense why they watch so much TV now.

I carried-on towards the typical meeting spot, but as I was, I couldn’t help but notice all the vibrant lights coming from the windows of houses that were filled with families and single people doing what it is they do behind closed doors. In my brain I started to think of it like channels on a television. It was a funny feeling that left me sort of fanatical until I laughed unprovoked. It was difficult to ignore the temptations, but I knew that Nikolai was expecting me. So I hurried on my way.

The park was pretty standard, or to be fair, it just looks like every other park I’ve been to; rusty looking swing-set where one of the 3 swings is broken but that doesn’t stop the kids from using it, a slide that boils the bottom on hot days, monkey bars that probably have blood-stains on them, and a small looking jungle-gym that has jagged edges from loosed metal bars that are horribly dangerous for any kid, but hey, I’ve seen parents drop their kids off here and not come back for hours, so, if they don’t care, then I don’t care. Our typical meeting spot was inside of the jungle-gym, I normally beat him there, but tonight was different because of my frequent stops staring at houses.

“Bruvi, where have you been? You’re late.”
“Sorry, man. I was caught up at home. The scene was too hot for me to leave the house on time. Parents kept checking-up on me.”

Nikolai pulled out his bag and started riffling through some tattered notebooks.
“Sure, sure. I get you. Here.” Nikolai grabbed a red notebook out and handed it over to Bruvi.
“What is this?” Bruvi grabbed the notebook and started to flip through it.
Nikolai pointed at the front of the notebook instructing Bruvi to look at the title of the notebook: Natasha Jamison. 
“What?”
Nikolai threw his hands in the air. “Dude, Natasha Jamison. I got you the rundown on her like you asked me to.”
Bruvi stared at Nikolai confused, “I didn’t ask you to do that for me.”
Nikolai turned around and walked to the edge of the jungle-gym. “No, you didn’t, but. That’s a hard but by the way. But, you need to prepare yourself before you go over to her house and have dinner with her family.”
“Nikolai, I don’t think that whole British cult thing is real, man.”
“What? Dude, you cannot not believe in that. It’s real, man. Look at this.” Nikolai took the notebook from Bruvi and flipped to a page with a printed newspaper article. “Look at this, man. It’s a newspaper article from a small town in Wallingham, England at a family that escaped a cult and fled for asylum in America. Coincident? I… think… not.”

Bruvi took the notebook back and exited the jungle-gym. He began to put the notebook into his book-bag and walked away.
“Bruvi! Read the notebook! Be careful!”

I ignored what Nikolai was telling me and just continued my walk home. The meeting wasn’t long, I wasn’t interested in hearing Nikolai’s nonsense tonight. I wasn’t in the mood. I looked at my phone and I noticed that there was still 30 minutes left on the show my parents were watching. I had some time before I needed to run home to cover my tracks. It was there when I had a strange idea, when everything that happened today led me to think about the next few steps that were about to take place.

The lighting was beauty, and I felt myself drawn to it. There was something more than just curiosity that lured me to the window of the Jamison’s house. I didn’t feel strange or sinister walking up to there window, because, well, I knew what my intentions were… I was just… I was just curious as to what they were doing, nothing more, and I guess, nothing less. There was something they were doing in there and I just had to find out what it was.

I positioned myself near a large bush outside of their side window and peered my head in front of the illuminating glass that felt to me like a gypsy staring into a crystal ball. It was amazing to me, it wasn’t sexual, it wasn’t sinister, it was just blissful to me. I watched Mr. and Mrs. Jamison watching the same soap that my parents watch this time of night, and that made me give a sigh of relief and I’m not sure why. Maybe because it made them seem much more human like my family and myself, or maybe I was just enjoying watching them through the window. Seeing them made me wonder what exactly it was that Nikolai wrote on the notebook that was so concerning to me that I needed to know before my family came by for dinner. I blew off the idea and watched the Jamisons for a bit longer before Natasha came downstairs and started to watch the soap with her parents as well. I smiled and I don’t know why.

It might have been about 10 minutes before I finally decided to get up and go home. The force that drew me to the window was even more powerful at keeping me there but the thought of getting in trouble was more powerful, and leaving was the obvious thing that I needed to do. Before I left, I watched them for a few seconds longer. The same thing; the same feeling.

I wondered my way home quickly as possibly and climbed up the side of the house and through the window. The show would end in about 5 minutes and all seemed good. I had a few minutes to burn before it was time for bed, so I opened up the notebook that Nikolai gave me and flipped through the pages. The notebook was odd and it didn’t seem like it was Nikolai who had wrote it. It seemed like it was written by several different people and not just Nikolai; in-fact, it didn’t seem like it was written by Nikolai at all. The information on the notebook seemed much more personal and private and almost childish and adventurous.

After flipping through page and page and reading entries and dates of various things, it finally dawned on Bruvi that this was actually Natasha’s diary. Bruvi quickly closed the notebook and put it back in his bag. Bruvi wondered how Nikolai got a-hold of diary and quickly texted him asking for an answer.

“Dude, this is Natasha’s diary. Where the hell did you get this?”
Nikolai replied almost instantaneously almost as if he was waiting for the message.
“Read the last page.”

Bruvi felt a bit eerie as he flipped through the pages until he got to the last page. His heart dropped when read what it was Nikolai felt such nerve over.

I can’t wait to have dinner with Bruvi and his family.

Bruvi tweaked his head and questioned the value of this statement aside from the obvious.

“What about the last page? It doesn’t seem any bit strange to me.”
Nikolai, again, replied rather quickly.
“Read it! She can’t wait to have you for dinner! Don’t go, man!”
Bruvi laughed and put his phone down.