Richard

As it turns out, I have a cousin named Richard. I just met him two weeks ago, and before hand was completely unaware that he even existed (how embarrassing). As it turns out, he has been living near me for some time—seven years. In my basement. He has shoulder length curly red hair, many freckles, and he is very pale. My guess is, that is due to the fact that he has been living underground for so long. I'm not sure why he has been so reluctant to reveal the fact that we have lived in the same house for so long, but I think he's just shy. It's okay though, he has kept in touch by watching me from behind air conditioning vents when I sleep and when I eat my meals. That's just his way of doing things. Some might say it's strange, but I think it's just different—unique.
Let me back up. Richard's parents wanted a girl, so when Richard was born, he was put up for adoption. For the first half of his life he was raised by raccoons in eastern Los Angeles. They taught him much about music and audio engineering. The flashing lights and brightly colored knobs kept him happy and quiet. But the years passed quickly and Richard soon became a young man, and a life of audio engineering was not for him. He had wanderlust, and the raccoon bites had become infected.
He traveled to Europe for a while and before long, life for him became nothing more than an irritation that occurred between cigarettes. He fit right in. He started a London based band known as the "Hearty Polyp Chuckles", and became an instant success. But a life of rocking was not for him either; the screaming fans confused him and the drugs made him grumpy and unsociable. He joined a support group to help him through all his troubles, but they were grumpy themselves and promptly told him to go to hell. Thoroughly disillusioned, Richard longed for a simple life. The life of an underground hermit. The romantic pastoral life that he had dreamed about since he was young. Now he is fifty five, is socially awkward and has just recently worked up the courage to reveal his existence and family connection to me. Personally, I don't see the resemblance, but how else would he have known the names of all my relatives, my mother's maiden name, what my favorite color is, and what position I sleep at night unless he was related to me.
Right?

Halloween

I am looking very forward to halloween this year; I already have a costume prepared. This year, I am going as superman. It's a tight blue muscle suit with a red thong - I am going to be looking hot. However, I am slightly hesitant to go door to door asking for candy. This uncertainty is not due to my tight and embarrassing clothes, but due to the fact that I will be trick-or-treating with five year olds surrounding me. I will feel guilty, knowing that I am taking candy away from these innocent little kids, but it's a dog eat dog world out there. Herbert Spencer once said, "it's the survival of the fittest." I am stronger than these kids, quicker these kids, and I have a better costume than these kids. I am sick and tired of people telling that I am too old for halloween; I love the hate, gives me a new purpose. This year, when I arrive at the doors and they say, "how old are you? You're too old." I will laugh at these questions, and will rudely grab a handful of candy, despite the sign above the candy telling me to grab only one. 

This halloween has the potential to be the most phenomenal halloween ever. I am going be bring home several pillow cases of candy, because I am willing to run over any little kid that is standing in my way. I have yet to decide whether or not I will be going by myself, but either way, it's going to be an awesome and memorable time.   

Halloween

Poetry Journal

Dead For You

I swam skeleton in the night,
The way you wanted me to be
Cuz in that violent black sea
You dove just to leave me

I fought so against our blight,
The way you thought I should
But out of the burning wood
You fled, fleeting you stood

I tried forever to do us right,
The way you made me try,
I never thought I would lie,
Now all we ever do is cry

But I hold onto a precious light
More beautiful than any wife
Worth even the worst of strife
The very meaning of my life.

Hidden

I wanna be the morning light,
Kiss you softly when you wake,
Pull you from your darkest night
Not just another blazing mistake
I wanna see you smile


Let me take your soft hand,
I may not be the perfect guy
But the stars and I understand
That every girl deserves to fly
And I wanna see you dance


I wanna drift away with you
Into the darkest unknown,
No cold future I wish to rue.
Into this life we were thrown,
And I wanna see you there


Let me watch you breathe
Softer than an angel’s skin
Such elegance you achieve
With an even brighter grin
I wanna see you smile

Pumpkin Plaster

We slithered like snakes
Creeping cautiously through,
Stopping for candy breaks
Pumping sugar into our night
We didn’t know what to do
As we hid from the moonlight

Words clouded in the cold,
As we set our sinister goal
Deciding on the most bold,
To tackle such tyrannic task
Knowing full well of the toll
We pulled down our masks

Flying faster than his shadow,
He set each pumpkin airborne
Ignoring the freshly lit window
His rampage he had so held
Ended quickly as it had born,
When a man burst, and yelled:

“This is my 12 gauge gun,
Its time for me to have some fun”

Spelunking

My friends proposed an idea, an adventure per se. We would go roaming undergroung through the storm drains. Of course, in a spirit of discovery I simply had to acquiese. From town we walked to the Ledyard Bridge, where underneath is where the storm drains open into the Conneticut. We happily crawled into those concrete tubes, venturing into the darkness. The drains were too small to stand in, but a thin trickle of water on the bottom detered any comfortable sitting. So in a bent over sort of walk, we transversed the tubes. At first graffiti tags accompanied us on the walls, terse notes saying that so-and-so had been here. Soon though, they left us to stay behind. The only distinguishing features on the wall now were water stains, marking the passage of past torrents. I was surprised to find that instead of steadfastly descending into the dirt, the pipes opened up here and there, broken up by small ponds. Sometimes we encountered small obstacles: a short gap between tubes, or one tube ending with the next starting above our heads. My friends likened it to a simple video game, where the challenges steadily became more difficult, to which I concurred. Every so often we were given a reprieve from the tubes which forced us to bend our spines into a shape resembling a question mark. The pipe through which we crawled would come to an end, and we would enter into a large cylinder high enough to stand in. Above our heads the storm drain covers would rattle whenever a car passed over. Eventually we decided to escape the concrete maze. However, not wanting to backtrack all the way, we opted to see if we could fit through a smaller tube which would lead to a manhole cover just off of the main road. We fit, in a sense. The tight squeeze forced us to get down on our bellies and crawl down the passage. After what seemed like an extraordinary amount of time to travel such a short distance, we emerged from the tunnel. If anyone was watching, I’m sure that they would have been surprised to see several teenagers climb out of the street and casually dust themselves off before walking into town.

The room was an obstacle course. Weave through the tables, go through the crowd of kids, dodge each teacher that came at you, make sure you don't drop the plastic cups. As I got my plastic cups situated in my arms, I readied myself for the course ahead. I had little time to make it to the end and play house before our parents came to pick us up from preschool. The pressure was on. "Ready, Set, Go!" I was off, around the tables, through the crowd of kids, dodged each teacher. I was almost there. It was a straightaway, only one thing stood in my way, the last table. Next thing I remember is in my car seat heading to the hospital. My mom offered me a Twinkie and I accepted. What had happened? I felt my forehead and stuck on my head was a bandage. We arrived at the Emergency Room at Mercy Medical. My mom scurried in before dad and I. My mom talked to the attending nurse and I was mesmerized by the rack of magazines. "Caitlin Connelly, Please follow me this way". The doctor was ugly to say the least, he had a terrible comb-over. The front only had one patch of over comb and then the back was all comb-over.  Am I really going to get stitched up by this plastic surgeon, who can't even fix his own hair? How the hell is he supposed to fix the gapping hole in my head?  "Lets get a look at this" his voice was irritating. Next thing I know, this freak show is ripping off the band-aid on my forehead. He conversed in conversation with my mom for a few minutes and next thing I know is I am being told to lie down, so he can stitch my forehead up. As I laid there, restrained by my so-called mother and father, the tears began to flow. Everyone has betrayed me. My own mother and father are putting me through this pain. There was only one person who hadn't betrayed me, my dog, Bentley. I screamed for Bentley, "BENTLEY". Thirty stitches later, I was fixed. As my mom thanked the doctor, my dad took me by the hand and started walking out the door, I slyly turned around and laid my eyes on the doctor, I stuck my tongue out. 

childhood memories

Thinking back on my childhood memories, I laugh. I would like to think that my childhood was abnormal, in its own special little ways. I pretty much was born on the hospital floor. My mom said that I shot out like a rocket, and I haven't stopped since.  The day I was born my sister (kendall) who was two at the time, decided to bring me a birthday present. After all who doesn't want a birthday present on your birthday. She brought me Cherry Garcia ice cream. Although the gesture was nice and all, who wants ice cream on there birthday. My sister was my best friend, my sisters friends were my best friend. Who's ever lap I landed on seemed to be my best friend. My dad is from England and although he sounded normal to me, everyone else thought he was a little odd. I don't know what it could of been. Maybe how he wears socks under his flip flops, or the fact that he has no pair of socks that match, not one. Before my mom and dad got married, he was married before. He had two daughters, my sisters Amber and Jade. They are old now early 30's they both live out in L.A and act, well try to at least to act.Every easter my dad would dress up in ridiculous bunny outfits, that would of embarrassed me if I was old enough to understand how hideous they were. I can still remember those long ass easter egg hunts, keeping kids preoccupied for hours. My mothers kid store is the best place ever for little kids to go and harass their parents to buy them something. "put it on your birthday wish list" They would always hear. I never heard those words till I was 16. Yeah I guess you can say that I am kind of spoiled. Spoiled from my mom with little barbie dolls, and love. I remember the day that my parents got divorced. I am told that I have what really happened on that dreadful day all wrong. I still think I am right. It really hurt me when my mom and dad started to date again.  It was harder for me to let my mom go off and date this random man, who turned out to be my step-father seven years down the road. I was happy for my mom when she got married. Everything was going to be good for her. She was finally happy, and moving on with her life. When I didn't think things could get any worse. My mom gave me a little brother. The cutest boy in the world!  I love my brother very much, through all the fights, that happen every ten or twenty seconds. It's fun, keeps you on your toes. Now I am all grown up, my sister is now in her second year at college. She was the first to go off. Now its my turn. All my thoughts and anxieties going through my head, "is this what I should be really doing?" " I hope I can hand in all my applications on time" "My essay better be friggen good if I want to make it into college".  I wish I could bundle up, and go back to when I was a little girl, with no consequences for my actions, no homework, no leaving the nest.  But when I think about it, I am always going to be the wild and crazy little girl I used to be, lets hope not as crazy. The warm bright personality that rubbed off onto other people, or how I brought smiles to people's faces when I attempt to sing a song for the people in the old folks home. I am ready to take this big step forward in my life. With all my best intentions brought forward!

Dear Easter Bunny,

I guess I can understand why you didn’t come last year. I mean, I know I’m a little too old for you now, but I would appreciate something on my bedside table when I get up on Easter Day. Even the year before last, when both you and I knew that I had outgrown your fun and games, you stopped by to put a chocolate bunny next to my pillow. That was really nice, and delicious.
I know it was the highest recorded snowfall in the history of the Upper Valley last year and the weather probably wasn’t much to your liking, but I still expected a small present from you. So, even though I moved to the middle of nowhere, and I know it’s a trek to get all the way out here, could you try to make it this year? I’ll make sure to have my driveway plowed before then to make it easier for you. There’s a “Dolph” sign at the end of it if that helps.
When I was a kid, I got a kick out of the hide-and-seek the egg games. I spent hours doing that before my parents made me sit down and eat some breakfast. But, I think you needed to give my parents better directions or something. They pretended like they knew where all the eggs were, but they didn’t. They even had it down by how many of each color there were, but that didn’t help. If I asked for help, they’d tell me to keep looking and I would eventually find it. They just didn’t want to be embarrassed by looking and not finding anything either.
I think maybe a map would help, a detailed, colored map that shows the location of each egg. It’s really disappointing if you don’t find them all at the end of the day. It’s like Easter Day is incomplete. Plus, it’s really gross when you find them three years later, covered in dust and mold, lodged behind your refrigerator. A map would be the best idea. That way my parents wouldn’t have to be embarrassed by not knowing where the eggs are.
I think it’s time you invented a new egg for dyeing. Raw eggs don’t work. We bought a kit one year that let you stick faces and hats on the eggs you dyed. They turned out so nice that we left them on the mantelpiece to look at and admire. We forgot about them quickly, but it started to smell after a few weeks and my cousin and I went out on the street to smash them to bits. Wouldn’t it be nice to have an egg where there wasn’t a need to smash them because they’re rotten? What if they’re works of art? Boiled eggs last longer, but they still go bad. Draining eggs is very difficult and I usually end up breaking them. I think you’re next task should be to create an egg that stays fresh forever and still looks authentic enough when dyed.
Anyways, hope to see you in March. Dark chocolate is my favorite, in case you wanted to know.

Cecilia

Cold Water

My foot collapses beneath me. It doesn’t feel like stepping into snow. But there’s a crunch, and, suddenly, my body is dropping. My eyes close, and my heart falters. My arms reach to the sky, but to no avail. The melting world around me disappears. The world is black. The world is silent. My body is limp. Suddenly, life slows down. The talons of death begin to grip every inch of my body. I feel the water seeping into my clothes. It’s all around me, and it’s pulling me down. My eyes open. They look for something. They look for anything. The icy water grabs them, and forces fear into my mind. I desperately search for the light, but the sun’s warm rays are augmented with an icy window. The light shows through the watery prison in a soft shade of blue.
My arms thrash frantically through the cold dark liquid. I try to hold myself together. I feel panic coming into me. It’s bringing me down faster than the water now. My arms are thrashing faster now. Quickly Will, quickly Will. You have to try. I have to try. The water pushes itself against my mouth. My lungs push against my mouth. They are crying, they are screaming like a thousand babies for what they want most; air. My eyes hurt so much. My clothes feel so heavy. They began to latch onto me. Everything is grabbing me. Everything wants me to die. I can’t die. I can’t die. I search for an opening. The water burns every bit of my body. I shut my eyes, slipping back into the darkness. The freezing water hurts them too much. This can’t be the end. I can’t stop here. I push up against the ice. My soaked gloves slide on its surface. I kick, and I kick– I can’t sink. What can I do? What can I do? I can punch. And I punch. I punch harder than I have ever before. I slam my fists against the lakes thick sheet of ice. I hit, but nothing happens.
Suddenly, without warning, my body supercedes my logic. The icy water flows into my mouth. It electrifies my teeth, and clots my throat. My body tries to breathe, but only chokes as the lake travels through me. I push even harder against the ice. I kick even harder. But the thick sheet of imprisonment will not move. And the panic becomes too much to bear. And my hope begins to sink. And I look down. All I see is the darkness. It calls out to me. It reaches up, with its frosty grasp, and it begs for me to fall. I’m scared. I’m so scared. But I look away. I look along the plane of ice. It stretches endlessly in every direction. The water is thick with chunks of frozen debris. The light from above gives the water near the surface an eerie visibility. I turn my head up towards the light, and I see ripples.
There is a chance, I can make it. There is a chance, I will not die. I kick, and I swim. I move my limbs like I’ve never moved them before. I push the weight of my 8 year old body. I push the weight of my soaked winter gear. I push the weight of utter desperation. I push till I am free; and I burst through the water. The sun shines down on me, smiling happily at my freedom. My lungs rise as I gasp for air, but I only breathe in water. Hands reach down and grab my arms. They tug me upwards from the darkness. Are they the hands of God?
My father pulls me up over his back. I euphorically gaze around. The trees in the distance drip with the thaw of spring. The snow, the ice, and all of winter’s frozen tyranny, are dying around me. I bob up and down as my father sprints to land. He drops me onto the slushy, mud filled, snow. I’m choking. He hits my back, and gelid water flies out my mouth. Air bursts into my lungs like a hug from a mother– breathing never felt this good. My dad kneels down to my level, and looks me in the eye. His voice shutters as he scrambles the words:
“Can you breathe??”
I nod my head, only to realize I cant feel anything. I look down at my drenched snow pants to see my legs shaking. I suddenly notice that my whole body is shaking, and I look back at my father.
“You need to get inside”
He spits out, as he swoops me up in his arms, and begins to run to the house. I look up to the cloudless sky and focus my eyes on the sun. I whisper:
“I thought I’d never see you again”

What was that?

I was walking down to the Canoe Club when I saw a couple frantically paddling a double-kayak to the dock. The kayak was tilted towards the back and seemed nearly flooded, but they managed to bring it safely into port. When the inundated boat was hauled out of the river I saw the source of the trouble: the tip of the boat was gone. The yellow plastic ended in a strangely smooth way, as if it had been left in a strong acid. The couple stood on the dock looking dazed and lost. I approached them and asked what happened. They both looked up at me in surprise, as if jolted out of a daydream. Then, slowly, with both trying to talk at the same time, they told me:
They had been kayaking down the river, just having a day in the sun. Paddling along, more absorbed in eachother than their surroundings, they paid little attention to where they went. Slowly and unnoticed, a mist crept across the water, arriving silently on slippered feet tiptoeing over the water, it surrounded them. Suddenly they noticed the change: surrounded by a whiteout, they could only see a scarce few feet from the boat. They laughed nervously at the novelty of it, but the mist swallowed up the sound, making them silent with unease. The water had calmed, smooth as glass but just as impenatrably murky as before. The river seemed to absorb their cautious strokes: what ripples were created disappeared quickly as the water remained resolutely calm. Thinking logically, they made their way for shore, but land never came. Pushed by an unspoken fear, they paddled faster, but no matter how they flew over the glassy surface all they found was fog. Then, a disturbance, ripples in the water, this time spreading quickly across the surface. Again, from the left, the power of the displacement rocked their boat--but soon all was still again. Defensive now, they frantically scanned the vague waterscape, looking for the threat. Suddenly, out of the water loomed what could only be described as a massive catfish. It opened its gaping maw and latched onto the back of the kayak. A horrible sucking noise broke the silence and the beast began swallowing their boat. Screaming, they both took up arms and hurredly slapped at the fish with they paddles. Seemingly surprised by the ferocity of their retaliation, the monster fish sunk back beneath the waters, claiming the back end of the kayak. Their fight done, flight took over, as the couple paddled furiously away from the behemoth. To their relief, spears of sunlight streamed through the mist, chasing it off. Apparently they had gotten completely turned around, since the Canoe Club was now in sight, towards which they paddled before they were swamped.
They finished their tale slowly with great difficulty, as if they couldn’t quite remember the details. I would have asked them their names, but I never got the chance. After telling their account, they broke off, their eyes unfocused. Staring blankly, they walked aimlessly away until one of the employees interrupted, asking just what had happened to the kayak, to which they monotonasly stated that they must have hit a rock.

"Okay Class, Pick your partners!" Within .5 seconds, everyone had a partner. In all the confusion, I hear this high pitched voice. " I want HER to be my partner!" her pointer finger slowly arranged itself in my direction. Who was this short, curly haired freak? And why did she want to be my partner? Probably because I just answered the math question correctly. I didn't even know her name. Cindy was it? Oh crap, I highly doubt she knows my name. My new friend was different, I couldn't point my finger on it, but there was something about her that was different. I liked it. From that day on, we became really good friends. And I found out that her name wasn't Cindy but Sydney. That was in 7th grade, and now We're both Seniors. I'm excited to walk across the stage and receive my diploma with my best friend since 7th grade. She was my first friend and are we really going to go separate ways come next September? I told her, We would apply to some of the same schools, so there is a better chance we will be together. We've been with each other through thick and thin. She's been there to pick me up at 11pm on a school night because I couldn't take it in my house. And I've done the same for her. Of course we've had countless fights and they've been about god knows what. And we will probably continue to have those silly fights. We laugh about the most stupid things. We are quite crazy at times. And we both can annoy the heck out of eachother. But I'm glad to have a friend like her.

Friends and Family

My friends and family mean the world to me. Even if it is screaming and fighting with them all the time. They are my back bone. I can always rely on my family and friends. I have had one friend for about 6 years. She moved here from Maine. I was her very first friend. We have been inseparable ever since. Most of the time our friendship consists of unimportant fights. We understand each other so it is always nice to know that you can have an easy conversation with someone that understands you easily. My family not so much. They always have to evaluate what I say. It then turns into something that I never meant to say. I love my family, I love my friends. I remember this one time in 8th grade when we went on a trip and I went with this friend of mine. I was having a very hard time, and she was there every step of the way to help me. She understood what I was going through and did her best to comfort me. I have never gone with her to visit her family. I always promised my friend that I would go with her. I am going to keep my promise. Even though I get into fights with my family, it is the best family that I could ever of been born into. I know that they are not perfect. But I would not want to live in a perfect family. There would be no fun in that. I have a big family. I am more close with my family on my dads side since they like to see me more. My mothers side not so much. They live the closest to me, but don't put out the effort to visit me. My dad's side is all uncles. All we do when we see each other is joke with one another. They are easy to make fun of. Its just a bunch of laughs when I visit my family. So pretty much I wouldn't be anywhere today if it wasn't for my family and friend. and I just wanted to say thank you to them.