I'm learning a lot about myself and those that are important to me during these busy times.

Just a tiny subtle slice of a recent thought through a memorable life-shaking reassurance.

::

It's ten after two AM and I've caught the first snowflake of the season that has reached the valley.

If I hadn't watched it's silent decent onto my fingertip, I wouldn't have known it arrived. It left a fleeting kiss before it disappeared, and I'm certain I won't remember it. 

"Uncle! It's snowing!" And suddenly I'm nine years old and pointing out the obvious.

He smiles and shakes his head, and I know he's tired from working this late with me. "Now get on your way home," he urges, resting his crossed arms on the railing as I trudge towards my car. 

Its companions haven't even started to stick but I feel absolutely glorious under the streetlamps and vortex of cascading snow. They dance provocatively slow through the night sky, reflecting like faint stars.

He doesn't go back inside until my headlights are on and I've pulled out of his driveway. So this is why gentlemen are treasured, I remind myself. Something so small makes me feel so special.

My mind is still on overdrive and the world is so much brighter at night. I question whether it's just my contacts on fatigued eyes. Sometimes the lights glow mightier against a weaker vision.

I've learned so much during these late hours, possibly induced by the lack of sleep, but important in their reassurance. All these secrets are now open and I'm touched by being the recipient of this rare information. 

Confessions are relieving, not just to those that confess, but for those that listen, and I'm glad I could participate in both. 

The streets are so clear, not a car in sight, not a man or bike. All the lights are green on the main road and I feather the pedal excitedly.

Tonight is my night, this is my decision and I feel tremendously blessed.

::

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My Love Is Late

Something about me that some have trouble comprehending in general.

I don't believe in love.

Sure, people like each other, tolerate each other, and then care for each other, in given time. A logical progression that creates an emotional tether.

And I understand the magic behind maternal and paternal affection for children, I mean, those cute little babes were genetically designed to be adorable so they could be dependent on others to survive. (Ingenious, really!)

It's all quite biological.

I'm just a skeptic about this strange figment that floats about in peoples' fantasies and dreams.

Love at first sight? Merely physical attraction.

So where this brings me: arranged marriage.

Of course, everyone has their own perspective on the case, and if you're not one of those that has ever experienced an arranged marriage, whether first-hand or by knowing someone who has, I'm afraid your validity to what I'm going to confirm will make you upset.

I am wholeheartedly agreeable to the notion. (Although, of course, if it involves non-consent from both parties, or involves young'ins who don't have a choice, I'd be very vocal at the inappropriateness!)

But, after numerous consultations with myself to discuss the non-existent chance I will "fall in love" (ouch!), the idea of finding myself a match that is beneficial is perfect.

You'll notice, if you've been paying attention to my writing, that I do dabble in love in various forms. 

But I will make clear, this "love" is actually a perception of the character and the character's dreams and beliefs.

So to correct myself, love may be real, for those that believe in it. However in my case, I don't.

And life goes on, so my mother and I have decided to book a trip to Indonesia in the fall/winter to start a hunt (Ohh, how predatory.. :P) on men, of which I would choose.

And yes, I know, from countless accusations, I am taking this a bit too logical. 

But again, characters and personalities dictate dreams and beliefs.

Oh! And relationships! They will forever be my muse. :D 

::

Just a rant I've shortened after being questioned while discussing my plans with some close friends. This is probably a large chunk of my personality that comes out in my writing, so I thought I'd share it.

Hopefully this is insightful. If not, don't be concerned. 

I can't change what is already perceived, I suppose.

And again, personalities and characters. (I still adore them!)

Have an excellent day,

mera.

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Imprint

JournalWord: Branded

::

She giggles as she flames the needle point of the pin through the candle light and all I can do is trust her.

Maybe I should be a little nervous, I mean, she does seem unnaturally cheery brandishing that pin. Then again, all those pain killers are making me float, so I smile when she scoots closer to me.

I don't know what she whispers into my ear before she pierces it, I'm distracted by the shine of her dark hair, but what she says afterwards rings sharper than the action.

"You're mine now."

::

I'm extremely out of whack right now, with my days switched with my nights, and my work schedule taking up most of my awake hours...

I'm a mess.

I mean, all I want right now is to take a walk. 

You'd think it would be an easy request at 4 in the morning.

Well, I'll have to put up with my frustration for now, and hopefully by next week I'll start getting back into my routine and crank out cute creative juices :)

Keep cheery,

mera.

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Growing Up

JournalWord: Rain boots.

::

He takes one look at her and shakes his head. She continues to tug her rain boots on her socked feet, unbeknownst to the expression of disapproval on his face.

He sighs and decides to make his opinion known. "You're going to get sick."

She turns her head to see him leaning on the banister of the staircase. Still bent over, she tugs her foot completely into the boot and straightens up, pushing her hair behind her ears. "Eventually," she agrees. "It's inevitable."

He shakes his head again and points his mug, half-full of cooling coffee, at her light purple hoodie and frayed, cut-off shorts. "Wear something a little warmer," he demands. "It's pouring outside and you're going to be soaked halfway down the street."

"I have rain boots," she defends, kicking her feet out to indicate her point.

"Not good enough," he states, pushing off from the banister and walking down the stairs. He walks around her and heads to the closet, rifling through the selections of coats with one hand while deftly sipping coffee thoughtfully with the other.

He finds what he is looking for and strips the coat off the hanger, tossing it in her direction over his shoulder. "Wear that and no complaints," he commands, closing the closet doors and heading up the stairs. "Put up the hood and come home before dinner," he finishes, disappearing into the upper recesses of the house.

She looks down at the coat and slips it on. The coat hangs down to her knees and she struggles with the zipper as the sleeves are too long and refuse any effort to be pushed up her arms or folded over. Pulling on the hood, she finds her vision cut off by the oversized bill.

She wants to shake her head at the ridiculousness of wearing such a big coat, but decides against complaining when she whiffs the light musky scent of his cologne on the inside of his collar. She smiles, opening the door and stepping out into the rain, feeling warm.

::

Something sweet to get through the day.

I am at a loss at the moment, deciding my reaction to an invitation to the program interview at BCIT. I wasn't hopeful of actually being invited as the bulk of my application was received just on the date of the deadline, and my university transcript was received well afterwards.

So now I'm in a state of shock and disbelief.

And now I know what I'll be doing tomorrow, haha :) Studying for the interview in a few weeks!

Keeping cheery,

Mera.

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Sweet-Talked By The South

JournalWord: Something deliciously sinful.

::

The barn stands bright and vivid against the blue, cloudless sky, flaunting in it's fresh coat of vibrant red. It towers in comparison to the worn, pale, cream house meters away, and glints it's aluminum roof at the winding dirt road that curls over the hills to the little town in the distance underneath. 

The brilliance and pride of the resurrected building has lost it's spotlight from the boys who had helped nail, saw, and paint the barn only a month ago with their neighbor's father, right after they had graduated from the tiny high school four miles from this very barn. No, the attention has been shifted from personal accomplishment to concern and annoyance fabricated from the weeping of the girl curled up inside.

The wide, white doors are propped open by a rake and hoe, stabbed into the dirt to welcome any sign of a roaming breeze. The boys have taken up their stations in the shade of the building, eyes aimed at the bobbing blonde head hidden behind calloused hands.

"Holly, sweetheart," Cade coos in his Southern drawl, seating himself beside her on the crude bench he had helped slap together with planks of leftover wood from the barn construction. He wipes the sweat from his palms on his faded and dusty Wranglers before gently rubbing comforting circles between her shoulders. "Don't ya cry for him."

"She done deserves it," Ashton retorts gruffly, shirking his light eyes from the scene and ignoring Cade's glare to focus on the tack hanging on the wall across from him. He crosses his tanned arms over his chest, flexing his exposed biceps unconsciously.

"No, Holly, it ain't your fault," Cade reassures, brushing back her sun-bleached locks from her tear and sweat soaked face. "He wasn't fitting for ya." 

"You're spoutin' a load of bull, Cade. She shoulda listened at our warnin'."

"Ashton," Cade abruptly snaps, flicking his mop of dark hair out of his eyes, his face heating up from anger and the humidity. "Make yourself useful and fix her something to drink, why don't ya."

Ashton rolls his shoulders as he pushes himself off the column he was leaning on, uncrossing his heels and arms before strolling out of the barn without a sound, but obeying the order with an aura of menace trailing in the kicking dust. 

Cade watches the sun-streaked highlights of Ashton's hair and mud-caked cowboy boots stomp through the open door as they disappear into the brightness. Cade strokes Holly's hair and rummages into his back pocket to produce his light green handkerchief. He briefly prays thanks to his passed grandmother for instilling the rules of a Southern gentleman into his nature, especially the habit of carrying a handkerchief at all times for damsels.

She isn't crying anymore, but her tear streaked face frowns at him as he holds out the handkerchief. Raising an eyebrow at the expression of disapproval, he asks, "What's that look for?"

She accepts the handkerchief with a soft thank you and fingers the sewn initials of a corner. "He's right," she mutters, her usually light, perky voice heavy with emotion and dragging her vowels. "I'm a fool. A goddamn fool."

"You're not a fool, Hol-"

"She's a fool," Ashton interrupts, slamming the trough pail full of water onto the other side of the bench. Water sloshes over the rim of the aluminum pail and splashes onto the bench and beads on the packed dirt floor. "Drink up," he calls as he swivels to stroll out of the door once again. 

"Ashton!" Cade calls in a warning tone, jumping to his feet, but Ashton's already gone. Holly's sniffle returns him to her side, and he starts an apology. "Holly, he's just cranky. You know he just needs to blow off that steam of his. You'd think he'd have had enough when he knocked that city boy after what he said to you."

She lifts her chin and smiles weakly at him, her golden skin peeking through the dust she must have kicked up when she ran down the dirt road. Taking the handkerchief from her trembling hands, he crouches down in front of her and dips a corner into the pail. 

"I shoulda listened to yours and Ashton's warnin's. I shouldna got ya both involved in my mistake."

"Ya stop right there, Holly. That city boy had done you wrong by stringin' you like a baited fish. He done deserved what he had got," Cade dismisses, tipping her chin up so he can wipe at the mess of her face. 


"I still shoulda trusted my best friends when ya said he was no good. You must think I'm dumb for falling for his tricks. I'm a no good, dumb street-"

"Ya best not finish that thought, Holly," he commands, and his tone stops her. A tear slips from the edge of her lashes and he instantly frets with apologies for making her cry. "No, sweetheart, I'm sorry, so sorry. Don't cry."

Her lips quiver as her eyes glaze over again into her sorrow, and the tears start to cascade again. In desperation, he wraps his arms around her head, pulling her into a hug so his chin tucks the crown of her head to his neck. She cries out in protest, but he keeps his hold onto her. "You're dumb, but cute," he says. "But you're also huggable, and sweet, and he doesn't deserve your pretty smiles or warm apple crumbles." 

She chokes on a laugh and relaxes into his strange embrace as he takes the moment to continue. 

"But ya best remember," he says, but pauses for a thoughtful hesitation. She can hear a slight strain in his voice, and the thudding in his chest quickens. "Ashton and I will protect ya from every stumble and tear." His voice hardens suddenly with a serious tone. "Holly, I love ya."

She doesn't know what to say. Sure, they told each other they loved each other, but with the playful tone of childhood friends, but this serious tone startles her. This is a declaration she hasn't seen coming. 

"Correction, we love ya." 

She snaps her head out from under Cade's chin, but his arms hang loosely around her shoulders, allowing her to easily push out of his embrace. But she doesn't. She doesn't want to, especially when she sees Ashton standing in the barn door, a breeze brushing his hair from his furrowed eyebrows. 

But she also doesn't want to be in this situation. What could this mean? 

Ashton walks forward and gently places the tall, frosted glass of lemonade he had retrieved onto the bench beside the pail. She knows it's an apology for his comments and behavior but she doesn't touch it, no matter how much she's aching to drink it. Instead, she tries to meet his crystal blue eyes, and when she does, he immediately turns away. If she hadn't noticed the red tinge of his ears peeking from under his long locks, she would have thought he was insulted. 

She turns to Cade who retracts his arms from her shoulders, leaning back so she can regain her space. He doesn't smile, but his eyes openly express patience, and she tries to remember if he has ever gazed at her in such a loving warmth before, and why she never noticed. 

"I lo-" she starts, but Ashton interrupts. 

"No," he grunts out, then coughs to clear his voice. "No, don't ya say it unless you're sure." And she reaches out to pull his hand towards her so he will look at her. He refuses so she tugs him by the hand, startling him with the strength that tips him. 

"I love ya both, I really do, and I would never have thought that ya, both of ya'll," she corrects, turning to look both of them in the eyes, "would ever feel this way for me. This is shocking," she breathes. 

"Ya don't have to choose," Cade informs, "We both want ya and we want to share. That is if you'd like us." 

She blinks back tears at the soft catch in his voice, almost like a kicked puppy, and her head swirls. Suddenly she remembers all the times they've spent together, fighting and laughing, and the times they defended her and the times they told each other that they loved each other and the promises they made. She loves them as well, equally with a burning passion, but had set it aside for their deep friendship. 

Her tears over flow from her recollection of why she defied their warnings of George. She wanted to completely rid the love that she believed would rip them apart, and fill it with someone else to retain the friendship. Tears keep streaming but she grips his hand tighter, and uses her other hand to grab Cade's hand as well. 

Her voice shakes momentarily because of the tears and after a moment to still her trembling lips she looks at them both with a set gaze. "I don't even know how long I've been aching for this. I love ya, both of ya'll," she repeats and pauses when they both brush their thumbs over her cheeks, wiping the teardrops. 

"Don't force ya'self," Ashton whispers and she flares, glaring at him and setting her jaw. 

"Stop that," she bites out. "I love ya both, and I have for a long time so ya can't persuade me otherwise. I love ya'll, now shut up about not believing me and kiss me." 

They hesitate and they share a stricken expression between themselves and she wonders at how unfair it is that they've kept this to themselves and left her to dwell by herself. 

"Ya realize this is a sin," Cade supplies.

Ashton shakes his head in agreement. "We have resigned ourselves from the church under our own devices, but we don't want ya to fall with us."

A breeze trickles into the barn and teases the sweat on the nape of their necks, but she doesn't flinch like they do. 

"Well, ya know that I'm not religious, so let's be sinful together."

Ashton stares stunned at her angry pout, recognizing her hurt and determination. Cade chuckles. "Ya heard the queen," his familiar wide smile making its return.

She protests at the jest and opens her mouth to retort, only for Ashton to swoop in to press his lips against hers. He relishes her salty lips and takes advantage of her open-mouthed surprise, welcoming his tongue to meet hers. Cade whines at the loss of attention and they break apart, panting for breath. 

Thumbing her swollen lips and flushed cheeks, he remarks, "That tan of yours can never hide your blushes." She refocuses at his chuckle and he pecks her pursed lips. Before Ashton can give his sarcastic comparison, Cade whispers, "I'll top his kiss next time. I'll promise ya that," and winks.  

::

Something naughty~!
(Welcome to my messed-up mind.... *ghostly oooh's*)
Let me know what you think, and whether this is too tame.
Maybe I'll take that as a challenge. ;P

Could you hear the southern twang in their voices? 
Could you figure out what had happened to Holly?
Were Cade and Ashton's reaction decipherable? 

Please, let me know :D

Until the next story!
mera *__*

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A Better Time

This is a time for change, for self-improvement. 
I need to grow up. I am in need of growing up.
This is a time to become someone.
Wouldn't it be awesome to be someone I love?

I got a haircut.
Which is really big for me, considering I'm on a leash grasped tight in my father's traditional ways. 
My waist length hair is shoulder length now, and boy, if only you saw the mountain of hair around me. 
The last time I played a stunt like this, albeit with intentions only to hurt, I had just climbed off the plane from strict Pakistan, and my father didn't talk to me for a year. 
It was hurtful. It was painful.
A year is a long time to feel hated.

I'm just glad that we regained our close relationship. 
Although, since my father is in Pakistan right now, this might not have been a good time.
But hopefully, after seeing me on Skype yesterday, he'll have some time to get over it. 
I hope, and I pray. 

But this needs to be done.
I need to grow up.

(And after prospects for an arranged marriage were rejected for being unacceptable for me, I've gotta figure out my own future. Holy amazon, that's a story in itself I'm at a loss for.. Starting a mindset I am not accustomed to believe was in my power.. And how the hell does "love" play in this game??)

Anyways.
The only person who can figure you out is yourself. 
And if that's not true, please, reevaluate why that is.
I did, and now I have a purpose.

Feeling refreshed and light, I'm going to better myself.
Because now is a better time than never.

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Cruel For Loving You

JournalWord: Hunger for a fool.

::

There is a pause, and he holds his breath when he hears a rustle and the scraping of her will to stand up. His ears prick up at the slow footsteps of her trek up the slope towards him. She stumbles over loose pebbles and drags her left leg through the dirt, slowly, cautiously, behind her. He can smell her acrid fear from the top of the hill. He feels momentarily sick to his stomach at the spike of dark pleasure and interest; a misplaced sense of rightness at such a morbid situation.

She's getting closer and he barks at her to leave, but inside, in his twisted mind, he taunts her to come closer. The crunching of her soles on the gravel stir up a warmth in his gut when she continues up the hill without hesitation or regard to his growls. He can hear every sharp gasping inhale and deep pant as she struggles to huff in a lungful of air through the biting pain of broken ribs.

She trips on an exposed root and in his feverish mind's eye, he watches her reach out with her uninjured arm to stop her fall. A soft gasp peals from her split lips and his chest flutters at the sound of a prey caught. The gash on her thigh pools blood when she lands and his calves twitch at the silent ripple when she steps in her own puddle when she wavers to get on her scraped knees.

He wants to eat her. Oh, God. Why does she have to be so delectable and sweet? His tongue sweeps the inside of his cheek, searching for any trace of her between his teeth. His stomach reels at his hunger and disgust. All his senses are tipped towards her, even though he struggles to face away from her direction. He's killing himself inside to not launch down the upturned turf and take her between his teeth. She's standing there, having reached the peak, practically in ribbons, looking so delicious.

He can smell her fear from where he stands, and he hates how it's making him delirious. 'She's not food!' he wants to yell, but only a pleased growl hums from between his incisors. He rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes. Everything is so bright. So pure and blinding, yet red and hazy. He just wants to run away and hide from this disturbing hunger.

He forces the image of her standing between the pews into his mind to stave off the lust, remembering the smile that lit up her face under her bride's blush. The beast inside of him laughs at his attempt to smother it, forcing a replay of her surprised expression when he sank his canines into her arm and rattled her until her shoulder popped and her arm snapped. He shudders and beats the image away helplessly.

She motions a twisted foot to take a step closer to him. Her foot dangles at a crooked angle and his mind inquires whether that was a result of batting her against the tree trunk. She leans her weight gently on the toes of her injured foot, ready to take another step, but a howl freezes her on the spot. 

The blood he could have ignored, even a small drop spreads a lot. Wounds don't have to be deep to paint someone vibrant, but he remembers the feel and taste of her flesh in his mouth and the sound of her bones cracking between his teeth, like he might wake to remember someone's voice talking next to him as he sleeps.

He had done this to her. And he wants to do even worse.

There is blood and scratches all over his mate, but she stares with a set determination without regard to her state. She cradles her left arm to her chest as she struggles to stay on her bleeding feet. 

"Are you alright?" she asks in a strangled voice and he chuckles humorlessly at her misplaced concern.

He isn't. God. He really isn't.

::

I am in metaphorical love with this song right now: Fool by Shawn Hook.

"I'm a fool for loving a heart that's cruel, I'm a fool for loving you..."

My, I'm not really one for love (in actuality, I don't believe in it...Although I attempt to write it. Possibly as a method to understand it??) but after listening to this song on repeat countless times, and analyzing what the victim must be thinking.

But then I thought, who really is the fool? (You decide.)

Well, anyways, I hope this got as confusing as it seems >.<

And let me know what you think about Shawn Hook! He's got an amazing set of pipes. 

I'm hoping to write the start writing the second installment of Bless during this long weekend (and before I become swamped in midterms and final exam prep!). So maybe if I'm lucky it'll be up in the next couple of days :)

We shall see, but until then, 
Be awesome.
Mera.

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Lost Pet

JournalWord: Murdering a microwave.

::

He slams open the cupboard doors, still ungratified by the crack of wood clattering onto the tile counter and the smacking it makes on the linoleum floor. He fingers the empty glass by the sink and swipes it to the floor with a sweep of his arm. He swipes at another glass, a small smile 

lifting his frown. He rips off another cupboard door from its hinges, then pulls the fridge door off with a spray of sparks.

"Find what you wanted, Riche?"

"Hardly." He doesn't even turn around and continues to kick the microwave he has just tossed to the floor.

Clement leans on the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, watching his friend brutally murder his microwave as if this scenario is a daily occurrence. "Riche, what is it this time?" he tries again. 

"I'm looking for my pet," is the reply before Riche hefts the rest of the fridge over his shoulder and smashes it onto the demolished rubble that used to be his microwave.

"And have you found it yet, because, seriously. My kitchen is being severely destroyed and I'd rather you don't harm anymore of my household appliances."

Riche chooses not to answer, filling the unspoken reply with sure kicks into the gut of the toppled fridge.

"Riche," Clement starts, not wanting to play Riche's game. "You refuse to associate with human beings, let alone with animals. What is wrong?" 

There's a moment before Riche speaks. "My pet ran away and I'm looking for her."

"Riche," Clement warns. 

Riche turns his back away and crouches, examining the wires and other components spilling out of the gutted fridge. "I don't like pets," Riche mumbles. "They're so pure and innocent, and are so willing to open their hearts to humans without a sense of hesitation." Riche grasps a handful of colourful wires and rips them out of their sockets with a yank. "But this one 

is different. It has nothing to do with purity and innocence, and all that lovey crap others like her have."

"Then what is it?" Clement asks, startling Riche. Riche tenses and stands up, the bundle of wires still in his tight fist.

"She won't open her heart," he whispers. Riche lets go of the wires, and watches them fall lightly onto the chaos he created.

::

Oh! This is going to definitely be a busy semester! My class schedule is all over the place, with 6 hour breaks between classes and days that stretch from 8am to 10pm. I hope I don't burnout! 

I've also got an interview for a hospital volunteering position in the ER Information desk on Tuesday! So nervous! I need the hours for my requirements to BCIT, but I'm also excited to be volunteering again! Fingers crossed that I make a great impression >.<!!

Gonna keep positive!
Mera!

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