Quite The View

JournalWord: Peek.

::

A flurry of white skirt sweeps the green grass as she saunters toward the apple tree at the edge of the field. Her horse totters obediently behind her, a peach mare that has trailed after her since foalhood. In her hand is an empty basket, soon to be filled with the red delicious apples. The field is hers, the only treasure left by her mother and father to support hers and her brother's livelihood. 

This time of year, the wheat is growing prosperously and the apples are beginning to ripen. Spring is ending and summer is taking its place. Once in the shade of the tree, she drops her basket and proceeds to tie her mare to the tree. Then glancing left and right, she hitches her skirt and begins to climb the tree. There are not many red ones as they are only starting to ripen. Plucking the scarlet apples, she drops them on the grass, aiming for the basket near the truck.

A few yards away, he is out riding on his mount, witnessing a curious scene. Apples are falling on the ground, some landing into a woven basket while a light mare is grazing peacefully on the grass. A closer inspection reveals that someone is picking apples and dropping them onto the ground. He edges nearer and finds a woman, balancing her feet on a bough while her hands reach for a shiny red apple at the end of the branch. 

She does not seem to realize his arrival, preoccupied she is with her task. From where he stands under the tree looking up, he is offered an interesting view up her skirt of her slender legs.

::

Hello all!

How are all of ya'll this lovely day? :)

This is definitely going to be a busy (and stressful!) month ahead in June, but hopefully I'll keep strong (and sane) by keeping the stories coming! Recently I've become more focused on Protagonize and introducing myself to the world of collaboration, so check those out if you haven't :) They're kind of fun.

Keep bubbly!

Mera.

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Womanly Bits

JournalWord: "What's so good about being a girl?"

::

Sherry stomps over to the table and slams her lunch down before sliding into the booth. 

Aaron lowers his spoon and raises an eyebrow at the three KitKats. "Is that all you're having?"

She snarls and rips the wrapper off of one viciously, tossing it behind her into the next booth without a care. After chewing a stick, she slams down her head, groaning at the pain and vocally regretting the action.

Aaron pushes his soup aside, seeing as every time he tries to eat, she slams the table. Brett joins them in that second, opting to slide into the seat beside Aaron instead, at the sight of Sherry's head of hair. 

"What's her problem?" he asks, grabbing the water bottle on his tray to twist open the cap. Aaron opens his mouth, but Sherry decides to wake up.

"What's so good about being a girl?" she asks, turning her head so her cheek rests on the table and she can see them through her overturned hair. She stares at them, challenging, as she shoves another stick of chocolate into her mouth.

"Um, is this supposed to be rhetorical?" Aaron supplies, suspicious.

Brett smirks and shakes his head at Aaron. "This is a trick question." He points at Sherry with his water bottle. "You are absolutely gorgeous, my dear."

"Bzzt! Wrong!" She lifts her head up but slouches onto her arms. "Both of you. I want to know what is so good about being a girl. The truth!"

Without hesitation, they simply reply with "Sex".

"You've got to be kidding," she says, rolling her eyes.

Brett lifts his plastic fork and aims it so it dangles in front of her eyes. "Sweetheart, sex is always the answer and from a guy's point of view, you ladies make it amazing by just being there. I mean, you've got the easy end of the deal; you don't have to work for it, you've always got a willing partner, and you always end up feeling good. Although whether it's emotionally or physically, I'm still working on that," he adds, stabbing his pasta matter-of-factly.

Aaron blinks and swivels to meet Sherry's attention. "Okay, there must be a reason why you'd bring this up so I'm going to hit all the bases. Women have every guy wrapped around their tiny fingers. They have the ability to be both impossibly beautiful and crazy smart. They have their own empowered rights. You get free drinks at the bar, for heaven's sake! And children like your half of the species! What more can you ask? Women are the epitome of amazing."

"Dude, you forgot lingerie." At that they both sink into their seats and drift into a dreamland only expressed in a distant smile. 

Sherry coughs to snap them back to reality. "You're forgetting that we have to sacrifice a lot for those free drinks, like expensive makeup and clothes, and diets with extreme workout sessions," she retorts back, and Aaron and Brett briefly regard each other before leaning towards her.

"You just want to bicker," Aaron concludes with a smirk and Brett nods, picking up his sandwich. Aaron reaches for his tray, dunking his crackers into the cold soup.

Sherry sputters. "What? No. I just think that there's nothing good about being a women, is all." Her voice trails off to a whisper as she gnaws on her chocolate. Brett leans forward to pat her head comfortingly.

"Hey Sherry," Tia greets, passing the table. One glance at Sherry's drooped stature is enough for her to reach into her bag. "Period?" she asks, and much to the guys' horror, Sherry pouts and nods. 

Tia nods understandably and hands her another chocolate bar. "Just think, one day you'll snag yourself a hottie with your womanly bits and have the cutest little baby ever," she says, smiling before she leaves. 

Brett and Aaron scoff when she disappears but shut their mouths when Sherry finally smiles, giggling distantly as she unwraps the next KitKat bar.

::

Yesterday, I realized something extraordinary.

In the space of a few months, I had unknowingly forgotten myself.

Forgot my motivation. Forgot who I aim to be. Forgot my sense of passion. 

A shiver ran down my spine and I realized that without the essentials of my mind, my being, I had lost myself and forgotten why I am here. I mean, what is there if you don't know yourself? 

I didn't think my memory was that bad. I know that I have to write everything down to remember things, like lists, things I need done, my ideas... But it never came to mind that I would need some sort of reminder to bring me back from the blankness creeping in the corners of my internal vision. 

Well, now that I've realized this, I only hope I can manage to revive the spark that seemed to drift from my soul. I need this drive back. There is this passion that I have to catch.

And this explains why Fool's Paradise turned out to be a mess. No motivation, no inspiration. I'm fixing this. I swear.

-Mera.

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Human Feel

I don't feel like a human being.
I don't feel like a girl, a woman, a female.

I am grasping for straws that are out of reach.
I have a mind. I have my own set of morals, which seem like they are diminishing as more restrictions are fenced up.

The more thoughts I have as they struggle through the fog, the more I don't care about why they are not allowed.

I'm being boxed up like an animal, tamed to never have a thought and obediently leaping through the set hoops.

I don't feel real. I am imaginary. A figment of someone's twisted mind, paired to create some creature that is out of place.

I suppose I want to feel like I can break through this dream-like state and inject myself into a reality that makes me happy.

I am realizing that I am not happy.
Can walls without doors make anyone happy?

All these words that contradict. All these pains that only exist.
I'm deathly afraid of something that can only do me good.

I want to leave. I want to find a me. I want to be free.
But I feel so numb, like my limbs are dangling and I can only think.

I need to act. To show I am a person. A person who has grown up into an adult. An adult that needs to know who the hell she is.

Because I'm fairly certain she is someone.

Maybe a human being. Maybe I'm a human being. Maybe I can do more than just feel.
I may need to follow the vocal instructions and never come back to this cage.

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Puppy-Love Prostitute

JournalWord: Paid to be someone's puppy.

***

With his torn skinny jeans and shred-style long sleeve shirt, he struts against the wind to the glass doors. He taps his booted feet in the rhythm of his newest single, giving off quiet hums.

In his hand is his guitar case. This one likes listening to him sing, he remembers. He pushes open the glass door with his free hand, walking straight to the elevators. He gives the up button a press, glad that the elevator is fast, and walks right in. The doors slide smoothly closed behind him, and with a press of another button, the elevator is off.

He waits, his lithe frame relaxed. He rocks back on his heels, catching glances of himself in the reflected walls. Good. It doesn't look like he's grown. They like younger, shorter, men.

He watches the lip chain that connects from the middle of his bottom lip to his right ear. He gives his long shaggy hair a toss, spilling strands away from his dark brown eyes. He brings his free hand to the spiked collar at his neck and twists it so that the shiny buckle shows better.

A bell dings and the doors glide open. He casually strolls down the plush carpeted floor to the right door, the turned-down suspenders at his sides swinging with each step. Her doorbell rings and he doesn't have to wait long in front of the door. 

With a catch of a lock, the door is pulled open, a middle-aged woman with obvious expensive taste, greets the door with a smile. She flies into his arms, dispelling her brand perfume like a cloud around her, running her manicured fingers through his hair and down his small, taunt face. He flashes her a smile, dropping his guitar case and wrapping his arms around her slender waist.

"Madam! It's been a while!" he exclaims, his child-like voice giving her pleasant chills. His peculiar politeness is always a shock that pleases his clients.

She lightly fingers the numerous piercings running the length of both his ears. "It has, hasn't it. Mmm.." She snuggles her face into his neck, inhaling his scent. Marlboro cigarettes and strawberry licorice.

He gives off a fit of giggles when her cold nose brushes his collarbone. "Madam, that tickles!"

She smiles, bringing her face up from his neck and tugs his arm towards her room. "Come on! I bought your favorites!" Her youth gleams from her eyes, outshining the makeup and Botox in her face. His presence always seems to bring out the childlike behavior his clients wish to claim from him.

With another eager tug of his sleeve, he picks up his guitar case from the floor and follows her into her hotel room. The door shuts behind him, a soft 'click' echoing the empty hall.

***

I have experienced a prostitute phase, wherein I was constantly fascinated by prostitutes and needed to know everything about the profession. Yes, I consider it a profession. My scientific curiosity respects everything interesting. 

At one point, I was convinced that I should take research into my own hands and become a prostitute! (I can be quite extreme without realizing it. Good thing I have reasonable friends to deter me from my crazy endeavors!)

Anyways! Now I've got a medical thing going on that seems to peek into most of my stories...

This JournalWord brought on many ideas when I happened upon it in one of my journals (most naughty, and of which I may write about later ;D). I picked this idea because I liked the ability to change someone by presence. By choosing who you associate with is enough to drastically change your character and behavior, whether for the best or worst. 

In this case, the prostitute's presence invokes a positive behavior that allows his clients to relive a childlike happiness in simple gestures, like private acoustic guitar performances and candy. The cigarette smell is a reminder that he is still a man and that he is an individual with a separate behavior and lifestyle away from his clients.

Feel free to analyze your interpretations from my stories :) I would love to know!

Be good, 

mera~!

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