You've Got Male Models

A 20-year old prodigy heart surgeon, Chris Cahill, did not expect to share her apartment (or her life) with two aspiring male models when she finally gains her independence. A story in the process of their interesting (and equally hilarious!) adventures of three different individuals living in the present.

JournalWords

I write on a whim, and somewhere along the line, I have collected journals full of phrases and ideas that I use to spark a story. Got any ideas, feel free to share them. How would you interpret a JournalWord?

I ADORE THEM ALL!

Gladiators, Bad-ass priests, Robots, Demons, Cowboys, Demon-Cowboys, Fast-food cashiers, Ninjas, Butlers, Pirates, Sailors... The list goes on and they all make me swoon! (We are instant best buddies if you feel the same, just saying)

Bless

Albeit reluctantly, Sarah finds herself with the responsibility of raising an angel after he crashes from the sky. Sci-fi, supernatural, and a little silly.

Mera

I'm a fiend. *cheeky smile*

Sunday, 31 March 2013

Dreamscape


JournalWord: Finding a mother.

::

He can see the opening though the thinning trees, and launches himself towards the meadow.
He lands past the last of the shrubs and finds himself situated on the edge of the tall waving grass.
His eyes scan the tops of the flickering greens for her bobbing blonde head as he desperately tries to find her.

And there she is.

She's in the middle of the grassy sea, under the tall oak tree that reins this waving ocean. When she sees him, her smile breaks over her lips and welcomes him. Her smile tells him that she has been awaiting his arrival just as he's been anxious to see her. Very slowly, her arms open in front of her, almost reaching towards him.

He stiffens at the foreign gesture and he shifts suddenly, swishing his head side to side in a scan. When his eyes lock back to hers, he begins to understand that the gesture doesn't signal an intruder.

"Lucin," her voice calls. Then it clicks.

She has opened her arms in the form of a hug. His breath catches in his throat. She wants to hug him. He has seen others receive them from outside of his windows, but has never received one himself.

He instantly dashes across the field, through the wall of grass and wildflowers, and nearly flies into her arms. He wraps his long arms around her tiny waist, surprised at how delicate women are. His hands close over each other in his tight grasp. He suddenly realizes that she is so tiny compared to him, and he almost pulls himself away in fear of crushing her.

Her arms wrap around him as well and she pulls him closer, dismissing his thoughts of letting go. He clutches to her like she will disappear right then and there.
He loves the feel of her minuscule body pressed up against him.
It feels so right.

::

I detest long weekends.
They are a trap, I swear!
I had a list of all the things I was going to get accomplished or start.
But nope, the four day weekend is all, like, "Naaahh, this can wait until Monday night. You should totally do this instead! It's not a waste of time or distracting at all!".
Yeah, this is def happening right now.

Oh well. 
This is what happens when your motto for life is "Just say yes".
Definitely screwed. 
:D

mera.

Saturday, 30 March 2013

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.

Saturday, 23 March 2013

Heart-Strings

JournalWord: Fate

::  

Red strings hang, waving from the ceiling like curtains swaying in the breeze invited by an open window. The girl treads through the red fibers, pushing them aside with her fingers as she weaves between the fluttering threads. Her fingertips strum the strings like a harp, but the only sound in the endless, white hall is the brush of her knees against the hem of the mint sundress she wears. 

She follows a path only seen by instinct, winding herself further down the hall on soft footsteps with only the sight of red all around her. As if struck by impulse, she shoots her hand through the wavering threads in a direction beyond her field of vision to an area by her peripheral. 

She runs her fingertips down the strand, slowly, teasingly stroking the gossamer tendril like a precious vein. Without hesitance, she sharply grasps the string in between her fingers and palm, and tugs it towards her. 

The string pulls loose from the ceiling and the end hanging close to the floor ravels around her ring finger and the other end pulls tight in the opposite direction. The end not tied to her leads off through the other strings like a path, elongating into the sea of red. 


Pausing, she waits, her eyes focused on the taunt string that disappears down the forever hall. A tremor suddenly travels down the string, like a call that pulses through the throng of threads. It's calling for her, just as she has searched for it. 

Before the strings tugs, her feet pick up into a run and she sweeps through the curtains, following the trail to her fate.

::

This short is inspired by Japanese fate, where love between two people is tied together with a red string.

This is one of my versions of love. 
This being, that I don't actually believe in love. 

(shoot at me Cupid, I dare you!)

It's kind of funny, considering I used to write a lot about love when I was younger, but what does a 13 year old girl know about love anyways?

So yeah, my friends try to prove me wrong, and I'm sure they can be right and believe what they like (I am very open to knowing everyone has their own mindset that I have no control over), but I'll stick to my original plan.

Which doesn't involve love.

And instead involves the possibility of a one night stand or, in the case I am deterred from Plan A by family and friends, artificial insemination via Folder-Boy (y'know, a dude chosen from a bunch of folders.. HarHar).

Maybe I've got too much science in this brain of mine, or I'm just neurotic. Who knows! But so far, that's the plan :P

I mean, who wouldn't love a gorgeous son (manufactured by chosen genes-Yay for eugenics!) by the name of Hexane??

Well, that's a tidbit from my mind :)
Hope it didn't freak you out too much ;P

Be bubbly,
Mera <3



Friday, 22 March 2013

I Conquer. (March 22, 2013)

This week, as posted on March 16th, has been uber hectic! I had so much to do. But it is safe to say that the first stretch of many weeks filled with stress, I have conquered! 

Huzzah! *powerful lunge with empowering fist to the sky*

I had completed an amazing volunteer log of 7.5 hours (!!!) straight at the Assisted Living home and, although I'm sore to the bone from running and standing and dancing, it was refreshing. I made old lady friends! And I (somehow) managed to capture the attention of some skippy-feeted men on the dance floor. I am a terrible dancer, but I might take a guess my enthusiastic charm enchanted them. 

I'm a scoundrel. Rawr! *smiles cheekily*

I totally conquered my presentation today, and holy drats, no excessive bouts of cussing! (Chalk one up for Mera!) Sure I was still visibly shaking in my cute western boots, but I said everything I had to, and that is one step I was aiming to achieve. 

And if you can't tell from the black typed letters, I am super happy :) As of recently, I have become more susceptible to bursts of smiles and impromptu dancing. Maybe it's the yoga. Maybe it's the spring weather (if random hail/rain/sunshine/snow every hour is considered spring..). Maybe I am just going senile and this is the last stretch before I hit the looney bin?

Who knows? I sure don't but I'm not going to complain :D 

This only calls for positive themes for writing! (Ain't that nice change from drama and darkness)

Well, I'm going to keep bubbly, (and post something for ya'll to read besides this!)
Mera <3


Sunday, 17 March 2013

An Update of My Life (March 16th, 2013)


Quite a bit has been plunked on my plate as of recently that I'd really would like to relieve. 

  • In addition to university, I've managed to maintain an active position at the Assisted Living Community Home I am volunteering at, and have already clocked in some hours. I'm learning how to dance from some of the folks, and myohmy! There is nothing like real dancing, and not the hip-hop krunk, booty-popping grind that is trending right now (although I am jealous that my brothers have acquired the skill of such feats...). No, real waltz and samba are magical, and these aging men really know how to sweep a lady off her feet! I just hope the art of real dancing never retires.
  • My father departed to Pakistan, his homeland, for his half-brother's funeral on our behalf, so for the next two weeks, because I am the oldest sibling (although it is argued that because I am the shortest of the three of us, rank should be determined by height. So that I would be the youngest.. Yeah, my brothers are real rascals.) and the only one who can uphold responsibility, I am in charge of my mum and brothers while he is away. It's just an extra load of worry and stress that I hope only lasts for two weeks, but I'm sure all the gifts he'll bring back will be worth it :P
  • My anxiety is extremely high right now because I have a presentation on Friday, and I really don't want to let my group down. I've been attempting to destress myself, but with yoga classes over, and a busy schedule, I've got to figure out ways to calm myself (and maybe fit in a run somewhere this week). 

I'm not going to hope for the best, just something passable right now.
I hope you are having a much better week than I am :)

With loads of smooches!
Mera

Friday, 15 March 2013

Angelic

Continuation of Gratitude, of my current story-project Bless
So take a read and let me know what you think~!
(It would be much appreciated!) 

::

Sarah jumps and smacks her head on the edge of the sink counter when Sam calls for her. Rubbing the aching spot with a groan, she grabs the first aid kit from the cupboard under the sink, hand still cupping the bump forming on the crown of her head, and abandons the bathroom for her bedroom, alarmed by the anxious tone in Sam's voice.

She almost skids into Sam's back, stopping the collision with the hand holding the kit slamming into his hard back. His lean 6'9 stature doesn't move when she touches him and his stillness unnerves her. "Sam," she starts, peeking at his wide eyed expression. He holds up his hand to say something, the makings of a smile wavering around an open-mouthed awe. Nothing escapes his mouth so he points away from her.

She has forgotten about Blue in her frantic to decipher what is wrong with Sam, so she is surprised when she turns to face Sam's amazement and sees Blue on her bed. To be more accurate, what is attached to Blue drops her jaw. 

"Blue?" she squeaks, but can't find any more words.

Sam breaks into a grin. "You went to get the first aid kit so I thought I'd face whatever was hidden under the bandages before you did, y'know, because of your silly squeamishness." Sarah snaps her head towards him at the jest, ready to retort but he continues. "So I managed to convince him to let me peek at his shoulder blades, I mean, on the court I see a lot of bones get broken, but his shoulder blades just didn't look right, so I unraveled the bandages and they just peeled off, then, Sarah, you see them. I wasn't sure what to do. I mean, they're feathers! Feathers! He has feathers, Sarah!"

Turning away from Sam's excited smile and twinkling eyes, she inches closer to the edge of the mattress, catching Blue's attention from the jersey spread flat on the sheets over his knees. At the sight of her, he greets Sarah with his familiar cherub smile and silent laughter, leaping from the pillows in a bound. 

Sarah freezes, stunned by his leap, but mostly by the arc of his slow descent as the wings on his back beat with his excitement and momentarily catch air. His impact slams her to the ground, and if Sam wasn't there to catch her, she would have ended up with another bump on the head. 

Blue pops his head up from her neck, his laughter a silent melody as his wings flex behind him. Her fingers cautiously reach towards his left wing with an itching mind of their own, and when he notices her endeavor before she does, he turns and stretches the wing closer so the light tips brush her fingertips. "So soft," she murmurs, stroking the long, gossamer white feathers and tufts of down clustered closer to the base of his wing. "What are you?" she breathes, gingerly brushing her fingers over the area around the base of the wing. It's smooth and flawless, and the muscles corded underneath and around his shoulder blade stretch and relax under her touch with natural ease.

A sound escapes his mouth and Sarah, startled by the only noise he has ever made, flinches her hand away only to recognize the sound, not as a cry of distress, but a giggle. Relieved that she hasn't hurt him, she grins, mirroring his contagious happiness, and without a moment's hesitance, tickles him under his ribs. 

He squeals and his previous silent laughter finally awakens to a melodic sound that carries, like a cool, light sheet dotted with twinkling stars spread overhead. The chime of his high pitched giggles bounce with the same joy radiating from his flushed cheeks. 

Sam clears his throat, ceasing the playful session so they both relay their attention to him. He has settled on the floor beside them, cross-legged, which is quite a feat for a professional basketball player, and has lost his childish glee to a more somber expression. "I think we need to discuss this first before you get too attached. Sarah, sit up, please," he commands and she obeys, imitating his seating, allowing Blue to crawl into her lap. 

She recognizes the tone and expression from when they were younger and a serious atmosphere was required for situations. "You're right," she agrees, smiling briefly at Blue who lays his palm on her cheek with confusion evident in his eyes. 

"Blue," Sam asks, diverting Blue's attention from Sarah. "How old are you? Eight? Nine? You look around ten." Blue doesn't reply, instead, he tilts his head similarly as he had when Sarah had asked him in the park. "Do you know where you live? Where your parents are?" Again, no answer. 

Sam pauses to think, his left hand burying itself in his mussed dark hair, tugging as if to pull up an answer. Finally, he leans forward to meet Blue's curious gaze and asks, "Blue, where did you come from?"

Immediately Blue smiles and shoots his arm up to point his delicate fingers to the ceiling. His eagerness to please radiates, and when he twists to Sarah for praise, she pats his head with a smile, although slightly worried. 

"I think we need to take him to the police," Sam starts, then slaps his face with his hand and changes his mind. "No, no they won't believe this. A boy with angel wings." He barks out a laugh before snapping his fingers. With eyes alight with an idea, he scrambles to his feet. "Hold on," he says, "I've got someone to call." With that said, he leaves the bedroom with his hand digging in the pocket of his sweatpants for his cellphone.

Dumbfounded by his departure, Sarah gazes at the boy nestled in her lap. "Angel, huh?" she whispers and finds herself surprised by how easily she can accept the situation. He perks up at her voice and mouths the word, so she repeats it for him. 

The word flows from his bud lips after a couple soundless efforts until he forces the air from his lungs so the last syllable of the word is heard like a bell in the air. His voice is beautiful, like a song. He repeats the word over and over, as if mesmerized by the accomplishment, and Sarah is enchanted by the symphony of his exuberance. 

"Who has connections?" Sam sings, sliding into the bedroom with his hands in the air and effectively interrupting the concert. He hooks his thumbs so they point down to his cocky smile and raised eyebrows as he proclaims, "This guy!"

Blue pauses to stare at Sam's pose in the doorway and Sarah is just as befuddled. "Is that really necessary?" she asks sarcastically, and his mock glare automatically ignites an eye roll from her.

"I was just on the phone with one of the city's top detectives and he says he'll be on the lookout for any missing children reports fitting Blue's description, but y'know, without the detail of his wings." 

"How do you know a detective?" she asks, dubious.

"He's on speed dial for some of the players on my team who need a watchdog for their girlfriends during the season. He's real famous for being anonymous and really good at investigation. Everyone knows him."

Still concerned, she asks, "What's his name?"

"He goes by Detective R," he brags, rubbing his fingernails on the chest of his shirt.

"Never heard of him," she bluntly replies and shifts Blue off her lap so she can stand. 

"Well you shouldn't," Sam answers pointedly, a catty grin smeared on his face with matching twinkles in his eyes. "Or he wouldn't be one of the city's top detectives."

"Fair enough. Now, before we get all caught up in this, because heaven only knows what else is going to happen now that a detective is involved," she raises her eyebrows at this, pointedly staring at Sam. He rolls his eyes at her in the same manner she had, but the excitement in the quirk of his mouth refuses to settle. "We need to deal with Blue, and I mean, it's obvious he's staying here with me, but Sam, I know nothing about children."

Sarah slumps onto her mattress and massages her forehead with her fingertips, strained by the responsibility. Blue immediately clambers to her side, and Sarah peeks through her fingers when he wraps his hands to pull her fingers from her face. Finally noticing his nakedness, she leans away from him to stretch across the bed for the jersey still spread on the sheets. 

"Right, my apartment is lacking on the nutrition and household necessities," Sam admits as she guides Blue's crown and arms through their respective holes. "But I could stay over tonight, although I've got practice in the morning."


"Really?" she asks with a smile of relief. Sarah tugs the jersey so it covers Blue up, and her mood gently lifts with Blue's admiration of his new favorite shirt. "Thanks Sam. I know how busy you are."

"Not at all, sweets. I just wish I could do more with my schedule. But before I say anything further, 'cuz you know I would, I have to hit up the gym with my team."

Surprised, her eyes widen and she starts an apology only for him to silence her with a chuckle. 

"Plenty of time for me to catch them," he reassures and strides towards her to bow forward and softly peck a kiss in her hair. "Now, don't fret while I'm gone. I'll be back in a couple of hours. Just make sure he eats something and drinks his juice; he didn't finish it, like he should have."

A silent battle rages as the boys lock eyes for a moment until Blue turns away to smile at her attention. "That's simple, I can handle that," she verifies, but more for herself than for him.

"Awesome, so I'm off," he calls, quickly ruffling Blue's feathery hair, chuckling when Blue frowns, and heads out the door. 

The sound of the door thudding shut at Sam's departure leaves the duo in silence. 

Blue shimmies closer to her side, snuggling almost into her lap in an attempt to attract her attention again, and Sarah chuckles at the feathers poking from the collar and short sleeves of the jersey. 

"We definitely need to figure out your clothing situation. This just won't do," she notes as he attempts to flutter his wings under the fabric constraint. He pouts, frustrated by the defiance of his favorite shirt to the whims of his wings. 


::


Goodness! It's taken quite the time to finish this chapter!
I haven't had the time to work on it, but after a lot of encouragement to continue from friends on Protagonize, I have made it a mission to work on it in any spare time (when my brain hasn't fallen asleep, that is!). 

So thank you all for your support! Each comment and review sparks life into my mind and reminds me of why I write :)

Also, I've been hit with quite a bit of inspiration for short stories and character ideas, which hopefully don't interfere with Bless! So I will definitely attempt to write them up, and if not, when this semester is over, there will be a lot for you to read :P

Always busy, but placing my best smile forward,
Mera! :)






Sunday, 10 March 2013

Nutty


JournalWord: Squirrels.

::

"You can't just dump me because I hit someone's mailbox. That's unjust."

"You're right, that would be unjust. But mowing down a fence and clobbering a couple of innocent gnomes is another story."

"You're being unreasonable."

"Am I, Donny? You suddenly swerved off an empty road."

"If I didn't, I'd have killed an animal."

"An animal. Was it a deer, or maybe, a cat?"

"No.."

"What was it then, Donny? What was it, Donny, that would have caused you to scream to the Lord above, and take a sharp right into someone's koi pond?"

"..A squirrel."

"My gods, Donny. A squirrel?"

"Yes, a squirrel. Don't tell me that it's suddenly an accepted act to run-over a squirrel because last time I checked, running over cute, furry animals is a no-no."

"Donny?"

"Yes, Elizabeth."

"A squirrel?"

"Shut up! And stop laughing!"

"You-you saved a cute, furry squirrel, Donny? Aww! You're such a humanitarian!"

"Shut up and dump me already."  

::

I've gone MIA, I know, but I've been super busy an distracted as of late. 
Midterms (I have a genetics one tomorrow that I should be studying for right now but the uni website is acting up...-.-), volunteering (I totally got into the massive assisted living place and I'm on the insane task of completing 30 hours in a month! Btw, it's pretty fun :P), and prepping for finals and presentations and papers and assignments and all that other uni crap I really don't want to do. *pout*

My right arm throbs painfully at the thought. :S Maybe I should take up the thought of being ambidextrous... :D Wouldn't that be handy! (Pun intended, hehe)

Well, wish me luck, and in return, I'll wish you all a great week! And hopefully I update a little sooner (perhaps this week if prompted.. :P)

Be merry and great,
Mera!


Saturday, 2 March 2013

Try It Green


Words that come to mind when I think of GREEN:

emerald.
grass.
pine.
jade.
viridian.
forest.
chartreuse.
olive.
drugs.
marijuana.
moss.
pea.
lettuce.
salad.
young.
sage.
sea.
spinach.
lime.
eco-friendly.
leaf.
fresh.
lush.
sprout.
foliage.
unripe.
lawn.
park.
field.
clumsy.
gawky.
juvenile.
childish.
trees.
life.

::

I'm feeling pretty crummy right now with a cold. Icky and unfocused.
Hopefully I get better soon so I can get back to writing and concentrating on my homework and exams >.<!!!

And boy, I really hope Spring comes soon. Could totally go for some outdoor fun now.

I've been on Protagonize a lot, recently, and if you haven't checked out my page, I've put up some chapters for Bless up on there without it hitting here. ;P I'll get around to updating it here though!

Let me know if I missed a word on the list, or what word comes to mind at the mention of green :)

Be EVIL!
Mera <3

Sunday, 24 February 2013

Perverted Pile of Meat



JournalWord: Seeing some anatomy.

::


Two weeks ago, one of the henchmen had dragged a bloody carcass into her med bay and dropped it on a gurney. Immediately, she had pounced on him, but her questions ("Who is that?" "Is that all his blood?" "What the hell happened?") seemed to roll off his wide shoulders like water off a duck's back. He merely turned his chilling eyes on her and growled, "Newbie, so fix him," before stalking out without a second glance at her complaints from his muddy and bloody boots.

She had sighed and turned dubiously to the pulpy mess of organs and skin, vowing to bring up his behavior to the Boss. She was flattered by the obvious faith the mafia had put into her healing abilities by bringing her this victim from a B-rated slasher film, but she was a medic, not a miracle worker.

The horrific mass of bone fragments and fleshy lumps on her gurney roughly resembled what the human body would have looked like if someone had dumped a person into a giant blender and slapped puree. Yet, to her utter surprise, and morbid medical fascination, he was still alive and breathing, albeit shallow. 

Rolling up her sleeves and snapping on a pair of latex gloves, she flashed to work healing and rebuilding the battered gangster.

Several intensive hours later, she has transformed the mess of bones and blood on her gurney into a young man with impeccable good looks.

He is tall and long-limbed, with muscles streaming throughout his body like koi in a river. His snow white hair flows messily around his sharp jaw, and as she wipes her washed hands on a dry towel, she wonders if it's his natural hair color. 

Suddenly, his long white eyelashes flutter, casting delicate shadows against his pale cheekbones before slowly flickering open. Sparkling violet eyes reveal themselves and instantly hone in on her with a sharp intensity. His lips crack apart, his eyes still focused on her.

"That uniform is sexy as hell, seriously," he states, voice hoarse from dehydration.

She blinks, certain she had not heard what she thought she has heard. "Excuse me?"

"What, are you fucking deaf? I said, you look hot as fuck in that nurse getup, bitch."

Her jaw drops and a vein in her temple throbs with an rhythm similar to a ticking pipe bomb. "Yeah," she starts, gritting her teeth. "First things first, watch your language. And second, a thank you is in order for saving the pile of meat on my examination table from the pearly gates of Hell," she seethes, straining the towel between her tight fists until the threads beg to snap.

He has the audacity to raise an eyebrow and quirk the corner of his full lips into a cocky smirk. "Well, if I had known an angel was waiting here, I would've arrived back sooner." He licks his lips tantalizingly slow, locking eyes with her as he braces his arms to lift himself up. 

"Lay back down," she scolds, her hands abandoning the towel to force him back down onto the examination table. "I just sewed you up. You could at least let the stitches have time to heal."

His hands trap hers on his shoulders and he easily overpowers her to sit up. He flashes a cocky grin and pulls her arms behind his head. She swings into his chest and he traps her, his hands sliding down her arms, over her shoulders, to settle at her waist. The wires and IV's attached to him strain at his swift movement. "I definitely need your healing," he reassures, his voice husky and smooth, "And it needs to be dealt with right now, if you know what I mean, nurse."

His hand slides lower and her hand whips across his cheek. 

His momentary shock is enough for her to wrench out of his hold and shove him down onto the metal table. He stares up at her, silent, but a strange mixture of sparkle and flame dancing through his eyes. 

"You'll stay right there if you know what's good for you," she heaves, her chest huffing, and he marvels at her mussed brown hair slipping from her high ponytail and her breasts rising and falling as she catches her breath. 

She catches his appreciative gaze and glares menacingly at him. Clenching her fingers into biting fists, she curses "perverted pile of meat" before swiveling and stomping out the med bay doors.

As the doors swing after her furious departure, he locks his arms behind his head, unperturbed by her hostility, and relaxes, tipping his head up to marvel at the ceiling. "Quite the bitchy spitfire," he comments and whistles low. "And, my, what a tight ass."


::

Something a little bit different. And full of swear words and comments that would make a feminist seethe (like the main character!). Haven't really thought of any names for the characters yet, as this was just something I popped together pretty quick as a middle-of-the-night brain drainer. 

I find that dreams start to become quite interesting after I've written something down with a set of mentally-unstable characters. They're the best! I have a strange fascination with bad boys... (Am I alone on that notion?)

Also, for some reason, that I am not entirely sure why, I have joined another writing site called Protagonize. So check that out and if you are on there, let me know and we could be friends! (My username on there is Randomnese.)

Drop me a hello and review,
Mera!

Thursday, 21 February 2013

YGMM: Jones Sedlack: A Pessimist at Eleven



This is Jones, recollecting how he met Tristan. This is just to set a background for Jones.

::

My childhood was built up on days of distrust and premature judgement. From an early age, I was abandoned by my teenage mother to the care of foster homes and irrational caretakers. I was raised in a world surrounded by suspicion and skeptical truths, and by the age of ten, I had made three concrete conclusions:


First, I would never see my mother again. 

Second, happiness is nonexistent in the foster care system. 

Lastly, there isn't anyone worth trusting my life on. 


Three weeks after I turned eleven, however, was the beginning of my crumbling beliefs.

Suzanne, my caretaker at the time, was yelling at me, scolding until her face blistered into a painful red. She was new, as I recall, and yelling like it would instantly reform me. She obviously didn't listen to what ever schooling it took to become a caretaker because she didn't caution off the kitchen. 

Number one of any list of household rules in a foster home was to never let the kids enter the kitchen without permission. She should have read the rule book if she didn't want boys melting crayons on her new stove elements. 

She eventually smartened up to my insolence and decided that I deserved time in the time-out corner, and I was glad. It didn't matter that I wasn't the culprit. I just wanted to read and not be disturbed by the other rambunctious children. 

At the time, I had given up making friends with the other kids. They were wary of my dark and silent demeanor  They thought I was gloomy and cryptic with my dark hair and eyes, and pale complexion. 

They could think what they wanted, but I wasn't always all doom-and-gloom. I used to be excited to meet the new arrivals when I was younger. I eagerly greeted them at the front door, joining the other younger kids in a chant for information on the new sibling. 

However, after years of witnessing the stealing and lies that came with friendships, I doubted anyone could be trustworthy, and I easily gave up the intention to acknowledge the others that came into the shifting homes. That’s the reason I didn't know about Tristan when he arrived two days prior to my scolding. 

I was standing in a corner of the living room, warmed only by the lamp beside me as I bent my head to read the book I had swapped. The cover was warm from where it hugged my back when I hid it under my shirt before being snitched. 

A boy I wasn't familiar with lumbered into the living room just as I was about to flip a page, and after seeing me, immediately sprinted at me. This older boy, sporting bruises and a split lip from a previous rumble, was still buzzing with pent up adrenaline and needed a vent. Much to my disdain, Suzanne forgot about me and sent this bigger, obviously aggressive boy to time out too. 

His fists were too heavy for my arms to block and my book wasn't a proper shield against pubescent rage. I shouted and screamed, rolling over the carpet for foolish escape from the pounding. I honestly believed that I was going to die. In between a fist and my line of sight of the hallway, I saw the frown and wide eyes of a scrawny blonde haired boy who looked to be about my age. 

The hope of help diminished when he disappeared down the hall in a flash of rustic, worn sneakers, and I dejectedly waited for the knuckles to cram into my eye socket. My head hit the carpet and I flopped as I attempted to avoid a blackout. It was inevitable and I did lose myself to the darkness, but before I allowed myself to be sucked in, I saw the triumphant smirk of the blonde haired boy slamming a pot lid into the crown of my murderer.

I obviously wasn't killed as I had believed, and when I woke up in my bed to the throbbing of my eye, I was welcomed by the same smirk that saved my life. He fueled my headache with his chatter and bright, sunny smile as soon as I groaned in pain. 

I couldn't handle the unfamiliar happiness radiating off him or his taste in bright green shirts. What I said next could have been the last of my pride washed down the drain by his rescue and my own helplessness. However, I suspect it had something psychologically to do with my jealousy of his rosy personality. Either way, I snapped at him to shut up. 
He instantly clamped his lips closed, staring at me with an unreadable glare. Guilt lapped at my heart when I saw the bag of frozen peas in his hands. I was about to apologize when he quirked his mouth back into a caring smile, lighting up his green eyes as he held up the bag of peas and pressed it to my eye. 

“My name is Tristan,” he retorted, puffing out his chest in a huff his thin, short build didn't seem comfortable holding. “And you should learn kinder words.” The bag stung and I hissed at him, pawing angrily at his spindly arm to get it off my eye. He easily blocked off my blinded hands, picking up where he left off in his chatter. 
For the next couple of days, he wouldn't leave my side. He would find me wherever I hid, sidling up beside me and chattering aimlessly as I tried to read. Every day I added to my sum of his character, including the nastiest words I could think of. His suspicious cheery attitude was distrustful and his taste in neon shirts wouldn't assist in hiding from bullies, I had concluded and I avoided him at every chance I could. But life has its ways of proving how a stubborn, antisocial boy’s assumptions are wrong, and it just so happened to be in the form of bullying. 

I hadn't had the chance to make a dent in the book when his jade eyes peeked through the crack of the closet doors. He flung the doors open with a hidden strength that defied his puny body, laughing like we have been playing hide and seek for the past four days. I glared at his hand, reaching out to help me up. 

“It’s your turn to be ‘it’,” he said, but I didn't wait around to see his face when I darted past him. I rounded the corners of the winding halls until I reached someone’s bedroom, and I slid underneath a bed, filling in the space farthest from the hall. I heard the light footfalls of his feet and heard the calling of my name. I also heard the taunting from the boy who used me like a punching bag. 

“Looking for your black-eyed boyfriend?” he asked. His friends shuffled and howled behind him. He was inching closer to Tristan with harbored revenge, pushing Tristan down the hallway until they were almost in the doorway. I crawled closer to see, but still hidden under the sagging mattress. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Tristan stated, standing his ground against the bigger boys. “He’s my best friend.”
The boys didn't falter in response and launched themselves at Tristan, before he could run but Tristan just stood there, a determined quirky smile on his face as he waited for the pummeling of fists. He would've taken a beating for me, and somehow that was enough to send me to propel the edge of my hardcover book into the bully’s gut. 

His weight overpowered me and, if Tristan didn't pull me out of the fall zone, I almost would have become the cushion for the four towering boys. We didn't stand around to watch them squirm as they untangled themselves from their gangling knots. 

I remember a quote from the book, ironically the only thing I read from it, stuck into one of the blank pages before the title of the story. It was by a J. Petit Senn, and it said, “It requires less character to discover the faults of others, than to tolerate them.” Senn is right because if I had just looked for all his faults, I would not have a best friend right now. I would not have survived the years until I turned eighteen and escaped the foster care system. I would not have found the courage to find my mother and meet my half-sister. Lastly, I realized that at age eleven, assumptions are never right.

::

Just a little insight on Jones. He's a character I struggle with. Probably because I personally adore Tristan (haha, I'm biased!).

Let me know what you think. I'm always going to be working on the characters of YGMM, so any input is appreciated! :)

Smooches!
Mera <3

Monday, 18 February 2013

Metallic

JournalWord: Clean, scraped off.


::


"Hey, I think we're safe-" 

Harry's smile falters when he swivels to reassure her. She's farther in the shadows, and the glow from the moon is casting just enough light from the corner for him to see her. She can only see half his face from her angle, but its enough for her to realize something is utterly wrong. 

"Your arm," he whispers when she piques an eyebrow at his gaping mouth and wide eyes.

"Oh, it's nothing, I just scraped it when I fell," she replies, but when she gazes down to her injured limb to reassure him, she freezes.

The top layers of her skin are missing, clean, scraped off, but instead of the rushing blood and exposed muscles she expects, she is transfixed by the shimmering, metallic patch hidden under her skin. It glitters in the scant light, casting tiny sparkles of green and blue onto the dark concrete walls. The patch radiates a silent hum that enchants attention. 

"What," she starts and stammers. What is this? She tilts her face up at Harry, hoping he will explain, but she's met with a mystified expression similar to her own.

He rips off his tattered t-shirt sleeve from its last holding threads and wraps and ties the ratty fabric securely over the shining wound. "We have to run. We'll deal with this later. Don't think too much about it."

Grabbing her hand, he checks around the corner, before leading her out into the open.

::

Something uber-tiny to pass the time and calm the fluttering creative bugs. I've been feeling under the rocks for a couple days now after the first couple sprigs of midterms, so I'm attempting to recover during my break. It's not really working out as I had planned. -.-' 

So far, I have been caught up in a lot more than I had initially signed up for (uni, working on the side). I've been going to counselling for my extreme anxiety.

After a terrible realization that I am in desperate need of personal help (a personal reflection is always desired, especially when I can't distinguish myself from the social scene), I have signed myself up for counselling with a counselor to delve into ways to combat and confront my tension. Because, apparently, I am an extreme case for anxiety (I spew out swear words during speeches or shake like a 9.0 earthquake in northeastern Japan. The list goes on...); of which my counselor is immensely impressed by. 

Well, I've started a yoga class, on the referral of my counselor, as one of many ways to deviate my stress and tension (and after a couple classes, boy am I tense!), so if anyone has any interest in yoga, please let me know! I'm a complete chicklet to the topic and I am attempting to combat my skepticism with fascination (yes, that's how I combat any fear and it has worked with spiders, the dark, roller coasters, etc.. And, again, my counselor is strangely impressed by the thought process...)

I'll keep chugging along, 
mera.


Saturday, 16 February 2013

Gratitude

2nd Part of Bless. Read that first :)

::

She unplugs the electric kettle with a tug on the cord when it starts to squeal, immediately squelching the shriek to only clouds of steam. Grabbing a mug from a cupboard overhead, Sarah pulls open a drawer to sidle through her collection of teas. She chooses a raspberry tea from a box and pulls one of the tiny bags from the stack just as her cell phone chimes from her discarded purse. 

Teabag in hand, she sliding on her tiptoes to her purse on the other side of the kitchen counter, mindful of waking up Blue in her bedroom. Adrenaline pumping, she taps at the screen without looking at the caller's name, and heaves a hello as soon as she brings the device to her ear. 

The deep voice on the other line chuckles and she relaxes at the familiar tone. "Did you just run a marathon? You sound winded; did I interrupt something important at work?" Sam asks, and if she hadn't known him since they were twelve, she would've believed he actually cared about calling while she was on the job.

"Actually, I'm taking the day off," she states and smirks at the thought of his dark eyes bulging out of their sockets in disbelief.

"You're kidding," he sputters, and she giggles childishly at his confusion. "Good, little Sarah is skipping out on her job?" He gasps comically. "Has she finally delved to the dark side? When should I bring over the tequila?"

"Hold on," she chides, shaking her blonde hair. "No more tequila. Never, not after the first time."

"We were sixteen," Sam whines, "And we're smart enough now to drink it mixed. I can make a mean tequila sunrise for the ladies."

Sarah scoffs as she's sure he's wiggling his eyebrows with his statement. "I'm sure," she replies sarcastically as she drops the teabag into her mug. "Anyways, I made it part of my conscience to never touch tequila after that, so no chance. I'll stick to my teas," she adds, pouring the steaming water over the teabag and watching the hot water stain rose as she steeps the bag. 

"Fine, but I'm curious. What has driven my sweet Sarah to ditch work, because the only time you've ever taken a day off was after being sent home by your boss. I had to pick you up and you were delirious with a fever and looked like a living hell, and strangely enough, right now you're coherent."

She pauses, glancing at the bedroom door, opened at a crack so she can see the tiny lump in her comforter. "I brought home someone," she starts and instantly corrects herself, "I mean, not a man, but a boy! He was in the park during my break and he's wrapped head to toe in bandages. I think he's running away from abuse, Sam."

Sam blows out a soft breath on the other end of the line and Sarah runs her hand over her face, flustered by her slip-up, realizing that she sounds insane.

"You have gone absolutely mental," he finally says. "That can be the only explanation for why you'd kidnap a boy from the park." He isn't yelling, but his tone is edgy like he isn't quite sure he believes her. 

"He's hurt and he only has a coat. He had no shoes, Sam, I had to do something," she defends, gripping the cellphone in her hands while worrying her lip between her teeth.

"I understand where you're going with this. I know you and you wouldn't do anything to the kid, but this is still kidnapping. You can go to jail for this. You could have taken him to the police. Sarah, does Joel know?"

"No, he doesn't," she relents, but quickly changes the subject. "I did ask Blue but he refuses to speak, and I promised to take him to his house or the police tomorrow morning, before Joel knows about this. Sam, I can't just leave a runaway, you know that, and Joel doesn't need to get involved..." She trails off, suddenly overwhelmed by her decisions and past.

He sighs again. "I know, I know," he trails thoughtfully, "Just let me come over. I'll be at your apartment in five minutes. Calm down and let me figure this out for you."

She squeaks out a simple "Okay" and waits for him to hang up before she ends the call. Placing her phone on the island, she drops herself onto a bar stool and swivels to grab her mug before swiveling back to the island. 

What was I thinking, taking a kid home? Is this kidnapping? "Dammit," she whispers, tapping the knuckles of her clenched fist against the furrows appearing on her forehead. And she hadn't thought about Joel and his reaction to this.

Sam must have taken the stairs at a sprint from his apartment three floors above hers because he knocks at the door just then. Standing, she opens the door for him and he instantly greets her by gripping her shoulders with both his hands and bending at the waist to kiss her lightly on her forehead. 

"Don't you worry about a thing, sweets," he says and she realizes that her panic is showing on her face. "Now where is he?"

He isn't looking at her anymore, instead, his eyes sweep over the living room and kitchen. He is still driven by the rush of running to her apartment and she almost laughs at the curls of his messy dark hair that stick out around his head as if he had just woken up, which she suspects would be correct considering his attire of sweatpants, flip-flops and wrinkled gym tee.

"He's sleeping," she supplies, guiding him towards the kitchen and shutting the door as he steps out of the doorway. 

She joins him at the island and points to her bedroom where the little bump rises and falls with silent snores. Sam creeps quietly to the hallway and she opens up a cupboard to grab another mug from the shelf. 

"What's his name? What did he tell you? How old is he? I thought he'd be a teenager," Sam confesses, climbing onto a stool as she searches for the stash of hot chocolate packs Sam likes whenever he comes over.  

"He doesn't speak. I don't know anything about him, only that he doesn't want to go home or to the police. He wouldn't say his name so I just call him Blue, because of his eyes." She sticks a spoon into the mug after pouring out the contents of the hot chocolate pack and drowning the powder in steaming water. 

He accepts the mug and immediately starts stirring. "This is crazy." He shakes his head and props his chin on his free hand, leaning on the counter as he yawns. "You know nothing about him, much less children. For all you know, he could rob you and take off, or kill you!"

She laughs and he glares as he takes a sip of the hot chocolate. "That's preposterous, Sam. He's just a sweet little kid. I mean, I found him playing with the pigeons in the park."

Sam raises an eyebrow beneath his squashed mop of dark locks. "Found him? Where was he? Your park is just a brick path between a couple trees," he recalls, remembering her favorite place in the city that she spent her breaks in. 

She purses her lips and steals a glance at the bedroom door. "You're not going to believe this, but for a second, I saw a huge flock of pigeons fall from the sky. It was like a ball of feathers smashing into the trees so I chased after it; it was absolutely phenomenal. And when I found the birds, Blue was sitting right in the middle of the landing, covered in pigeons! And when I saw him, wrapped up in bandages, I didn't know what to do, and he wouldn't let go of me so we compromised and I said he could stay with me tonight then I could take him to the police in the morning." When he frowns she pleads, "Sam, just one night of running away is enough, and it's not like I'm helping him leave home forever. He won't make my mistake."

He sets his mug on the island and runs his fingers through his hair and she is, once again, grateful to have Sam, even when she has no one else. He's the only one who didn't abandon her, and the only one who followed her to the city. She lets a small smile touch her lips as he blows out another breath, in thought, as he attempts to help her fix her mess. 

"And Joel doesn't know?" he asks lightly and Sarah frowns at his insistence.

"No, he doesn't. He doesn't need to know anyways," she pleads with a set purse of her lips. 

He holds up his hands beside his face with an apology hanging off his lips. "I get it, I get it. You know how I feel about this marriage. Although, this situation isn't really helping with the wedding coming up and all."

Suddenly her bedroom door creaks open and they both turn to face the boy in the hallway, effectively cutting off any retort of Sarah's. He is wrapped in her comforter, concealing his slim bandaged body, with most of the comforter trailing behind him. He smiles when he sees her and she is instantly enchanted by his cherub grin peeking from between the floral folds. Blue tilts his fair head at Sam, his smile faltering slightly, and Sam hops off his stool, plastering a smile on his sleepy face as he greets the boy. 

"Hey kid, I'm Sam, Sarah's friend," he starts, hand outstretched, but stops when Blue slips between his hand and the kitchen doorway in a flurry of the thick blanket, burying himself into Sarah's side. Blue glares menacingly at Sam from behind Sarah, and Sam is surprised by the ferocious chill that emanates from behind the large bright cerulean irises. 

Sarah attempts to soothe Blue, surprised by his reaction to Sam. Placing a hand on his soft hair, she redirects Blue's attention to her, where he immediately lifts his lips to smile when they lock eyes. "Sam is my best friend, he's not going to do anything," and she meaningfully raises her eyebrows at Sam and waits for his stubborn affirmation before continuing. "Now, you didn't sleep for very long, would you like some juice?"

He nods enthusiastically, but doesn't release his hold on her arm as she stands. She gently pries his fingers from her sleeve and gestures him towards her stool, all the while noting the straight mouth and crossed arms of Sam's disapproval. 

When Blue climbs up onto the stool, she turns to grab a glass from the dish rack, quickly locating orange juice in her fridge. Pivoting to face her guests, Sarah is slammed with the obvious tension between the two boys. The intensity of Sam's displeasure is startling considering his adoration of children. She places the glass on the table, intercepting the staring contest, and pours the juice into the glass.

"Your scarf," Sam mutters and coughs, and she pops her head up at his voice. He takes a sip of his mug and tips his head up in Blue's direction without meeting her eyes. "He's wearing the scarf I gave you, and nothing else," he adds in a muttered tone, indicating the pop of green peeking out from under Blue's chin. 

Remembering Blue's outfit underneath the comforter, she quickly hands Sam the carton in her hand and pushes the glass of juice towards Blue. "Blue, you must be cold. Let me get you something to wear!" 

In an instant, Sarah is out of the kitchen and in her bedroom, ripping open her closet to search for something to cover Blue. How did I forget that all he's wearing is bandages? I would make a terrible mother... Finding a stack of her collection of jerseys, all procured from Sam who insists that she buy one at every sporting event he invites her to, she bundles the stack in her arms and separates them from the mess she has made. 

Triumphant at her luck, she doesn't notice that Blue has sidled beside her on the floor, devoid of the comforter, in front of her closet until he reaches for the bright green jersey of a local hockey team. He tugs at the jersey caught in the stack and she releases her hold on the jerseys so he can pull it out. 

"Blue likes green," Sam notes from her bedroom door and she smiles when Blue admires the jersey with wide eyes. "Maybe you should change his bandages," Sam suggests and Sarah hops back onto her feet to search for her first aid kit in the bathroom, cursing her own incapability to care for children, but eternally grateful to have Sam who has the experience.

::

The second part of Bless
I'm planning on mapping out these characters (It's been a while since I've done that...), so hopefully this story works out better than my other, not-planned-at-all, attempts. 

Questions will be answered as the story moves along, but feel free to point them out (they'll remind me what needs to be explained. I'm so focused in my own head that I need the reminders). 

Oh! And definitely let me know if you can find all the little character hints about Blue, Sarah, and Sam! I put them in to be noticed (that is, if you did...), and all the other English-class analysis junk :P I took too many of those classes to let them go to waste.

Welcome to my head
-Mera!

 
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