She never understood what it was with boys and innocent girls. They were so boring. They knew nothing and had to either be gently led by the hand or broken. The latter often produced messy results and the first just took too damn long. Why in the world the boys bothered with those girls mystified her.

If she were of the opposite sex, she would find a girl like herself far more attractive. Girls that got things just seemed more wicked. There was power in a knowing smile that was all too alluring. She would know. It had certainly gotten her somewhere.

It was far more fun to play the game without having to go through explaining all the rules. Why not just get down and dirty with it right from the start? If one had to start from square one, it just wouldn't be fair to start cheating then, and where was the fun in the game if you couldn't cheat?

No one would keep her an honest woman. She liked the game too much for that. No, she would keep playing till she tired of toying with her prey, and then she would leisurely take her win.

Those girls that played by the rules wouldn't know what hit them. And if they ever did get to end, it would be some sad imitation of her own victory. The poor things would never know what they were missing.

Time is running out. Slowly but surely, this count down is nearing the end. Soon I will no longer be able to call this place home.

Yet, it feels like that day has come already. With each memory thrown away, attachment is severed. I threw out several boxes full of memories last week. This is even less of my home.

It feels like I'm throwing away a part of myself, but this is a silly thought. One doesn't throw away herself like old papers or ticket stubs. She still remains when the items are gone. Perhaps the concrete objects are gone, but the memories will remain. And even if they fade, it will be no different from before when they were faded right before she opened that box. It is only in the cleansing of the wound that the memories resurface--bright and vivid, too clear to ignore. And so the pain felt is fresh and unfair. Why must one remember so much in order to give it up? Why can't it simply been given up in good grace and ignorance? Why dredge up memories when you can't keep them?

But it is impractical to keep these things. Someone else could use them. Or the space they're taking could be used for something else. Where I am going I cannot take them with me.

Yet, sometimes I wonder just where that is. Where ever I am headed, it seems I must arrive empty handed. Oh, but I do not want to start over again. Why can I not stay where I am comfortable?

However, as the days go by, I seem to outgrow comfort. The careful balance of things seem to be tipping in favor of leaving, and there's nothing I can do to rebalance the scales. And so I must go with it. Though I like it not, it must be done, just as this discard of memories must take place.

I do not like being alone in this house. It feels too big for just me and my memories to rattle around in. Phantoms chase me in certain spots, and I relieve the past.

For some reason, remembering is painful. Every memory seems to be tainted by a shade of despair. Each morning I awake with same creeping feeling clinging to me with the opening of my eyes. I do not know why such a dread has filled me, but it has and I can't seem to rid myself of it on my own.

With another person present, it is at least held at bay, kept on the fringe of my thoughts. When I am out with a group, the phantoms are banished completely. Certain people are more effective than others. I think I'm becoming addicted to good emotional climates. These phantoms have made a leech of me. It is as if I can no longer be happy on my own.

ahhck, can't read it all right now, but I want to!! Read more after work. Aww about the last few, that is what I hate about moving, it is pushing you out of yourself with everything else gone.

Heehee, yes, I got inspired one night, and decided to write a whole bunch. ^^ ...I don't think I'll do many more before I leave, though. Too much cleaning and packing to do. @_@ I'd like to just magically appear in Chicago with all my stuff miraculously there.

The girl wondered when life got so complicated. Everything used to be so simple. Be a good girl, obey the rules, go to church, be proper. She was a good girl. She never got in trouble.

Of course, she was never perfect. She still had fights with her parents over going out, but that was just going out to the cinema when she should have tidied up her room a bit more. It's not like she was sneaking out to go to clubs like those other kids.

She prided herself on not being associated with them. She didn't drink, do drugs, or have casual sex. She was too good for that sort of thing.

Yes, she had been called boring before.

But that was before. She wasn't quite sure when it happened. Perhaps it was sometime when her younger brother came home with the glazed look in his eyes of a stoner. Maybe it was when her father cheated or her mother started drinking. At some point, it seemed her life went to hell. At some point she was no longer too good. At some point, life got complicated.

And it was messy. The slough was horrible to dredge through, but dredge she did. And she didn't do it proudly and alone like she might have before. She fell and she crawled. Sometimes she flat out laid down and refused to move for awhile, but move she must. And she would get up and start trudging again. She had to. There had to be something at the end of this.

Perhaps, in a way, she was still the good girl. She could still hope for that happy ending.

The boy is not fond of that girl. It was not one of those immature attractions that cropped up as dislike till it was nurtured into love. He simply could not stand her.

Oh, she was gorgeous. That he would admit, but he couldn't stand her attitude. She acted like she owned the world. Whenever he went out with her, she'd throw down her money like it was trash. She seemed to be in the habit of buying friends.

But not him. Oh, she'd never buy him.

Yet, for some reason she was trying the damndest to do so, and he had no bloody idea why.

Really, he would have been content to simply dislike her from afar, but she had to come up to him and throw her money at him and flaunt her expensive clothes, although the latter was rather pointless. If she really thought guys were looking at her clothes when she did that, she was sorely mistaken.

There were many times when he'd rather just not talk to her, but her couldn't do that without some sort of scene. They shared a few circles of friends, him and her. It was the unfortunate circumstance that he was bound to run into her.

One of his friends had joked that the only solution was for him to fall in love with her, to which he had snorted. Him? Fall in love with that spoiled little rich girl? Hah! He had never heard something so ridiculous in his life.

aww, feel sad for the rich girl, but is understandable. Also people are redeemable, but the mistakes is what people remember some times as well.

She's just not over him. It's perfectly expected and all, since it really should take more than just a short week to forget. She thought that she did. She moved through life perhaps not like she was the master of it but like it did not own her. In her opinion, she was doing just fine. He was finally gone, and perhaps somewhere down the road when things had blown over, she'd see him again.

She wasn't prepared to encounter a countenance so similar. It was silly of her. She knew he was gone. He disappeared yesterday, so why did her heart flutter with this silly hope? She wasn't supposed to see him again till much later. She knew it wasn't him.

Yet, despite her good logic, the all too familiar rush seemed to fill her head and she couldn't think. She was under the influence of his effect, and he wasn't even there. She supposes that she was more attached to him than she thought.

@dragon
You know, I really didn't think about the rich girl's side of things. I was just kinda writing from the guy's perspective that someone told me. I suppose the girl does have a reason why she's trying to buy people.

She was and always had been absolutely spoiled rotten. Her daddy loved her, but perhaps not in the best way. He truly did love her like the world, but he just didn't know how to show it. He was one of those men that grew up with a great big brain and no social skills whatsoever. He fell in love with a beautiful woman that gave him a kid and left him, while taking a large portion of his fortune. He was torn up about losing her, but he still had his daughter. He really didn't care about the money.

Yet, he continued in the same vein of pleasing his daughter the way he tried to please his wife. He never knew how to love someone properly. Buying people seemed to be the only way he would have friends. No one was his friend when he just had the big brain without the big bucks. He didn't want his daughter to ever experience that.

So he showered her with gifts and money and things to gift to her friends and some superior things to flaunt. His daughter would always be loved, so long as he could help it.

The air is too still. It feels as if the world is slowing down. People move with little enthusiasm, and even the air seems to shimmer with lethargy. The streets are quiet and people drive slower. Yet, they are all driving somewhere with the subconscious thought to escape this maddening gelatinous pace.

But it cannot be escaped. Oh, one can have a brief respite in the chill air conditioner of the mall or under the breeze of the fan, but it is all too temporary and one will once again face the wet, still heat.

The clouds crowd over head, and even the sky seems lazy in its attempt to hold itself up. It feels as if nature's ceiling is sagging closer to the ground. The lack of wind is perhaps the most maddening thing. The air is stagnant, and without the wind there is no chance of a fresh day to blow in. The rain must finally trickle out till the clouds dissipate or we are trapped under this humid roof forever.

The brief flashes of sunshine are teasing, tantalizing with the promise of the day it could have been. But they are a farce for they bring no change to the air's stillness and fade away before they can make a difference.

Love me crazy. Love me quick.

She's not interested in something that lasts. All she wants is to light a fire in her bones. It has been so long since she has felt a shred of real emotion that she doesn't care if it's good for her or not. Just once more, she should like to feel.

And if she must degrade herself to those sweaty, hot nights, then so be it. She would rather feel for a moment than go numb with age and cold. These nights are better than anything else she had. The correct way always left her cold. Proper suitors could never stir the fires of her heart. Perhaps she simply preferred danger. Perhaps she simply preferred what wasn't good for her, much like her love of overly sweet candies.

She was never raised to deny herself her pleasures as an aristocrat, and so she never did. She indulged in the candy as she now indulged in pleasure. What was so wrong with doing what you were taught?

Why is it always about the money? Money, money, money. I really don't give a damn how rich or poor you are. It shouldn't motivate how you treat people or what you do.

And yet it does. Money represents some sort of opportunity, and people try their hardest not to have that thwarted. Because people's greed places a value upon it, it becomes so.

I don't want money. I don't want to look at the books. I just want to do my work and live. Why can't it be a direct exchange? Why do people place so much value in hoarding up stuff when it's worthless? I don't want to live like that.

I don't understand why you do.

The poet went to California for two reasons--to get away from home and to find someone to love. The first one was accomplished inevitably. The second was harder, but she found that person--herself.

You left for I don't know what reason, but perhaps they were the same. Yes, you've finally gotten away from us, albeit it's been a bit messy, but you've been removed. Distance has done that. You have stolen yourself away and made a new home where you feel you are master of. Or perhaps you don't. Perhaps that is why you seem to be still searching.

But you cannot find your other half in someone else. I sincerely do hope that you learn what the poet learned and find love in yourself. You will never find what you are searching for till then. And what a sad life that will be.

Everything will be playing on repeat, and perhaps your next wife will be prettier in your eyes and you're children will be active in sports and brilliant to boot. But you won't be satisfied. A perfect family is not what you're looking for. You had that, and you're throwing it away.

Money. Is that really all you want? If that were all, I would let you have it if it didn't hurt the remains of this family so much. Since you so dearly desire to be free of us, then I would release you. Only, it seems we cannot avoid fighting you on some matters. Alas, the siege is not yet over and the war only just begun.

I don't know how to help you. I suppose I can only pray and hope.

I don't like the fact
That this faceless web
Has gained a face.
Suddenly where anonymity
Was standard identity
The user behind the glowing screen
Is looking through but a window.

The glow has become transparent.

Where once the faceless user
Looked upon the wired world
And saw data filtered only through his reflection,
He is suddenly inundated
With gossip, crisis, everything he didn't want to know,
And everything he didn't want the world to know about him.

How vicious is this overflow of information.
Where once the web was friendly and safe,
It is now a place to be on guard or to hunt for others.
This refuge of another identity that one took comfort from
Is ruined.

Everyone is on it.
Families, friends, distant relatives
They're all watching.

Well, they always were,
But now they know that it's you.

And some revel in the fact
Short is their path to internet fame
Gossip of their latest conquests or failures
Spread like wildfire through the world.

But those that would rather stay hidden
Cannot quite escape connectivity.
Instead they must do over what the web did originally
Recreate digital personas that no one would reconnect back to their sources.

Yet, some will do so inevitably
Not everyone is so elusive a hider
And their are some seekers that cannot be evaded.
Then there are times when real life and one's persona simply becomes
Tangled up.

Difficult knots to undo
Make it all the more problematic
To disconnect from connectivity.

So another persona is created
Somewhere out there in the vast and far reaches of cyberspace
No one will find this one.
But then someone does.
And it goes on,
and on.
Until one can't remember who was who and where was where and what was what.

But then he remembers that it's all digital and that it doesn't matter
Yet, he just can't give up those faceless identities that he took such comfort in.
It is not like the shedding of a snake skin
What one pretends to be is very much a part of whom one is.

And one becomes tangled in the web
In his very effort to disengage
He has connected himself forever.

well both have their own reasons is I guess the point, (dragon is very level headed and looking at both sides before doing anything recently). Also is parts of this reflection on you, or stuff/ stories you ave heard, or both? I'll give you hugs in a few days.

Some are reflections and some are fiction tainted with real life experiences. It's all kind of melded together as it always is.

"Pirates? In this day and age? You must be out of your mind!" The matronly woman scoffed and tied the knot tighter.

"No, ma'm. I'm only telling Jenny and John what my mum told me!" The little boy looked her in the eye, bold and almost insolent.

Lady Agatha pursed her lips. "Well, Charley, if I find out you're wrong, you're going to get a whooping!" And she turned back to her net in a huff.

Little Charley looked at his toes and scuffed his feet around like he would burst if he didn't say something else. Finally his little boy brain decided to spurt it out and deal with Lady Agatha's icy stare later.

"But what if I'm right?"

Lady Agatha turned to him very slowly with a grave, serious look in her eyes that Charley had never seen before. "You'd best not be right Charley. You'd better pray you're not right. Because if you are, you'll wish that you weren't."

Oh obligation! How cruel you are! Could people not think of something better to say than "I did it out of obligation"? Because you are obliged, you do not care. How could you care if you were obliged? All you do is follow some sense of propriety, a set of rules are dictating your actions, not your heart! In some ways, I would rather have you be cruel, sir. For at least there would be some meaning in it. There would be some feeling left instead of this empty obligation that you must serve. Why did you put yourself through hell and high water for me? Why? You cannot tell me it was obligation! Obligation allows for some follow up but not what you have done for me. Then if that is so, why don't you simply speak truth? Oh, but only if the world were simpler and people were transparent.

Alas, it is not so.

Awkward

He thinks of the word "awkward" and spins it around in his head. It is in itself an incredibly awkward word. It reminds him of the word aardvark, which he can never spell correctly. Besides, he muses to himself, those seem like rather awkward animals themselves. They certainly don't appear graceful at first glance.

He supposes that he's like an aardvark. He was never quite as practiced and effortless as the other boys. In fact, he doesn't quite know why they hang around him. It's almost like a magical charm that he expects to end by the time the clock strikes twelve. But they don't leave, and he doesn't understand it.

Cats

Such curious creatures! They are some of the most paradoxical creatures on the planet. Their solitary natures make them appear aloof, uncaring--they perch atop a window sill or an armrest, making the most ordinary surroundings seem like regal thrones. Yet, they are utterly goofy. They'll become fascinated in the tiniest things and find joy for hours in a plastic bag or an empty box. The predator is fixated on its prey--the squeaky toy adorned with feathers--and will relinquish it for nothing... Except for when it becomes boring, and that again is completely up to the cat.

We all want to be different. We all think our troubles are the worst in the world. Everything the I go through is a special circumstance--relatable to no one else!

Lies!

I won't deny that each person is distinctly special in their own right, but their situations really are not as different as they seem. No one is honestly that special. Most of us just like to complain a lot. "People just don't understand me!" It's the common complaint. Well, dear, do you understand whom your complaining about? I've found it makes life much more pleasant if one looks at the story from all angles before opening one's mouth.

Really, what do you get from muttering and moaning? You just tell yourself that there's nothing you can do about it and that the whole world is against you. It's not a very fun place to be. I'm not saying to stop doing it completely because then you'd bottle it all up and explode into a great mess of suppressed issues, but I'm suggesting you take time to think.

Yes, think. And yes, about all of it. Not just when someone does something horrible to you like break your heart--of course, you should also practice this in that circumstance as well--but when the small things happen like when someone cuts in line or doesn't say hi back. The deciding factor is in the details!

So just consider it. It won't change anything right away, but little by little, if you keep doing it, you'll start feeling better. The thing is that you don't even know that you need to feel better. But dear, please just trust me on this.

How to Stay Out of Trouble

The best way to keep out of trouble is to not do anything grand. If you keep your head down and don't question anything, no one will question you. No one will poke you or prod you. No one will ask what in the world are you doing. No one will question your values or reasons. You will simply continue to exist--just like everyone else, plodding along in a simple life.

Sure, you won't get your dream house with the picket fence or that nice family vacation, but it'll be okay. You have learned to settle. You have learned to accept. You still have a large family and it's sometimes a struggle to provide for all of them, but it's for the best, you say, so that your children can learn the value of money at the understanding age of five.

When you live this life your neighbor nods at you and grunts at you companionably. You don't really share many conversations besides complaints about the bad economy and how crazy kids are these days. You don't know anything about your neighbor besides the fact that they're pretty much like you--they keep their nose down and just work hard.

You don't know why that dream job with the dream paycheck hasn't come. You've followed all the rules. You work and work and work. You don't understand why your company doesn't value you. Obviously, you're better than all the other employees whom do exactly the same thing you do. Sure, you're a bit more polite on the phone, but what did that do for you? Nothing. You're exactly the same as the other worker in the next cubicle over. You work and you don't ask questions. You stay out of trouble.

Cake

"Whoever said that you can't have your cake and eat it too? I worked damn hard for that cake! I paid for it with the money I earned from the work I did. Of course I'm going eat the bloody cake. What else am I going to do with it if I'm not gonna eat it? Stare at it? Hah!" Arthion brandished the fork at the barmaid menacingly.

"Okay, okay. I never said you couldn't eat it, but for the sake of conversation, do you really even work? I thought you inherited all your money..." Sellah responded without thinking. Usually she wasn't so impudent, especially at a job. She was the picture of demure docility. Missy was the one who got to be bold and brash but excusably so because she was so heartbreakingly beautiful.

"Hah! That is what you'd like to think, my lovely muffin of assumed circumstances! But I am a very busy man." He took a bite of his cake and chewed it slowly while fixing her with a stare.

"Uh huh..." Sellah was a bit nervous now and started to back away, hoping he wouldn't notice. Why ever did I respond to him? She was new here and she didn't know how to handle drunk customers.

She bumped into her coworker with a muffled squeak and froze like a deer in headlights. Artemis leaned over and whispered in her ear, "He's not drunk, that's just how he is. Stop backing away and give him more coffee."

Sellah edged back up to the counter and in her best polite service voice she offered Arthion the crazy man more coffee. He was still staring at her with that crazed look.

She stood for nearly seventeen seconds waiting for an answer and watching him chew then hearing him chew while staring at the very interesting wood grain pattern in the table. He seemed to decide she was no longer interesting and turned his attention to his nearly gone cake. Just when Sellah was about to attempt sliding away, he cleared his throat.

She turned back to see the cake was gone. There was... a lot of money on the counter, and he was already at the door. "No coffee, dear, I'm done."

"But sir!" She waved the obscenely extra amount of money he'd left. "You forgot your change!"

He stuck his head back into the door and winked at her. "I got to get my cake and eat it too. Keep it."