Absolutely (Story of a Girl)

This here is the story of my knee. It was a very good knee, until it died. No, don't worry, it has been revived. This is the story of how it died and then was revived.

I blame this whole thing on faulty brakes. In the summer of 7th grade, I crashed a motorcycle. No, not the big ones. One made for smaller kids. You see, my awesome uncle is amazing at building things and fixing things up. It's so cool. The only problem is that brakes don't always work. I've been crashing go-karts into fences since I can remember. So we were vacationing and visited him, and he brought this motorcycle out for us to ride. I decided to ride it. No brakes + turning on gravel = scraped knee. Badly scraped knee. It hurt so bad I couldn't cry.

Skip to high school. Sometimes my knee would refuse to straighten and I would limp around. Skip to January 2010. I was playing basketball. I ran, and something funky happened with my knee. Enter intense pain and inability to straighten my knee at all. Enter days where I stayed home because I couldn't walk because it hurt so bad. Enter sleepless nights where I couldn't move an inch or pain would shoot up my leg and into the rest of my body. Enter a doctor visit.

Apparantly a piece of cartilage had broken off in my knee and calcified between my bones. Ow. Its equivalent is a rock in your shoe. So a surgery was scheduled.

In said surgery, we had to go with worst case scenario. When they went in, they took the piece out (I still have it -- SO COOL-- and it's the size of a big lima bean), but they saw that my body had not filled in where the cartilage had broken off. They micropunctured my knee, making the marrow bleed and fill in the hole.

The funny thing from this is that I had no funky side effects from the anesthesia. Well, alright, there was one. The nurse warned me that, for some reason, teenage girls sob when they wake up from anesthesia. I sobbed like a baby. And then a nurse, a few minutes later, asked me if I wanted anything to eat. I asked for a chewy chocolate chip cookie, because that was the first thing that popped into my head. As those words left my mouth, I was thinking that what I said was probably one of the stupidest things I could possibly say. They didn't have any chocolate cookies. So she got me a Fig Newton.

I was out for a week, doped up on percocet. I love percocet. It made my life so happy that week. Because they microfractured my knee, I had to stay off of it. My leg was in a knee immobilizer, which took up most of my leg, and I had to crutch around. My leg was never to touch the ground. So I spent the next month on the recliner, with my awesome Daddy getting me Fresca because I thought it was fun to say. My family took such good care of me. I love them. By the end of the month, I could scoot up the stairs on my butt and sleep on my brother's queen-sized bed. My futon in my sisters' room just couldn't cut it.

I was getting quite good at crutching around. I read online where Criminals Minds episodes correlated their material with Matthew Gray Gubler's knee surgery, and I thought "My surgical brothah!" It made crutches alot more cool. I wasn't supposed to put any weight on it for nine weeks. After a month, it was time for me to leave for college. The doctor told me to go ahead and try to start walking.

Now, four months after my surgery, I can walk. The crutches are in the dark corner of my closet. I can kneel, finally. Sorta. On soft surfaces. I still cannot run. And the other night I pushed my knee too hard and I'm in pain. T.T But such is life, and after a good, long shower I will be happy. Well, after finals are over and I get to ride the shuttle home, and take a bath rather than a shower, then I will be happy. And if I happen to get a guy, that would just add to my happiness.

Frabjous Day! Callou! Callay!

Beat of My Heart

I don't think I have a heart anymore. You see, this guy walked in today, and when he walked out he took it with him.

No joke. A different guy than last time. I got over him. I was getting over him, and that was my final stage. Just had to blurt it out. Although not having posts between these two guys isn't helping the situation. I'm rambling now, and probably making the situation worse.

SO!

Said guy comes over today. We watched Alice in Wonderland, played the Wii, and then watched YouTube videos. Epic time. And during that epic time, those stupid butterflies would NOT go away! We started out sitting kinda far apart, and then by at most half an hour in we were sittingcloser. Then it turned into leg-to-leg. Holy crap. Butterflies went wild.

When the movie was over he just pushes me over (playfully). I'm surprised, so I pushed him back. He pushes me. I push him. Much laughter. Oh, and did I mention the butterflies? So after that we sit kinda awkwardly, talking about books, we decide to play Wii. We play NiGHTS. Awesome game. Pain to play. He plays a bit of one-player, then we race. I win the first, he wins the second. Much teasing about me not being able to use the controller. Then we watch stuff on YouTube. Funny stuff, music stuff, then So You Think You Can Dance. While we're watching it (the prom one, by the way), I'm crouching over to see the screen, and he leans against me. The butterflies grew into massive butterflies, and they were on crack, I swear.

Then he had to go. Inside, I was on hands and knees begging him not to. He gave me a hug. A long, tight hug. And then he told me "I'm not going to let go first." AAAAAH! So I had to let go. I didn't want to. At all. But my little brother was in the room, so I had to end it. And then we chatted for a couple minutes. And then he gave me another hug, and while hugging me tried to walk to the door. That was fun, but it failed (mainly because my little brother was there. Darn litle brother). And then he gave me a high five, which quickly turned into a clapping game. You know, the ones you used to play in elementary school. And then he had to leave. And I couldn't stop smiling. I hope he saw me dance giddily around, and then collapse on the couch, giggling. Because that's what I was doing.

Almost Lover

Yeah, so....there's this guy.....[insert corny joke here]

But really, there is a guy. And he's bugging the crap out of me. Because I love him and I hate him at the SAME TIME. It's driving me CRAZY. And I really like him, I have for a while, but there's no way we could be together unless one of us changed. You know what, I don't know if we'd be together even then, because I don't even know if he likes me like that. I mean, we're great friends and everything, but he most likely doesn't like me like that at all. So I have to get over him.

Frabjous.

The hard part is that he's so freakin' NICE. He has a girlfriend right now and we were talking about her, and he was all like "You don't deserve this, you deserve better," and feeling all guilty about talking about this girl he had just asked to be his girlfriend because he knows I like him. Alot. And I kept saying "No, it's all good," because it was. I really liked hearing him happy and liking a girl, but my heart was also breaking. Again. He has a habit of doing that. I bet he doesn't even realize that he does.

The hardest part is that he's my best friend and that I absolutely love talking to him. That makes not liking him even harder, because he knows practically everything about me. In the time I've known him I've gone to him so many times when I was breaking down, and he's the only one who didn't try to fix me. He just understood that I needed to be. And I've always wanted to be there for him and make him feel the same way. I suck at it, I'll tell you that, but I try. I honestly do.

Well, there's my life in a nutshell.

I'm Just a Girl

She knew her mother was lingering. She knew her mother was lingering for her. She also knew that she was sitting beside her mother’s bed, suitcase packed, with him waiting outside for her. She would be gone, leaving her mother all alone. She had come here every day for the past three years, watching her loving mother, willing her well, taking care of her just as if her mother were awake.

“I am going to leave now. They will take care of you. Please don’t be angry with me.” She paused. “I love you. I love you so much it hurts sometimes. I need you to know that. I need you to know that I’m not leaving because of that. I would stay a thousand years if it meant you would wake up. But while you’re asleep, there’s a dream that I want to finish. It’s something you would have wanted. I’ll tell you all about it when I get back, okay? You’ll like it. I promise.”

She took a deep breath and heaved herself up. She lifted her suitcase, a hint of white lace poking out. She looked down at her mother, and stroked her face, maneuvering her ring around the wires and probes that now seemed to be just another part of her, an extra limb. With a small smile she turned around, leaving her mother with only the company of beeping monitors. The Sarah the Nurse strutted in, a clipboard upright in her mocha hands, her rotund figure sliding through the doorway just before she left.

Sarah the Nurse looked out the window and watched her lug the suitcase to the sidewalk. He was waiting there for her. She walked past him as the bus arrived, then climbed aboard, his knife to her back.


This is a piece of flash ficion (short story under 300 words. This particular one is exactly 297 words. Ha! I win!). It's from the prompt "Intersection of ... Obligation and Passion" that I got from dear SleepyQuill's site. It sounded like fun, so I tried it.

There's a lot of allusion in here, try to figure it out. And who can tell me which is the passion, and which is the obligation. Let's see if you get this right.

Superman

Suppose, for a moment, that you know a girl. She's just an average girl, not areal beauty, nothing too spectacular in way of raging talents of awesomeness, and, frankly, incredibly dumb in math. She's not athletic in any way, shape, or form. She's not a jump-in-your-face kind of person, quite the opposite. If you let her, she will spend an entire year of silence in class. She's done it before. Multiple times.



Suppose that she is flawed. She has a quick temper, one that rages and simmers, and is prone to emotional breakdowns. She doesn't tell you nearly half of what she's thinking, and hides behind her hair color in order to explain her weirdness, which she is proud of and embarrassed by at the same time. She's not good at conversations, and she's easily intimidated by others. Sometimes, she's lazy. She's much too annoying, and terrified of rejection.



Suppose that, somehow, you become her friend. Good for you! You have seen past the things that she hates most about herself, which is more than she can do most of the time. You can see that, once you are her friend, she will never let you down. She will be more loyal to you than . . . well, she would say a dog, but for some reason that just doesn't soundright. You will see her blue eyes, the one part of herself that she likes, and you will say "Wow, those are a really pretty color." She will smile, which will make you smile because that's just what happens. She doesn't smile much, so when she does it means something. You will see that she is good for something because she'll work harder than anyone you have ever known if she puts her mind to it. You will read her poems, and look at her sketches, or hear her sing in four different languages and say something to effect of "You're amazing." You will hear her twang, and laugh at her strange foods that she loves, and she will tell you what color your aura is (because she really can see it) and it will be different. And for that brief instant she won't feel like a complete failure.



Suppose you stay her friend. Suppose, just for a moment, that you can see past her skin, her personality, her strange love for poofy dresses, and just see her.



Tell me, what do you see?



We had to write an introduction for ourselves in creative writing. I chose to call mine Superman, because I feel that it's my main theme song for my life.



So, what do you see when you see me? Comment and tell me.

The Flood

Does he know
that every sight of him makes my stomach
soar up into my throat?
Does he think
when he sees me
that every perspective of him is
pure bliss?
Does he understand
that I brandish my oddities
only as protection from
his stare
studying my integral calculus
the dimensions of my heart?
He can't know
that I am afraid when he does this-
Because to lose him
would be to lose everything.

I feel the pressure
It's coming down on me
it's turning me black and blue (Ooh, whoa)
You left me
on the side of the road
and now I've got no place to go
You brought The Flood

I had to write something using four random words (picked by opening a dictionary and the first word I saw was what I used). My four words were:
Integral Calculus
Perspective
Brandish
Soar

Yes, this was sorta is based on someone, but I'm not naming that someone because...well, that would be awkward for me if he found out. Needless to say, this poem really really is more passionate and emotional than what I really feel....usually. Ahem, but anyway, I hope you thought it was cute.

Jingle Bells

Alright, so here I am again with another story. Honestly, it's not quite as depressing as the last one. It's actually happy. Which saddens me a tad.

This one was also based on a prompt: "The countdown clock for Christmas is ticking, and Santa's elves begin working their magic on the assembly line; but the line comes to a screeching halt as rumors spread that one elf is going to be let go today.........."

Holly (unimaginative, I know, but bear with me) sat in the plush green chair outside of Santa's ofice, her frizzy orange curls swaying in her face. She was it, she just knew it. How many times had the others warned her of daydreaming? Of doodling on the toy blueprints?

She couldn't say she regretted all of that, though. In fact, maybe this would be good for her. Now she could go out on the ice caps and sketch. Perhaps the Frost nymphs would let her decorate the windows of peoples' homes! Of course, she would have to start working on some warmer clothes, but that wouldn't be too hard to do--

The door slid silently open, washing the dim room with bright yellow firelight.

"Please come in, Holly," the large man said solemnly. Santa! In the flesh! Holly fought down a thrill of excitement - she reminded herself of what a bad elf she was, how much trouble she was in. She followed Santa, surprised that the top of her head almost reached the nose of the tall man.

Santa motioned towards a seat by the fireplace beside a small table of cookies and fresh hot chocolate. Holly sat primly. Santa fell into the seat across from her. There was a pause.

"I've noticed your drawings . . ." Santa began sternly. Holly flinched. Yup, she was definitely the one. Then Santa's face relaxed into a broad smile.

" . . . and might I say, I'm quite relieved! I thought I might have to wait another few hundred years before--"

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Yes?"

"Do you mean that I'm not in trouble?"

Santa rolled with a deep, throaty laughter. "Heavens no! What would ever give you such an idea?"

Holly blushed, embarrassed. "Well, the other elves said--"

"My dear, you must understand that not all elves are gifted with your sense of imagination. Rumors fly around here like a bad cold."

"So, you mean that no one's getting laid off?"

"I didn't say that," Santa replied, peering over his small spectacles as he reached for some paperwork. "I figure that sometimes I need to fulfil a rumor to stop it. So, you're fired-"

Holly drooped. She knew it.

"-from the Toymaking Department."

Department? Meaning that Santa had other factions at the Pole?

"I am reassigning you to be the head of my Artistry Department. This department is in charge of new ideas for toys, designing renovations and remodelings of the Pole, and, most importantly, creating. This department is also where I get all the paintings hanging in all of the buildings." Santa gave her an appraising look. "Do you accept?"

Holly's mouth gaped open like a land-locked fish.

"Yes, yes I accept!" She sputtered excitedly. Santa smiled broadly again.

"I thought you might. Now go down the stairs, to the left, and then three rights after another flight of stairs. Hand this paper to Buttons at the desk. She'll make sure you get to where you need to go." Santa stood up to escort her out. Holly leaped towards him, wrapping her willowy arms around the great expanse of his shaking belly.

"Thank you," she whispered. Large hands encased her as Santa returned her hug.

"Now hurry!We need every bit of that creativity working on Christmas!" Santa shooed her out of the room with a grin.

Holly gave one last wave, then ran down the stairs, out of sight.

TA-DA!!! Something without a bit of depressingness in it! It hurts, OH, it hurts. Enjoy your Christmas present for the year!