#6 The Space Between Dreams and Reality

***Okay, this is a short story that I created in response to the Thirty Kisses Challenge. One day, my best friend and rival accused me of having not one romantic bone in my body. She went on to tell me that I could talk my way in and out of everything, but I wouldn't be able to write love stories to save my life. She recently took up the "challenge" and gave the topics to me. We are still in the process of completing it. Here is one of my favorites that I wrote. So there Sarah, I can be mildly romantic...kinda.***


The music was pulsing through his rock solid body with every beat blasting from the speakers in the large club. A drink in hand, back leaning against the bar with brown eyes scanning the huge crowd on the dance floor, his blonde hair turning every shade of neon from the lights; he was a sight to behold for any passing female. Of legal age or not, every woman openly stared at him, except for one.
With hands raised to the Music Gods, lithe body responding to every pound of the bass, eyes closed; hiding from the world a beautiful shade of blue, she was the only one to hold his attention.
No man could keep her beat, her movements were to smooth, and her ease to intimidating. Setting down his empty glass, a smirk on his face, his feet led him straight to her.
They met body, mind, and soul. And it was perfect. Fire mixed with gunpowder, dreams met with reality, and instead of two separate entities, they became the space in between without even trying.
Onlookers watched mesmerized. They had never seen a bond before as the two were demonstrating on the dance floor. Whispers flew through the crowd like wildfire. "They must practice every day!" "I wonder if they are lovers?" "That's love in the purest form right there."
They were almost right. The two did practice everyday, with guns and words but never music.
Love, sure they loved each other. They would die for each other. The words had never passed their lips but it was never a big factor in their relationship anyway.
An hour or so later found them standing outside the large doors of the dance club as music continued to pound behind it. She smiled at him slightly. Neither breaking the silence because it wasn't all together uncomfortable. At their jobs they talked all day, it was nice to be silent. And with their blood still pumping they were both acutely aware if the fine line they danced every Friday night.
Finally she closed the distance between them with a short step. Hugging him on her tip toes she whispered, "I enjoy dancing with you." The other words wouldn't, couldn't leave her mouth. Then she kissed him lightly on the cheek and backed away.
He smiled lightly and his brown eyes showed a depth of sadness and unfullfillment as she walked away. She was his dream and he was the only thing keeping her grounded in reality. The world needed them separate. The only way they ever truly existed together was when they danced. So as long as she was in his life, his dreams were never empty, but he would never be her reality.
Yin and Yang were meant to balance each other but never, to be together.

Sore muscles and enlightenment

If I love something. It would be running. There is no easier way to fill accomplished and to have my ego stroked than to run. Since a very tender age I've been running--to, or away from something--I haven't decided. Though I hope it is to something... Anyway, though my only dull spot on my record is because of my strange need to run away (it only got me 24 hours in juvie hall the second time they caught me) it also is one of the most anchoring things I do.

There is something so simple, so beautiful, and most of all easy, about running. To run is part of our innate behaviors. The "Flight or Fight" survivalism. But running isn't about "Flighting" so much as wanting to get somewhere. And for me the best part of running is being a part from everything else, and accomplishing that course all by myself. I like to run until my lungs are screaming and my muscles are numb. Then I run some more. Its nice to run 3 miles and show off to people, but what is great, is running 6 miles to show off to yourself. To push ones body to what feels like its breaking point and then to keep going is amazing.

I ran a 5k today and came in third. That doesn't disappoint me at all. I'm quite proud, I haven't run in 2 weeks and my muscles are agonizing still. It was spur of the moment but I loved it. It sprinkled throughout which only added to the majesty. When I run everything is working in unison, and there seems to be a harmonizing of all the sounds i make. The breathe in, step, step, step, breathe out, step, step, breathe in...creating the percussion undertone. The the swish, whap, swish, whap, of my long hair hitting my back, a base rhythm. Then the whooshing of the wind in my ears harmonizing, and melding it into the Runner's Symphony..

(It was overcast..but nice:)

Has anyone heard, "Russian Roulette" by Rihanna? There is something vaguely scary about that song...and other vague meanings that I just can't comprehend I guess, but I can feel that they're there.. I think I'm going to start posting some of the short stories that I write on here.

Same old thing...but not.

I haven't been on here for such a long, long expansion of time it seems.. I have so much to do, I've done so much, and I still have more to do. Hmm. It all seems like complaining of a spoiled child, even to me, the one who says it. I've always wondered, when people say they are to busy to accept another burden, or another task are they just trying to get out of it? That sentence was not put well, but its hard to think well at the moment. Anyway, they say "oh, i would but I have this to do, and that, oh and this. Sorry." Or its, "I can't I'm helping so-and-so with this and then I have to do this." But I believe they could spare one little ounce of time to help in some way. I do everything possible, and I always help when someone needs it; even though I have so very much to do... And I am so very tired.

It makes me mildly ticked off at the people who have church and homework so they can't help because that would just be to much for them. I stay after school for two and a half hours every day of the week except Fridays because I choose to participate in sports, clubs, and teams. Yet, I still find the time to be active in my community, to work on the weekends, to tutor, and do my own homework. It's infuriating to watch the indolent people at my school sit on their arses all the time without lifting a finger to do something! Then I help anyone that asks for help. And I hate that I simply do not have all the time I need to help everyone. There aren't enough of me. It makes me feel like the lazy bums when I really cannot help to my standards because I have so much else.

I am not whining as a spoiled child. I am complaining about lazy people. I do everything because its my choice; I choose to do so much, to rarely sleep, and make sure I have a project to do every waking minute. I know that it is no one's fault but my own that I am stretched so thin; however, I do wish others would just stretch an inch, hell, a centimeter more. I'm starting to despise laziness as much as idiocy.

Ha, I have totally lost the reason I was going to write a post. I was reminded by this laziness because I'd just finished writing the report for my group (by myself) and I was mildly ticked. Oh well. Onward to writing in this precious respite of mine.

(This photo has no purpose at all, but look at my bird! She is the most beautiful bird known to me:)

I wanted to write about thoughts. I wanted to convey feelings. Alas, that is still rather impossible to do for me. The only feelings I feel well are primal. The feelings humans as a species have carried since our mind was evolved. I feel anger, fear, joy, sadness, desire, surprise, and disgust. They are easy because they're programmed for survival and continuation.Secondary emotions, the feelings that are caused by primary emotions, are very tricky for me. I think too much. I question too much to ever fully delve into those scary little emotions like love, sympathy, envy, depression, or nervousness. I do, however, have some secondary emotions down. I am very often exasperated. I am always prideful of my work and projects, and myself. And of course sometimes lusty, I'm a normal teenager physically.

Anyway, moral of my babbling story is that I wished to express some sort of emotion. Besides anger. I write anger incredibly well, I know this. I try to write poems, and everyone compliments them, only few are ever able to look at them at tell me quite frankly that they suck. If they held some sort of emotion I could be one of the best poets, but that is what I lack most. My word play is amazing, I am very verbal anyway so its no problem, but I lack those silly little emotions and it seems as if all my poems are; are masks. Beautiful, bright masks, gilded with tangible words and dabbed with glittering cubic zirconium feelings. Always close, but in the end, nothing more than cheap knockoffs.

So to conclude this story I will include a little masked poem for you to judge for yourself.

Revenge tends to be a bitch, doesn't it?

You completely deserve what you're going to get

I tried to help you, but you're a lost cause

You cannot be fixed, you have too many flaws

So go ahead, grab the bottle, see if I care

And when you drive yourself home, I won't be there

I'm not sitting by and watching you kill yourself

You can't comprehend what I'm trying to yell

I'm sick of the bullshit and tired of lies

And being the only one who tries

I'm the only one who has ever given a shit about you

Take another sip, you're the one who's screwed

Here's your keys, driving home should be a blast

I'm not going to stop you from driving to fast

Or when you pass that stop sign and barely miss a truck

Don't you dare come crying to me to give a fuck

What are those blue lights that are beginning to follow?

The cops are after you, but you won't slow

You won't get so lucky tonight

Maybe it'll help you see that you're wrong and I'm right

I bet you won't even see that big tree

Your last thought will be regret-you should've listened to me

Revenge tends to be a bitch, doesn't it?

I wish you didn't deserve what you are going to get

I wrote this after I got fed up with a friend who was an alcoholic. He's gotten help now though. An angry poem full of feeling. How I wish I could write like this with the simple little poems also. Maybe someday.