All the girls went home to study for exams; all of the girls except for me and Rohan's friend. Everyone, but mostly Dylan, was trying to wheel the other girl because she was really pretty. But in the end her grandma called her and asked her to come home. That was the chirp of the night: "Dylan got cock blocked by grandma".
I was so fun hanging with the guys. Although, being the only girl from the floor, I got chirped a lot. I was the DJ for the night. I sat at Cole's laptop and took requests, mostly because I ran out of beer and Mike left (he was spotting me some). We played quarters, hockey, beer pong and COD. I lost at COD. It was Dylan against Fernando, Andy and me. I didn't kill anyone. I've actually never killed anyone in COD. It is probably the hardest game to play while intoxicated. Anyways, the three of us losing to Dylan meant that we had to streak. I left my bra and panties on of course.
It was one of those crazy nights that only happen once. For a good reason too, I lived a little to much last night. Now it's time to study Psychology and Canadian History like the good university student that I am.
Last night everyone on my floor was either studying, making a gingerbread house or singing Christmas carols. After all the Christmas stuff ended, there was seemingly nothing more to do except join all the studiers. So I decided to round up people to hangout in the halls. It was Dan, Rohan, Mike, Ashely, and Me with occasional appearances by Drew, Fernando and Andy.
We starting chilling. Then we got hungry and ate the entire gingerbread house. Ashley and I ordered a pizza and devoured it while we watched Home Alone. I ate way too much! OOO and I ate chocolate...
Next year I hope to live with Ashley, Mike, his friend Brad, and Taryn. There's already drama though... that I caused. I'm not used to worrying about stuff like that. My friends back home are not dramatic at all.
For the past week or two, I was feeling pretty home alone myself. It's hard to make best friends here. Ashley and Mike are probably my two very close friends at the moment. Although I think I might end up fucking things up with Mike. Hence: the drama of living together next year.
:D ... Andy thought that his keys got locked in his room, but they were in his chemistry textbook the whole time. Mike even broke is laundry card trying to shimmy the lock.
So, I beg you, take it out on me. But, if you ever wonder why I tore your heart apart... just read a little into your anger. If you can't spend more than a few seconds seeing yourself so full of hate and resentment, you'll understand.
I've been covering my walls with various pictures. There's about 100 at the moment. I haven't done anything creative in awhile. Mostly because I'm such a stress ball. I have 5 exams coming up. I'm actually excited for them if that makes sense. After it's all over, I'll get to go back home. My parents finished my bedroom floor and apparently I have a 40" flat screen waiting for me too :D
I've been watching Skins again. I compare the characters to people in my life. Sid is Greg and Michelle is definitely Kara.
I'm in a random happy moment. I can't think of anything to write and it doesn't bug me.
I found a really simple and beautiful tattoo design a few days ago. It's a dove. I really enjoy symbols of freedom and peace, after all... I am a total hippie. But, seriously, I essentially live my life uninhibited by anything or anyone. I'm not one to be held back I guess. I can be cruel in my fierce independence, and I wish I could avoid hurting people.
I miss my mice. They were so fun and small. Once I have my own house next year, I'm going to get one and name him Dennis. He will be my best friend.
I've been reading over my first few posts and other early stuff. I think I'm getting dumber as the years go by. Being a hormonal teen was great for writing stories.
I really should be doing the copious amount of work on my plate right now. But, I really don't feel like writing a book review. I get sick way too often. It could be the drinking, the smoking, the constant stress, but I think it's because I'm falling apart. I believe that there is a direct correlation between the mess I'm in and the state of my mind. Seems pretty obvious.
Anyways, I like it here. In this giant concrete building full of crazy teens, breaking windows with their asses, pulling fire alarms at 2am, and causing a general ruckus. I also love it here. When you're sick, there are people that give a shit. You have no idea how many people offered me tea to help me feel better. But, the thing is, all I really need is time. Time is always seen as a bad thing. We fear it as we get older, we curse it when we die. I've been watching too much Six Feet Under. Damn that show is depressing. I think I spent at least 13 hours yesterday watching one episode after another... It doesn't really open your eyes to anything new. Everyone dies, people cheat on each other, people often die alone/young/old, sometimes people let each other down, and in the end it really doesn't matter where you go when you die. If heaven is real, then that's awesome, but for a lot of us, our lives are our hell. One of my greatest fears is to never get out of this mess I've made. One of my greatest hopes is to be an extra in a zombie movie. But, overall, I want to fix more hearts than I break. Maybe I'm not the right person for the job though, soon I'll figure it out and perhaps I should become a funeral director like the brothers on Six Feet Under. Then I wont have to worry about hurting people.
Anyways, back to work to keep my mind off of my sickness. I hope it will go away soon, but then again it's kinda comforting to feel the constant effects of my misery. I need to keep telling myself that the world is a beautiful place and that I'm in a wonderful situation in life. I need to forget the fact that I'm inexperienced in the ways of the human heart. Someday, hopefully soon I'll learn. Until then I'll save up my money for an ad campaign to warn the world of my insanity.
I think I should write another short story. I haven't written anything creative in a long time.
Last week I went home. I wish I could say that I was happy, but I wasn't. I took the small amount of time I had there for granted and now I miss it more than ever. Driving home, the closer and closer I got, the more I realized that I would have to leave too soon. I would be soon going back to an environment of stress that I could not escape. I am not as strong as I would like to think I am. I rely on my roots, my family, my home for support I could never get elsewhere.
Here I'm surrounded by my future. I think about what would happen if I failed. If I ended up disappointing my family. I'm not some rich kid who can throw away money for education. My parents are struggling to keep me here.
I prefer living in my past. The cozy, quiet past.
But if my parents have worked hard to put me here, then I'm going to work my ass off to stay here. This is the struggle that what will make or break me. There's no doubt that I will stress, or that I will turn to my internet diary for support. As long as I have my thoughts and my love of learning, I will become a stronger person. At the end of the day, all you have is yourself. One day I wish to be happy and I hope that I'm on the right path that will lead me there.
This is my home now. It's about time I put my heart into it.
It truly is a shame. Here I am perfect and happy, and there you are so angry and alone.
I've made so many good friends, so much better than the ones I had. I'm never alone with my thoughts or tears. I am simply wonderful and everything I do is the right decision. I never regret anything because everything I do is right, and when I cry snot doesn't drip down my beautiful face.
I shit rainbows.
I smile and happiness spreads. I drink to forget all the amazing things I've done and said. I never wish I was dead.
And then there's you. Sitting in your room alone hating yourself for all you've done. Wishing you had your good friends around you; the ones back at home.
You have so many regrets about decisions you thought you had to make. And when you cry, you are not a pretty picture.
So, you're crying tears that no one sees and loving someone who has every right to hate.
You pass the time with shows and music, but everything in the world reminds you of the good times. Your closet is full of him and his smell. There's no doubt you deserve this hell.
After awhile, me and you becomes I. And the person in the mirror isn't the person I wish to be, but the person I wish the one I love would see.
I love the fact I get goose bumps when I hear a certain song. Even kisses give me the bumps. My lips are ticklish and my heart is weak. Today I learned that we are all trapped by our inability to be socially imaginative. I wish I could see the greater implication of myself in this big picture.
Everyday I push my boundaries, silence the screams of my inner super shy girl, and take daring steps in an untraveled land. I meet new people constantly, each eager to find someone to replace a certain best friend they left at home.
I never thought I could be this happy without my family around me. But the thing is, if ever I'm sad or aching for human contact, I have a floor full of friends to talk to. I never thought I would be reading so much in so little time. I enjoy keeping bust though. I can't imagine myself anywhere else at this point. A social environment was what I always needed.
Everyone here is going a little bit crazy. To an outside observer we are all crazy teens drinking too much and making noise in a quiet world. That outsider was me for the most part of my life. I was miserable and hateful of those people. I even told myself it was because they were just "crazy teens". Now that I'm in the center of it all, I can rightfully say that we are exactly what people fucking say. I'm crazy, I've always been crazy. The fact that I write that sentence with a grin on my face makes me crazier.
So, in my mind what's the point of living if you never test your limits? In this life there is but death. Why not intoxicate myself with new experiences based on love, drugs, feelings, people and knowledge? I'm experimenting with this new world I'm in and it sure as hell ain't quiet.
I'd like to think that all my problems are important. I'd also like to think that everyone else sees them as I do. But the sad thing about most people is that they have a strong tendency to exaggerate and lack compassion.
Get ready for the exaggeration.
Once again, I find it incredible how one person can bring you from the lowest point to the highest in the simplest ways. It's so easy to give all of your love away to someone and even easier to either hurt or be hurt.
Whenever I argue I get irrational, my heart beats fast and my mind starts spinning so uncontrollably my mouth can hardly keep up. I say things I don't mean, I even say things that mean so much to me that to hear them come from my own mouth is embarrassing. I'm embarrassed by my dependence on certain people for happiness. I put my entire well-being in the hands of others and when I end up on the floor, I only have myself to blame. So when they stand victorious, surrounded by people and things to do, I am left here in my own pity.
I wish I could stop thinking about certain things. I'm hopeless, I'm also quite useless. My efforts never work. I try and I fail. I fail and I get angry. Thus, losing everything I care about. I'd like to tell myself that I'm alone now, isolated and thoroughly broken, because of you. But the truth is, I'm in this state now, because I just can't escape, I might be leaving but I can't let go.
I'm feeling kinda bored since I have no job still! And was looking over my past post. I discovered my unfinished exam short story called Children of Light. Looks like I'm in the writing mood again... I donno if that is a good thing haha. Anyways, stay tuned for the finished version of the story, it shall be exciting writing again. I really missed it!
It's been a month today since I last wrote on this lovely blog and I think it's about time I reflect on who I am. Things haven't been very clear to me for awhile. I've been crying much more than normally and had two panic attacks last month. I stress way too much about things I can't control, but I think the major factor is that I put too much pressure on myself to be perfect all the time, which is obviously impossible. If I understood myself and my limits I would be able to get through scratch free. But lately I've come to realize the power one person's opinion can have on your well-being. Two people I love are telling me two different things about who I am and how I present myself to them. It's sad that I have to rely on other people to understand myself, but that's why there's people who are paid to do so. Anyways, I'm feeling much like the awful person that I've been told to be right now. I wish I could see who I am and understand why my actions might hurt, but I'm not sure where to start. Well, I'll guess I'll begin by reflecting on my life before boys and broken hearts.
For the longest time I was never comfortable with the girl in the mirror or the girl in pictures, many teenage girls/boys likely go through the same thing. Luckily I am blessed with amazing friends who are unique and fun. Unknowingly they helped me through rough times by simply being there and in that way managed to shape me into who I am today. Because of their presence and influence, soon I began to view the good intentioned (sometimes major fuck-up) yet stubborn vegetarian looking back at me in the mirror as a good thing. The girl behind the glasses was changing for the better (in my opinion). I started working out, eventually I became confident enough to wear nicer/tighter clothes (that I never wore because I was ashamed) thus attracting compliments from family and friends. I lost weight, but I also lost the bulk of clothes designed for people to hide in. I began to push myself hard in school because for one I love learning and two I thrive off receiving praise for my hard work. - I was finally getting the much needed ego boost that I had denied myself for the longest time, which had left me miserable and lonely. I am so lucky to have such a great family, environment and group of friends to support me and make me feel loved.
Now let's get to the boys and broken hearts part. Don't get me wrong, I did attract the attention of boys before my boyfriend, but I never understood why they would want to date me. I know eh? Pity party for me! But, seriously, it never occurred to me that they might find me pretty or that maybe I had a personally that appealed to them or something. I'd turn them down thinking I was doing THEM a favor. Jesus. My "oh pity me" ways not only hurt myself, but also those boys that probably genuinely liked me as a person. In the words of my father: "you're a heart breaker, that's not a good thing." When I would turn them down, I saw myself getting more and more miserable, burying myself in giant sweaters from value and hating people for some retarded reason. My actions made me hate myself and I was spiraling into some metaphysical pit of permanent isolation. Then the craziest thing happened, one boy managed to get through my defenses. For some crazy reason he found the giant sweater wearing awkward girl to his liking. At this point I was already beginning to change myself (working out, becoming more friendly, etc.).
So now back to these conflicting attitudes. This brave boy, who saw me at my weakest point, doesn't like the person I've become. Lately I've been celebrating my confidence by wearing girly clothes, by painting my nails neon pink and loving the way my bikini looks on me. Some might call me fake or something, hypocritical etc etc. But I'm finally doing what makes me happy and sadly I haven't been happy for a long time. Too bad that it doesn't make the people who count happy. Well, I don't think my personality has changed much, I'm still a goof ball, jokester, obnoxious, sifi nerd, non-gossip, loner and often shy girl. I am proud to say that I'm not afraid to speak my mind anymore. My teachers helped a lot in that department, but also the eye surgery that I received helped with my fear of eye contact. I never really mentioned that. But that also made me avoid boys because who would want to date the crazy-cock-eyed girl who was afraid to take off her glasses. All in all, I had believed these changes were for the better but, I think I'm as vulnerable now as when I started. I hear that I'm a good person from my mom, as to be expected. But on the other hand I'm told I'm a bitch and a slut, with no one in mind except herself. I take it all to heart even if they are jokes because I'm stupid and weak and I'm left with old miserable self once more and I not sure what to think about the confident girl in the mirror anymore. I think I'll miss her when she's gone, even if she wasn't a great person. I know that I never intend to do awful things, I believe that I have good intentions. But did I have to pay a price to get to this point? I think I have, for I feel so unloved right now despite being surrounded by my family.
I'm going to Kingston in September. I'll hopefully be making new friends and will be beginning to stand on my own. My worst fear is that I'll lose the girl in the mirror. I think I like her - despite some negative reviews.
I've grown so much since I first started this blog. I'm proud of who I have become. The scary thing is, I'm not sure how long I can keep telling myself that if I don't really believe it.
I find I always write on my blog when I'm completely messed. I've been lucky lately. I've had many people to talk to and things to keep my mind occupied. But, here I am. Back again to my teenage angst filled blog posts. Now, I feel more like my old teenage self than ever.
WHAT MAKES ME A BITCHY TEEN:
1. I'm slowly building myself up to a stress induced death. 2. I'm going to cry myself a river! (I'm pretty goddamn dramatic) 3. I'm an awful human being once again. 4. I'm starting to like being alone. 5. Jumping off a bridge is looking perrrty fine!
So here's a poem. A depressing, sad, embarrassing, gay ass poem. But fuck, right now I have to talk to someone. Even the internet folk. You've always been there for me when I feel like spilling some shitty thoughts. So thank you for probably not reading my blog... because I know the kind of shit you're into... when you're googling Jessica (omg so many naked pics)!
Oh That FEEELIN'!
What AWESOME feelings that feeling brings when you give your heart away. But complications arise that feeling dies. and you're fucked and left astray.
You forget about that feeling, it no longer has a name and all you can remember - is what it all became. The happiness was forced, the anger too real and those feelings overpowered the feelings you should feel.
So how do you know when the end is real? Was last week, the last time You would feel?
Is it over now, it's not clear? Cause it sure as hell didn't end with a slamming door. Because why should I fight for you, if you don't want me anymore?
She only knew how to be herself, and even though that wouldn't be enough for him, it was all she had.
I'm getting that sinking feeling and i know that it's not good. Soon I'll have to delve into my treasure trove of memories because out here I'm nothing but water. I need something solid to remind me that life is wonderful. I can't rely on images and fantasies to keep me company anymore. I need the living breathing, kicking, screaming parts of life to bring me back. We can fight it, us lovers, for only so long.
In the end, all you need is a friend. You know the cliche: "Let's just be friends." ? Well it's true. Friends are much better than lovers. Why else would most people want friendship after a relationship ends? Sad, yes. Even in some relationships you cannot be friends with the one you love, that is, until you break up of course.
When it comes to friends, your heart is never broken, they don't feel the need to protect you from the world and they love you no matter what. The love they give you never hurts and they are always there for you, to pat you on the back and tell you that you did everything you could and that everything you did was just. They're not scared of your tears. When they console you, it's because they care. They take your side and understand you. You can fight with them and they wont hold anything against you. That's what makes my friends more valuable than anything in the world.
And finally they are with you when and after you fuck up constantly.
At seventeen I've realized this one thing that most children find out immediately. Better late than never.
Just a short post, but very important nonetheless. If you're looking for some awesome indie tunes, make sure to check out Radical Face.( http://www.myspace.com/radicalface) *Fav song: Wrapped in Piano Strings. Thanks to Adam for the referral!
Kaiser Chiefs are key when it come to sweet UK music, but if you haven't enjoyed their music in the past, take a look: (http://www.myspace.com/kaiserchiefs)
Lastly, if you feel like some vintage French sexy music, try some Edith Piaf.
For the first time on my blog, I have to recommend an amazing poem to the masses. We read it today in English class and like most things taught in English, one may assume that it is some Shakespearean bull. But, don't judge too soon, for the haunting after effects the poem leaves, can easily make it hard for you to sleep tonight or to look your loved one in the eyes. So, without much further ado, I give you my new favourite poem from the great lyrical poet, Robert Browning.
Porphyria's Lover
The rain set early in to-night, The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite, And did its worst to vex the lake: I listened with heart fit to break. When glided in Porphyria; straight She shut the cold out and the storm, And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up, and all the cottage warm; Which done, she rose, and from her form Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl, And laid her soiled gloves by, untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall, And, last, she sat down by my side And called me. When no voice replied, She put my arm about her waist, And made her smooth white shoulder bare, And all her yellow hair displaced, And, stooping, made my cheek lie there, And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair, Murmuring how she loved me--she Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour, To set its struggling passion free From pride, and vainer ties dissever, And give herself to me for ever. But passion sometimes would prevail, Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain A sudden thought of one so pale For love of her, and all in vain: So, she was come through wind and rain. Be sure I looked up at her eyes Happy and proud; at last I knew Porphyria worshipped me; surprise Made my heart swell, and still it grew While I debated what to do. That moment she was mine, mine, fair, Perfectly pure and good: I found A thing to do, and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around, And strangled her. No pain felt she; I am quite sure she felt no pain. As a shut bud that holds a bee, I warily oped her lids: again Laughed the blue eyes without a stain. And I untightened next the tress About her neck; her cheek once more Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss: I propped her head up as before, Only, this time my shoulder bore Her head, which droops upon it still: The smiling rosy little head, So glad it has its utmost will, That all it scorned at once is fled, And I, its love, am gained instead! Porphyria's love: she guessed not how Her darling one wish would be heard. And thus we sit together now, And all night long we have not stirred, And yet God has not said a word!
“By bus or car, By the sway of train over a long bridge,/ We wanted to get out.” Gary Soto
The Children of Light
by Jessica Shelley
The City’s gray cement horizons prevented early risers from rising with the sun and daydreamers from dreaming. The dull gray light perpetually shown down upon the massive waves of people walking to and from their jobs at equal paces. The faces in the crowd were always solemn, the lack of light casting shadows across sagging cheeks and wrinkled skin. Small children held onto their mothers with equal misery plastered around their eyes and little to no hope of innocence left within them. Their tiny limbs were lost in the sea of bodies. There was no use swimming and so they held on to their parents, their sinking ship, as it was all they had ever known. For these were the people and the children of the future that you may have read about, all fifty billion of them, all equal, all the same, in every miserable way.
The absence of sound in the City just reassured us that our own personal misery was mutual. It was as if the entire population was resting and the City was just waiting for me to take my first breath.
We used ancient clocks that beeped at the turn of every hour to count the days. Without these decaying devises, we would never know of the passage of time. When I was born, my mother told me that the clocks beeped 14 times before I decided to leave her womb. Harper, she called me.
Our building number was #46,990,234 and there was little that a young boy could do in the City except play with the other miserable children.
“Harper, don’t ask if you can go play with the other children in the other buildings. That’s forbidden.” His mother groaned with annoyance, her face drooping ever more with a pathetic frown.
“But, why?” he asked with defeat, even though he knew the answer, since he had heard it many times before.
“All the buildings are the same. The people are the same. Just play with the children in this building.”
And that was that. Harper stayed within his own building with his mother as his only companion for the first twelve years of his life. He had no father. Before Harper was born, his father had decided that he had had enough of living in the City. During his three hundred and fifty thousandth, three hundred and ninety-ninth hour, without telling his pregnant wife, Harper’s father ventured into building #1 with hundreds of others and spent his last hour waiting in a line to be incinerated. He had heard the clocks beep 350, 400 times. He died along with the masses of people who spent their final hours in a line waiting to die, knowing that there was no heaven in a world without a sky.
As Harper grew up, he found it incredibly difficult to play with the children in his building. The other children had an amazing ability to make him feel as hopeless as them, trapped within their concrete boxes, playing with their concrete toys. Harper would try to spend time with them, but just couldn’t bare it. He’d run back to his room and pull out his crayons. With various shades of blue, yellow, pink and orange, Harper would recreate the place in his dreams.
Harper began to spend more and more time within his whitewashed bedroom, drawing pictures and placing them on his walls. But Harper soon realized that he didn’t want to spend all his time in his room, talking to himself and drawing pictures of a world that he’d never find within his own concrete box. So he devised a plan. He waited until his mother was sound asleep and snuck past the incompetent patrol at the door, too dumb to see the young boy crawling on the floor in front of his desk. When Harper reacted the outside, no alarms were ringing in his ears and he was free.
This was the first time that Harper had been in the streets without the massive crowd pushing its way past the buildings. The street was deserted. Harper closed his eyes, took a slow breath and began walking along the street. His heart was beating so hard in his chest that he wondered if the sound of it would alert the patrols. This only made it beat harder. Harper stalled to take a look around him in apprehension, not a single thing moved. That is, until a building’s door across the street was jerked open and a tiny voice called out, “Hey! Hey You! Are you stupid or something? There’s a patrol coming by in the next 10 seconds. Get your butt in here!”
Shocked by the broken silence, Harper crouched and ran, covering his head. When he reached the building, two small hands jutted out and grabbed him by his perfectly pressed dress shirt. “You are crazy or are you stupid? Geez. Maybe it’s a little bit of both.”
Harper looked over the boy sitting in front of him. He had curly blonde hair tossed on top of his pasty white head and a mouth that seemed to never know when to stop moving. “… and why the heck were you covering you head? There’s no use trying to protect your head with your hands, unless your hands are bulletproof!”
Impervious to the boy’s abuse, Harper introduced himself.
“Why hello Harper, I’m Jackson, the boy who just saved your stupid life. You’re lucky I was here, waiting for the patrol to pass so that I could go out in the street too. You’d be dead if it wasn’t for me.” He replied, irritated by Harper’s lack of gratitude. “Anyways, I think you should come with me.”
Harper followed the boy, wondering where exactly Jackson was taking him. He climbed about ten flights of stairs and when he reached the eleventh landing, Jackson motioned for him to go through an ominous steel door, situated before him. Harper gave Jackson a quick inquisitive glance and then turned towards the door. Without looking back, he turned the knob and was instantly blinded.
He awoke to the sounds of a girl’s giggling voice. “I love it when they faint.” Harper strained his eyes trying to find the girl who spoke, but found it impossible to see. He cleared his throat and pleaded, “Please help me. I can’t see.”
A boy’s voice this time, “Wow, this one sure is a whiner. Where’d you find him Jackson? Cause, I propose we send him back.”
Another voice joined the conversation, “Quiet Lyle, you act as if you were born first. I’m five minutes older. Therefore, I’m five minutes wiser and I say that we give this whiner a chance. Jackson obviously knows what he’s do-"
Harper interrupted the second girl “Excuse me, but who are you? What have you done to me?”
“Don’t worry Harper, you’ll get used to the light soon enough.”
Harper was almost overwhelmed hearing Jackson’s familiar voice among the strangers. But, the words he spoke confused him even more. Light? The light in the City never blinded him before.
“I don’t understand.” Harper’s vision was slowly coming back and he could make out five blurry figures standing around him.
The other boy’s voice started up again, “Well, seems you’re the newest member of the Children of Light. The sixth. Jackson chose you because… so why did you chose him anyways?”
Jackson gave Harper a friendly punch on the arm. “I chose Harper because he was daring enough to go out into the streets while a patrol was roaming.”
The other figures shook their heads and laughed at his carelessness in the face of death. At the same time they patted him on the back and Harper felt a rush of pride turn his face bright red.
Now that Harper’s vision had returned to normal he could see that he was sitting on the floor of a generic whitewashed room. Yet, there seemed to be a brightness emanating from a small crack in one of the walls. None of the strangers spoke to Harper as he made his way to the wall. The brightness that had blinded him earlier was now dancing upon his skin. He moved his fingertips over the crack and felt that it was warm. How was it possible?
“This is amazing. Jackson, this is light?”
The five strangers just nodded and smiled, amused at Harper’s amazement.
They eventually introduced themselves and Harper soon began his true exploration of the City and of the light.
So, he had found friends in the other buildings after all. Their leader, Jackson was from building #46,990,231, the twins Lyle and Mona from were building #46,990,249, and the stern Wallace and the constantly giggling Rhea were from #46,990, 230. They became fast friends due to their shared rebelliousness that led them from their buildings while their parents slept, and into the streets of the City. With their quick feet and youthful energy, not yet destroyed by the hopelessness of the City, the six mischievous companions made their way through the streets, narrowly avoiding the armored men patrolling the area.
There was no space in between the concrete buildings to hide from the patrols; the only space was the one you could stare up at, two miles above your head. Occasionally you could spot an elderly gazing up at the sky for just a moment, but then they would lower their head once again and sigh. It was no longer the sky, the sky they had known, before the buildings were masses of concrete and the light was gray. All they had known, was now a lifeless gray void hovering heavily above their heads.
(not finished)
This is where my story was going:
-sky obscured by buildings, only gray light
-Harper born, finds crack of light in room, mesmerized by it
-Gang of children from several buildings, led by Jackson, become Children of the Light, so Harper, Jackson, Lyle and Mona (twins), Wallace and Rea.
-ends with massive earth quake, tears down city
-sets people free to explore, but instead adults cower in the rubble of the city and the Children of the Light go explore new world
-shows the innocence and adventurous nature of children
