Mya M

I’m From Home

 

I am from the place where food is always cooking

From the place where people keep looking

I am from that place where the loud music plays,

When it’s time to go but people always stay

I am from the place where animals roam

Where everybody leaves and yet, is still at home

I am from the place where we all don’t get along

From my home where we all have a special song

I am from the place where the days are endless and long,

From where the nights are usually serene and calm

I am from the place where there are memories stuffed into the walls

From the place where adult and children’s laughter echo through the long halls

I am from the place where there is not much I own,

But I can still proudly call my own special home.


My Brand New  Fresh Start

I stood in my bathroom mirror deciding what to do with my unruly hair. I paused thoughtfully and after seven long minutes, I decided to just curl my short hair. My hair just barely touched my shoulders. It was brownish with blonde highlights placed in various places in my hair. I knew it would get messed up on my way to school, but I didn’t put an enormous amount of effort into it, so I didn’t care. Today was my first day of eleventh grade at my new high school. I wasn’t really worried about getting attention.  There were a bunch of new kids and how terrible would the odds have to be for me to stand out in a flood of new students? I put on the outfit I picked out the night before. It was a pair of ripped jeans with a simple tight-fitting black shirt. I walked to the other side of my room and risked a glance in the mirror. If I didn’t know what type of person I was I would say that I looked like the type of person that did bad things. To completely top the look, I put on a pair of black boots and a black leather jacket. I grabbed my phone off my bed and headed down my steps when I walked down the steps, I noticed my father was not there, he must be at work, I thought. I looked at the clock it was 6:47 and since I had to leave at 7:30, I decided not sweat rushing. I had sat down on my couch and taken off my jacket when my stomach growled the slightest bit. I made myself a bowl of cereal and sat down at the kitchen table. Time passed slowly, which made 20 minutes feel like a hour had passed by. After an eternity of waiting, I put my jacket back on and I was out the door. When I got outside the cool and crisp air of late summer hit my face. The wind blew my hair into a messy disarray. I opened the garage using my button, when I was faced with an actual problem. On one hand I could drive in my car, on the other hand I could drive my motorcycle. My car was a sleek black Audi; my motorcycle was also black. I ended up choosing my motorcycle to go with my whole bad girl look. I fished for my keys in my backpack, and when I found them, I stuck them in the ignition. I put up my kickstand, backed out the driveway and began my journey to my fresh start.

 


Untitled

I was in the middle of my same old boring second block class when I heard the creaky wood door open slightly. What peeked through the hole was the most perfect thing I ever saw. Every person in that classroom was soon gaping at the door with the same dumbfounded expression I had on my face. He walked in the classroom with his head down and mumbled something to my teacher, who had a slightly surprised expression before letting him introduce himself.

“Um…Hello, my name is Elliot. I’m  in your class,” he mumbled barely loud enough for the class to hear. I had only gotten his name when my unwilling eyes tried to get a better look. He looked up and I had to work very hard to keep from gasping. He had grey eyes, he had an oval shape to his face. I tried to push the stalker-like thought out of my head. His lips were so round and thin at the same time. He caught me staring and shyly smiled back; I wanted nothing more at that moment than to run my hand through his bronze colored hair. My heart nearly stopped right then and there: his smile was literally breathtaking. Between the girls staring at him with complete admiration, and between the dudes in the class too busy being jealous, nobody said anything back. I had felt bad for him, he asked a question, and everybody was too stupid to answer, including me.

“I think my mentor is in this class,” he said proudly. He must have known what he was doing, getting every girl’s hopes up in that class, only to pick one and leave the rest devastated. “I can’t read this handwriting. Could you read it for me?” He handed the paper to my teacher. My heart rose to my throat as if it threatened to come out of my mouth and land on this desk.

“Rebecca Jackson.” My heart then immediately raced back down to my throat and quickly sank to my stomach. It was similar to that feeling that you have right before you go downhill on a rollercoaster. It was me. I was supposed to show this extremely beautiful person around the school. I raised my hand to signify that that was me. I felt a mix of emotions. I could feel the hateful glares of every girl in the room, but when I looked back at Elliot, he gave me that same breathtaking smile that made me not care about anything other than him.

“Hi,” he whispered.  His voice gave me an odd warm feeling. I slowly felt myself flush.

 


The Grand Piano

Emily sat on her living room couch with her headphones on, blocking out all unnecessary noises and listening to her soft calming piano based music. She had always had a love for instruments that were quiet but had a beautiful sound. For example, Emily adored the violin. She loved how with only a couple flicks of the wrist, someone—anyone really—could make such a beautiful sound. She stood up and took her headphones off. There were very rare moments when Emily felt inspired by music. She stood up and practically ran down the hall and just stared at the door to her right. She touched the cold brass doorknob. It was cold and had a thin layer of dust on it. This room hadn’t been used in ages. She put herself in a brave mindset and opened the door and flicked on the light. She felt a pang of emotion looking around at every musical instrument. She casually strolled over to the gigantic white grand piano in the room. It was spotless. Emily sat down at the bench and began to play a mournful piece. The last time this music was played was about three and a half years ago, which was around the time that her father passed away. Emily’s mother was devastated. She remembered the emotion-drained look on her face. Emily closed her eyes and stood up from the piano. She wandered aimlessly around the room trying to contain her out of control emotions. Her father loved the violin. Emily thought back to a time when only her mother and father watched her play the violin. She remembered the clapping and excitement on her mother’s face, her father’s face. She couldn’t help when a single tear rolled from her eyes and down to her chin. She walked towards the door and shut off the light. She remembered why she never entered that room.


Insane

I woke up with a large portion of pain radiating throughout various parts of my body. And heard a peculiar clawing sound at my window.  The harsh voice coming from outside whispered my name. I cautiously stood up preparing myself for an insane person at my window, but when I pulled back my curtains, I saw one of my best friends staring at me with a pleading look in her eyes.

“Luce, what are you doing here?” I whispered

“I need your help, but you must not say anything,” she said with a ragged voice.

“Okay, just come in and keep your voice down.” I opened the window, but I saw there was something wrong with her.  Her normally bright blue eyes were a shocking bloodshot red.  “I don’t think you’re okay. Look at your eyes.”

She raced over to my vanity mirror, making gigantic eyes to get a better look.

“I’m going to tell you something, but you must not scream or make any sudden movements. Do you understand?” She gave me a suspicious look like I was not understanding how dire this was.

“Okay, don’t try to sugar coat it.”

She took a deep breath, and that’s when I began to worry. Luce was always outgoing and never had a hard time with anything. First, she was sitting on the bed, then in an instant, I saw her long, thinning red hair dangling from the ceiling.

“Ahhhhh!” A blood curdling scream rose from my throat. She quickly swung her long legs down and clamped her hand over my mouth, putting an end to my screams.

“I said be quiet and don’t scream!” She scolded. In a fight or flight response, I pulled my elbow forward and then rammed it hard into her stomach. It didn’t look like it hurt. It only looked like she was stunned that I would hit her when she had me at such a disadvantage. I sprinted across my room, opened my door and stumbled down my steps. I felt threatened by her presence, and I didn’t want her here. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed every knife I saw. I didn’t want to hurt Luce, but I didn’t want to get hurt myself. I turned around, and there she was, hovering over me like a shadow. I took the sharpest knife in my right hand and drove it into her torso. I felt the overwhelming emotion of guilt come over me until she pulled the large steak knife out of her and said, “Was that supposed to hurt me?”

 

In that instant, all I felt was anger. But what good is anger if I can’t do any actual harm to whoever I’m fighting?  All I could think to do was hit her,  and the closest item that I thought would work was a frying pan. I grabbed it and swung it with all my strength, only doing damage to myself. My arms felt like Jello, but I threw down the pan and tried to think of the nearest phone. Lucy has been over my house enough times to know where my room is, and my phone was up there. I knew my Father’s office had to have a phone. I ran around the corner on my cold hardwood floors when I became insane with glee. I opened the door and ran behind his office desk, wondering where the creature that seemed like a devil spawn was. I dialed 911 and almost cried when a woman’s voice came through.

“911, what’s your emergency?” She politely asked.

“My friend is trying to kill me. Please help me,” I stuttered.

“Okay, please remain calm, what is the address of the emergency?”

“1012 Johnson Street. Please get here quickly!”

“OK. The police are on their way.”  She said it in a way that made sincerity ring through her voice. I turned around, and there she was, standing one again like a shadow, seemingly hovering over me.

“Until next time, weak one,” she said with a mocking smirk on her face. She walked out the glass door in the office into the dark forest, never to be seen again.

 


Old Sailor Tales

Sailors tell stories about insane things, this is definitely known. But only the truly insane ones, tell a certain tale. They tell stories of these beautiful, odd, lost women as beautiful as the colors of the setting sun. These ladies appeared out of thin air it seemed and would scratch on the sides of their ships. This would force the men out of their boats to go and help the helpless, young, exquisite beings. When the sailors would lower to lifeboat and get inside, the women would rest their arms on the side of the wooden boat. The women would begin to sing a quiet, peaceful, and yet captivating song. As fate would have it these men would be put in a daze like trance, turning them into slaves. It could be one woman in one minute and ten in the next. They would violently rock the ships and that’s when the helpless men would come out of the trance. The women would tear the boats apart plank by plank until it was no more. These deeply deceived men were pulled under the surface of the water never to be seen again. Out of the hundreds captured only about twelve lived to tell the tail. Most would say that they were just lucky. Personally I think it was so that these fearstruck men would live to tell the tale.

 

 

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