Abduction

I miss nearly every single one of these humans, and the teacher too. It is close to killing me, this breaking of my schedual, this ruining my fun, this rediculous summer break. I can't take the separation from what I recognize as comfortable. I feel silly, like a waste of time. I can't believe it's over. I can't wait to have it back.

Feast Your Eyes on This

Sunday afternoons are a time of relaxation and experimentation for people like me. When the house is empty and the air is still, I love nothing more than to start fooling around with my Great Grandmother's recipe book.

This particular Sunday, I had no access to this book. Boredom closely by my side, I broke out the Jif peanut butter jar and did my best to alter their classic recipe.

Crunchy Peanut Butter Chocolate Chips were the delectable morsels I produced. They were slightly sinful. I made enough to feed a small province in Africa, and the dishes were satanic as well. I also managed to burn the entire palm of my hand as well as the majority of the tip of my tongue. I blame the entire situation on the absence of the cook book and lack of 'adult' supervision.

After the Clouds Clear

The sky has been crying for a few days now. It chilled the world with its bitter mood. But now that the storm is over, the beauty is allowed to shine through.

I guess that is how life works most of the time. We have to go through the bad before we can see the good. Flowers bloom after a storm. Grass takes deep root after a fire. After we fall on our faces, we get a new chance at a new direction.

Choosing my direction isn't going to be the easiest thing for me, but it is an ugly task that must be completed so that I might experience the beautiful things in life.

A Cheers to the End of Cheer

Cheers to the School year:

Barf- here’s to being the closest thing I had to a best friend, the Kat mobile, the hand sanitizer, the creative writing assignments on my behalf, Lost, Chuck Palahniuk, six to eight black men, Larry’s escape, my Granddad, journals, your silly green car-truck-thing, over-digesting music, blogs, ‘secrets’, my OCD, the geniuses of 2010, your burlap plaid tie, Oedipus, ‘seriously?’, your lack of organization, the universe pass, Tori Slef, Mr. Casrson, slow yearbook dinosaurs we call computers, your media center, and here’s to being my favorite teacher (so far).

Kat- here’s to lunch scorching in the sun, thousands of useless yearbooks, G.H., “You just touched my butt!”, eleven blogs, global warming, sesame street, Korean subtitles, ‘The Great and Powerful Editor’, baby birds, John Cook, 8504557100, Clay, The Rat, Ignat and Olga, go green, WWF, photographs, yearbook, all the success, and here’s to you for being amazing!

Seth- here’s to high school, ‘it’s that big’, ‘NOW’, stalling out in front of subway, ‘I love you-r Jew Fro, l-y-e, PDA, Robert, homecoming, Deathcab, Keane, Iron and Wine, lots of other bands, Kayla Hairy, and all the stupid jokes.

Samantha- here’s to Masantha, Carsonade, green sharpies, dogs of various shapes and sizes, being my Prom date, and driving to Greenville at 3 am.

Slef the Riot- here’s to your rat, math homework, crabgrass, broken glass, Chelsea Dobson, your arms and legs, the upside down Bible, skinny jeans, fantastic shoes, odd ball mothers, locking my keys in my car, the really tall guy, being my apprentice, and here’s to a hopeful future for all your dreams.

Roletta- here’s to your fro, orange, purses, puppies, big dogs dragging little dogs backwards down the highway, permits, and here’s to your flat iron, may it serve you well.

Carrie- here’s to you not really liking South Park, refusing Barf’s orders, math, and here’s to the fact that I am nothing like your sister.

Nikki- here’s to Marsha, editor’s farewell, our lazy adviser, relax, your accent, Nathan, Chase, and Tyler, ‘Don’t get picky with the Nikki’, Jayce is such a guy, and here’s to how much I am going to miss having you around to take the blame.

High School- here’s to the pain, the suffering, the headaches, the tests, the bad grades, and the one more year until I never see you again.

Drink up me hardies yo-ho!

Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

I ran and I ran, it felt as though my heart was going to burst through my chest. My head was pounding and my breath fell heavily. I could taste blood in my mouth even though it wasn’t there. All I could think was what just happened? How on earth was I going to fix this? There was no escape from the future that now lay before me.
I stopped running and used a large tree to hold myself up. I heard something coming up behind me. My ears were roaring as I feared what the forest was about to produce. A bird flew from a bush and I crouched low, using the dusky night to hide me. My pursuer passed through the bush and burst into the clearing. I tried to hold my breath so he wouldn’t hear me. He flashed his flashlight over my face, but I remained unnoticed. He moved on and I relaxed. It seemed as though I melted into the earth. I thought back to earlier in the evening. It was a warm night, perfect for the hike I was taking with my co-workers. I walked with the usual group. We were laughing and talking about stress at work. I suddenly remembered I had left a bagel in the oven in my rush to get ready. I had to go back to keep my house from catching fire. I turned and explained to myself to Sarah, and then I began my trudging walk back up the hill to town. I cut through a few back yards in order to save time in getting to my house. Just then I heard a loud crash. A car had slammed into a light pole. The man spilled out of the car onto the curb.
Without giving my house a second thought, I rushed over to help him sit up. He was bruised all over and his head was bleeding badly. His clothes were filthy and torn. I asked him if he was alright, but he just kept mumbling something about a book. He just repeated take the book, please, don’t let him catch you with it. I was convinced he was delusional from the crash. I decided I would go to the nearest house for help. I ran and knocked on the door, no answer. The sun was fading quickly and the man wasn’t going to last much longer. I moved on to the next house and a little old lady came to the door. I asked her if I could use her phone and dashed into her house behind her. 9-1-1 the buttons beeped and I shakily pulled the receiver close. “Operator” the woman on the other end came through. I explained what had happened and where I was.
I thanked the old lady and back to help the man. As I got to the end of her walkway I saw someone else there with him. A big man towered over him. He was holding him by the collar. He was close to his face but still screaming, “Where is the book?” He hurled obscenities at him then threw him onto the sidewalk. His head crashed against it with a sickening thud. The big man tore through the crumpled car until he found a rough brown book. He turned around with a snicker and pulled out a pistol. It had a silencer on the end which led me to believe this wouldn’t be the first time he had used it. He aimed and shot the man in the chest. I let out a gasp before I could stop it. I dove behind the old stone wall at the end of the drive way. The whole time I was praying he hadn’t seen me, but he had. I bent low and ran through the old lady’s back yard until I came to the back wall. I leapt over the wall and found myself in the woods. I stood up and saw a bullet shatter the back on the tree next to my head. I ran as fast as I could, dodging braches, rocks, holes, branches, hole, rock, hole, hole. Down I fell. I felt my ankle twisting right before I fell into a tumble. I swallowed the cry of pain that had welled up in my throat. I got up to run some more. With every step I shed a tear. The pain was excruciating, I felt like I couldn’t go on. So here I lie. Fearing for my life, wondering about that book and why it’s so important. Yet at the same time, I want nothing to do with it.
I bolted up from my resting place, I have to get to the police and tell them what I saw. I reach up and grab the tree to pull myself off the ground. I look above the trees in the direction of town and I see the cloud of smoke streaming up from where my house once stood. I smelled the burning, but I thought I was too far away to smell it. I heard the chambering of a round behind me and spun around. There stood the big man, with the gun in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth. He through the cigarette to the ground and pulled the trigger. Instead of the bang of the gun, I hear a telephone ringing. I sleepily answer. It’s Sarah, asking me to go with her on a hike. I get up and get ready to go with her. I turn on the news and walk to my bedroom. I dressed while the reported drones on about some fugitive, armed and dangerous, but I wasn’t worried, after all this is the suburbs. I walk to the kitchen and put a bagel in the oven…

Feathers

Flying was all she ever wanted to do- not in a plane, that was no different than riding in a car. She wanted to fly freely like the birds. Her dream was something of a cliché. Everyone in the world had the dream of flying like a bird. But few took the actions that she took in order to achieve her final dream.
When she was six years old, she ran from home for the first time. More or less she ran from him. Her father abused her dreams daily. “You’re crazy,” He’d say, “Just like your mother was before she committed suicide.” He told her that it was her fault. She drove her mother crazy- she never believed it, but it was enough to make her want to fly to heaven and ask her mom.
When she ran, she didn’t make it further than the mailbox before he found her. She ran as he drove the truck slowly beside her. “If you don’t get your butt in this truck right now, you’ll never walk again!” He repeated his threat annually, every year when she ran away on her birthday. One day when her nanny asked her where she kept trying to go, she’d answered, “I am going to live with the birds. They will teach me how to fly. Then I can see my mom and ask her if it really was my fault.”
When she was ten, he let her leave. He didn’t chase her. He didn’t threaten her. He didn’t even search for her. She just kept going. After three days of walking on the side of the old dirt roads, a man offered her a ride. In the back of his rusty truck, he had a dozen white cages. In each cage, there was ten white doves. The second she heard the feathers flutter, she leapt into the back of the truck and never looked back.
After a short while, she arrived in heaven. The man’s house was big and white, but the back yard held treasures beyond her wildest imagination. Mountains of dove filled bird cages surrounded a small shed. She turned to the man and made her first request. “May I sleep there?” she asked while pointing to the shed. With a puzzled look, he nodded. Her first wish was granted, she lived with the birds.
The first night in the shed was warm. There was no window to let the air in, or out. it took her almost an hour to finally fall into a deep sleep. She heard a flapping sound, then felt as though she was thousands of feet off the ground. She rubbed her eyes and saw that the doves had broken free of their cages and lifted her into the air. It didn’t take long before she was flapping her arms and lifting herself even higher. The birds had taught her to fly. Her second wish.
She slowly lowered herself back to the dull earth. White feathers floated around her in a whirlwind powered by the flapping wings of the thousands of doves. In her cloud of white happiness, a figure formed and stepped into the clear. The keeper of the birds stood and silently looked at her as she was saturated with her hearts desires. When the keeper raised their arms, the birds vanished and the feather began to fall. In the storm of feathers, the keeper was blinded from her sight. Then the feathers settled. There, in a bright light stood her mother. In a voice that soothed her soul, she said, “It was not your fault. I love you more than there are feathers in the world.” With those words, she disappeared with a gust. And that was her third wish.
When she awoke the next morning at her mail box, she doubted that it had ever happened. Then suddenly a white feather fell from the sky and landed in her hand. More than there are feathers in the world. She just knew that everything in her life was finally at peace. She lived as a bird with her father the rest of her days and all was well.

How Much Time is Left

I hate goodbyes.
It’s like promising we’ll never see each other again
It’s like leaving and forcing me to stay behind
How much time do we have?
No time at all
The time danced off into the night
It left us blind and alone
I refuse your promise
I refuse to admit I won’t ever see you again
I hate your goodbye
I’m going to miss you
I’m going to miss your frustration
Your voice
Your laugh
You
So go on
Leave us all here
Leave us in the world of the past
Leave us where you can have a fresh start
But don’t forget us
Don’t forget me
I say goodbye
Where did the time go?

Dear You

Dear you,
I have written this letter in my head so many times. I haven’t ever figured out what my point is exactly, but I know that I must get it out as clearly as possible or you won’t ever hear me. I thought about telling you all that you are doing wrong, but I’m sure you know exactly what your faults are. I thought about telling you how bad you are hurting us all, but I’m sure you can see the effects of your actions. So here I am, without a solid foundation to stand on. I have no podium to stand confidently behind and hand you my two cents. Let’s face it, if I had two cents, you’d have already taken them.
When opening this conversation, you may ask exactly why I hate you. I just want you to know that I don’t hate you. Actually, I love you and my heart is heavily burdened for you and mostly your children. What I can’t stand about- the things that bring my blood to a boil- is your denial that anything ever happened. I hate that you lie to everyone, even yourself. I hate that you steal from everyone, including your children. I hate that you have lost your conviction. Mostly I hate that my aunt has turned into the person I lock my car doors for, the one who makes my mom lock her valuables in a safe. I want to shake you by the shoulders until you wake up! *****, if you need help, if you’re on drugs, if someone is threatening your life, tell us the truth! Lying has never fooled anyone, despite what you believe, we can see right through your façade. It is only hurting you. We can’t keep you out of jail forever.
When you were born, you were given every opportunity to be good. You were probably handed more than any other being on the planet. You never wanted for anything. You never had problems that money couldn’t fix. You were- you are smart. You have two beautiful girls and a tongue that can sooth a lion. But at the same time, all these attributes work against you. All your blessings turned into your greatest curses.
I will be totally honest with you- I couldn’t care less about you. What I care about is all the people you are hurting. Your parents, who by the grace of God still love you- you steal from the home they let you live in. Your girls- there is no coming back from all the trauma you have put those two through. Do you understand how you hurt them? Do you even realize all that you do?
I have found it very hard to love you. I have prayed and prayed for God to give me the strength to forgive all you have done to this family. I believe that the only reason his light is able to shine through me and shed an ounce of grace on you is because you haven’t touched my personal life. You haven’t entered into my room and touch my belongings, or, that I’m aware of, taken money from my bank account. That is probably the only reason I have begged God to put in my heart the forgiveness that you don’t deserve.
Then I realized that I didn’t deserve the forgiveness that God gave me. I deserve hell just like you or the pope or my mother. I realized that God loved me, despite my flaws and despite my sins and he forgave all my sins before I could ask. It is with that knowledge that I can say, “If God can forgive me, then I can forgive you.” I forgive you for all the pain that you inflict on my Grampa, my Grandma, my daddy, my cousins, my mom, and the old people at the nursing home. *****, I forgive you.
I spoke to a very wise woman on this subject. I spoke to her about the ability to forgive. She pulled me close and told me that we are commanded to forgive. I knew she would say this, but she encouraged my prayers. She encouraged my strength. And so now I have to ask you for your forgiveness. As a follower of God, I mustn’t hold back the love that I should share. I am sorry.
If not for me, if not for your parents, if not for your sister, if not for your children, will you for God- who has forgiven you infinitely, who knows all your lies- will you turn your life around and attempt to right the wrongs. Stop lying, stop stealing, stop committing adultery, stop coveting, for these sins are all as if you murdered. I have your soul in my hands and I ask you, for my heart’s burden, get right with your family, get right with your friends, and get right with God.
I love you and will continue praying for your awakening.

A Year from Cover to Cover

From the outside, you’ll see an average composition book. The corners are worn and folded over. All white space had been doodled upon in some way. It seems to be of little interest to anyone. Nothing important lives in this book. That may be what you’d think, but you’re wrong. What lives in this book is self discoveries, little pieces of literature, random thoughts yet to be translated, and bleeding wounds starting to heal. This is the journal of a high school student.
Upon opening the tattered cover, one might find awkward attempts to open up to a deaf audience. Small pleas are sent out, one by one, begging for someone to hear what they have to say. Slowly the student reveals her true identity. She lays down her mixed emotions and we discover her hidden meaning. We are enticed by her family problems: a father who shares an odd flavor of love, a grandfather who is slowly dying, an aunt who has sticky fingers and no heart, and remnants of distaste toward one another. She pours out her pain until her cup is empty. Then suddenly everything in her life takes a turn for the better. She looks up to find that she can love herself, despite what has been drilled into her over the years. She begins to grow and discover a love for writing.
Short stories soon find their way onto the pages. She replaces her complaints with expressions of creativity. Each story has a hidden meaning that even she barely understands. The air, now free of contempt and harbored hate, holds promises of spring and fresh starts. Her character develops a grateful persona. She holds every little thing close to her heart to help block out any attempt for the negativity to move back in.
Eventually we find that she has grown up- I have grown up. I learned what was important in life. I learned not to sweat the small stuff. I learned not only to be okay with who I am, but to be proud of who I have become. But most importantly I learned to be thankful. I have so much good in my life, that the bad just seems to not sting at all anymore. I am that high school student, and this was my journal, cover to cover.

Seventeen for Never

I "celebrated" my seventeenth birthday on May 9th. It was rather fun. It was more like a going away party for one of my best friends, Chris. The menu featured icecream cake and scrumptious homemade lasagna. Yummy birthday for me.

The Wrong

In everything I do- I have ever done- I only put half my heart into it. I have used it as an insurance policy. As long as I never give all I have, I will always have something left. And nobody wants half of anything so they always give my heart back.
That, I will have to admit, is a lie. I never only give a half hearted effort for anything. No matter what it is, I give all I have. I get attached so easily. I am fully anchored anywhere I have ever been, to anyone I have ever been involved with. That is why I am so good at getting hurt.
I met this girl when I was four years old. She was a little older than me, missing a tooth, and dressed in an overly frilly dress. It was blue. Her homemade haircut left some scraggily straight bangs hanging in her eyes. We were at church- my first time. We went as an obligation because the church had helped us get back on our feet when our house burned down.
“My name is Ashley. I’m five years old,” she said because her mom had pushed her toward me. “My name is Jessica, I’m only four,” I answered back. We went on in this I-like-your-dress- fight for about ten minutes. “When is your birthday?” I finally asked. When she replied, “May 9th“, we immediately became best friends because my birthday was May 9th too.
This Saturday we celebrated our birthdays- I was seventeen, she was eighteen. I called her early morning to wish her a happy birthday. She promised she’d be at my house by four in the afternoon. I went on about my day, getting ready for my party and helping my mom cook and clean. People started to arrive at three, first my grandparents from out of town, then my dad’s best friend, then my uncle and all his teenagers, but no Ashley.
It was six when we finally dined on some scrumptious homemade lasagna, but no Ashley. By the time we had finished eating I had decided that something had gone wrong. I went upstairs and saw I had no missed calls. I worried as I dialed her number. “Hello?” she answered happily. “Are you coming at all?” I asked, very frustrated because she wasn’t there because she was eating at Pizza Hut with her ugly, fifteen year old boyfriend.
When she showed up at 8:30, I decided to ignore her kindly; after all, it was her birthday too. She walked around with her boyfriend and said hey to my family. It was already dark so we were all just sitting around, rather than walking or playing basketball. She left thinking she had done nothing wrong.
The next morning, at church, when I walked over to sit in my usual pew she looked up and asked, “Are you sitting with us?” I replied, “Well, this is my seat.” The argument proceeded as such:
“Well you are being a little snippy.”
“That’s okay Micha, you can sit back down,” I said to her boyfriend who had gotten up to give me my seat. I walked out of the church with all my rage clenched in my fists. I took a minute to decide to go and sit in my place anyway. I walked back to my seat and sat as far away as close was to her.
I would like to point out I hadn’t said a word all day. I had been depressed from goings on of an entire different elephant. I had planned to just keep to myself and keep peace among the ranks. But I just couldn’t handle the slander from my “best friend.”
As I sat she turned to me and says, “I’m sorry. I thought you were mad at me.” When my face remained turned down, she proceeded to ask, “What’s wrong?” I got up and walked from the church and hid myself in the bathroom to have a good cry.
I wasn’t upset because she had slandered my tactics on how to handle my depression. I was angry at her for standing me up, yes, but that want the reason either. I wasn’t dwelling on the cutting eyes I had received from her the months prior to this moment. I was just realizing that at this moment, I had lost my best friend. She has “grown up” and come to an age where she doesn’t need me anymore. My advice, knowledge, and assistance on English papers is no longer needed. It hurt, still does. And I bet it always will.
I poured twelve years of my life into this. I put all I had and more into this friendship, and it was all a waste. I don’t regret having this lifelong affair with her, it taught me many lessons. She taught me to exercise patients, kindness, and the one I struggle with most, love. I learned to love unconditionally. And if the opportunity ever surfaces to restore this relationship to its former glory, I certainly shall.
I think I left a piece of my heart on your bedroom shelf, could you bring that back please?
-Jessica D Hunt

Beautifully Grean

There is a pretty way to be a hippie. It doesn't involve skipping showers or growing out armpit hair. You can wash all your clothes and keep your home clean.
Being a lover of nature doesn't make you a tree hugger. It simply makes you appreciative of all the beauty in our world.

model: emily luellen

photography, hair, and makeup: jessica diane

A Day In The Life Of A Poolshark

These men have next to nothing. But what they do have is unfathomable amounts of character. Every wrinkle on their forehead is another story of their past. There very movements tell an epic story of a battle lost or a battle still being fought. They may not be much, but these men are an editorial without the camera. Even in black and white, they shine through with so much color.