Butterfly Diaries A teen on a quest to be a better writer

Reflections- Prompt Story 6/29/14

Dierdre had just turned 52 years old but was living the life of a woman much older. She had no family and lived on a small alcove on the coast of Oregon. At 40 years old she had moved here for more peace then the city offered. When loneliness consumed her she opened theWool-y Mammoth. It was a wool store and spinning area in an old beer warehouse. Between the secluded location and the niche market there was not much business. Most of the people who came in were travelers looking for a bathroom. However, she didn’t lose too much money and it was what she did with most of her time alone.

` The life Dierdre lived was not a bad one. When she wasn’t spending time at the Mammoth she was walking on the beach. Her house faced one about 4 miles long and always empty. Every morning when the sun rose it would reflect against the sea glass that lined the water line. It was uncommon for tourists to visit so the sea glass just piled up remaining untouched. On a particularly gorgeous morning, Dierdre was walking in the water instead of on the sand and could see her reflection in each individual stone she passed. Her hair was a fading light brown and her eyes were nothing spectacular. The most lookworthy feature of her face was her larger Jewish nose, but it certainly didn’t make her look ordinary.

She walked almost the entire span of the beach when she noticed her reflection started to look a little different. A little younger. She started walking faster and the stones showed a younger and younger face. Her hair got darker and eyes seemed brighter. She was wearing orange and green clothes and couldn’t have looked more than 12 years old. Dierdre looked at her hands to confirm she wasn’t really getting younger somehow. She saw the same worn and callused hands she worked with every day but when she looked at the stones, there was a girl who looked like herself 40 years ago.

After looking around, she decided to let herself be crazy for a second, and speak to the girl she was staring at. “H..hello?” Her voice caught. The last time she vocalized was probably three solid days ago.

In a shrill, childish voice the reflection responded. “Hi! I am Gwen! I am looking for the treasure on the beach!” Everything she said seemed to have an exclamation mark at the end. Dierdre had no idea what to do. She took a step back and looked back at the sun. Had she passed out and was dreaming or was she truly going crazy? She glanced back down at the glass stones and the young girl who identified as Gwen was still there. “So do you know where it is? I am trying to make a map!”

Dierdre was beyond confused and sure she was dreaming but decided to go along with it. She responded, “I am not sure what treasure you are referring to, uh Gwen is it?”
“Yeah, don’t you remember me? I am an adventurer! We are looking for the magic conch.”

“Remember you? Have we met before?” There was a vague resemblance but Dierdre could not tell her apart from the children she used to work with. Gwen didn’t respond, she just looked around seemingly at the same time that Dierdre did. “Okay well, let’s look, I guess. You want a conch shell?”

“The magical conch! The one we have been looking for all week!”

She didn’t understand what the girl was saying but started walking back along the beach kicking the sea glass, looking for a conch. They weren’t often on this beach but she was going to look anyway. The further she walked, the quieter the girl got, as if she was yelling. “Hurry up! We don’t have much time?”

“Much time? What do you mean?” Dierdre was dedicated at this point and started nearly running along the beach, fighting through the lack of breathe.

“Wait. Wait no. It’s over here!”

“Di don’t go that far! Come back right now.”

She stopped running and looked around, gasping for breath and sweating. Di? No one had called her Di since her mother died a few years ago. The voice sounded familiar too. Dierdre sat down and thought for a moment. Very quickly she remembered that wasn’t a new experience, it was a memory. As a child at the beach house she would roleplay Gwen the adventurer. She laid down and took a nap, bewildered. When she woke up, she walked back to the other side of the beach hoping to find Gwen again but never did. Her reflection remained her current self and she never discovered why that time way was any different.

 

Numbers 2/17/14

In math we learned
that the space between
any two numbers
is infinite.
The biggest number
less than two
is undefined.
You can always add
another number
after the decimal.
That’s what loving
you is like.
Every smile
is another number
after the decimal.
I think I can’t
love you any more
but then
my heart
finds another number
greater than me
and less than
you.

NaNoWriMo Interview in HSU’s Lumberjack

http://thelumberjack.org/2013/11/19/50000-words-in-30-days/

Depressing Freewrite Thing 11/18/13

When Netflix stops to buffer or
Your heater suddenly turns off
When the music silences before going to the next song
Do you hear the buzz?
The wind is blowing through the treetops and I feel I’m laying on a dance floor under lower class poverty ridden Mexican women. They spin so fast, the edge of their skirts can touch the dreams they have for the future.
There’s a kitten I’m calling to. It’s cold and wet and I can help it but it doesn’t come. I wonder if that’s what my father feels like. He always called me kitten.
I left because I wanted to avoid that buzz.
Every time I’ve left it’s been to avoid the buzz.
I’m blasting Iris by the Goo goo Dolls but I can still hear it. It’s a steady buzz in my head, nine times louder than my heart beat.
I told them not to look for me and after two hours they haven’t. I forget that no only meant yes to him.
Rape is a funny thing. It’s as if he knew I’d be a bad person so found a way for consistent punishment. Endless punishment.
I got cold and I tried to run but the tree stopped me.
If I make it through the night, I’ll have to explain the cuts across my neck.
If I don’t, someone will find me when they miss the goal and their disk flies away.
They will never finish their game.
They will never hear the clink when the frisbee meets the metal basket.
Instead they’ll hear the buzz.

Connections 8/13/13

When a writer closes their eyes to go to a “happy place”

They don’t picture the lake, ocean, or grandma’s kitchen

When I want to be at peace, I recall all those I’ve seen

The girl with the demitasse and the constellation tattoos

Heart broken by a man who exchanged fists instead of kisses

Pens and paintbrushes became her life- taking pretty things and making them beautiful

The perky  six year old who collects fallen leaves to keep safe all winter

So when Spring comes around, he can bury them in the park

Keeping pretty things around for people to look at

The shy analytical barista with a beard and glasses

Who does long division on napkins during break

Only finding peace when stargazing with kids in the park

These people will never speak to me, or each other

But as a writer, I can connect them all

What place is happier then that?

Scared of Change 8/13/13

Faint light from lighters lead the path to our hangout
Layers of paint make the carved name in the mausoleum, invisible
The ground, once littered in hushed violets, now caked under trampled glass bottles
Kids come here when they want to find others like them-
Hating themselves, but scared of change.
Their heartbeats a riot, their minds chanting regrets like an anthem
I was told God is everywhere and I wonder why he slums where his name is cursed
Sometimes I think this is a monument of his failures and
He comes to find others like him-
Hating themselves, but scared of change.