Chaucer Midterm

This is part of a my Chaucer class midterm (which I took fall term, 2007). I'm writing in the point-of-view of the Wife of Bath addressing the Clerk and the Clerk's Tale from The Canterbury Tales. Enjoy!

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I can’t believe the nerve of that Clerk! His tale was by far the most unbearable of all the tales I’ve heard of so far. Of course everyone did ask him to tell a tale of adventure instead of a moralistic sermon like the Man of Law implied with his tale, which is also one of the silliest tales I’ve ever heard. That’s what happens when you have a clerk tell you an adventurous tale—it always contains morals, especially for women, to have patience and be virtuous. Why is it that women can never be free of the rules that men put upon women and why do women readily agree with these rules and not break free from them?

Why is it that the Clerk can’t change the tale a little, make Griselde stand up for herself and demand that her children should not be taken away from her. I, the Wife of Bath, might have even switched my tale around to make it more suitable for the audience. After all, who wants the knight to lose a woman in the tale if she’s ugly? So, I thought I’d make it seem like the knight triumphed in the end instead of the woman that he finds. It’s the battle between a beautiful and ugly woman who are both faithful.

Men, like Walter in the Clerk’s tale, can think that they are in control, but it’s really the women who control them. After all, how can there be men without women? After being in control of a man, I would never end up obeying him like Griselde does—no matter how much he loves me or not. Children would also get in the way of my plans. How could you control the father of your children? It’s possible, yes, but I don’t think it’s done.

The moral of my little rant is that all things don’t come to you if you’re a sweet, patient, and virtuous maiden. You have to act like a man, fight like a man, to get what you want in this life. That’s the only way to become confident with who you are, and who you married.

Qurrat-ul-ain (Delight of the Eyes)

I wrote this story in my WR 324 (Fiction Writing) class that I took fall term 2007, but it's not as good as my other stories. I thought I would post it anyway.

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As I awoke, my body wracked with uncontrollable shivers and I could feel the sweat dripping down my face. My eyes cracked open with alarm as I felt the rapid beating of my heart from the one real nightmare that could never be forgotten. I couldn’t stop looking at those eyes—those obsidian eyes that were so dark and endless. Those eyes that were full of fear, shock, and something else…” I sat up, waiting for my heart to calm down and the air to return to my lungs. Tears streaked down my cheeks as I slid out of bed, knowing I would not be able to fall back asleep.

It had been about a year since that incident. It was the reason why my dreams were always filled with nightmares from that night. Everyone had noticed a change in me. The most noticeable change had been the significant weight loss. I had always been chubby but within the past year, food no longer appealed to me. My parents and friends just thought I was dieting. They said I was in good shape and that a swarm of suitors had become interested since then. It’s ironic that when I was chubby the men coming to see me were few and far in between but when something as drastic as this happened, they would eagerly ask for me as if I had become one of the most popular girls in school.

When I had come back home that night a year ago, it was late enough that my parents were already asleep. I had felt so dirty that I can’t even remember how many times I scrubbed and rinsed myself. I had to get the feeling of those men off of me. The only thought going through my mind was how to keep everyone in the dark about this. I had no idea what my parents would do or say or what would happen to me. The next day I went to one of my friends’ houses—one who I knew was sexually active. While she was in the bathroom, I snooped around her dresser until I found a bottle of Plan B and took a pill. She wouldn’t notice. Nobody would have to know—I couldn’t afford to let anybody know.

I had never heard of a Muslim girl ever being in this kind of situation before and it terrified me. I didn’t look like a Muslim, always wearing what my parents called “modern American clothes.” Then again, since my parents weren’t Arab, they weren’t as strict about my dress code as the other Muslim parents were. I didn’t cover my head or face, I wore t-shirts and jeans, and though I never drank alcohol, I did go to a lot of parties. That night I had gone to party hosted by one of my “American” friends so I was wearing a skirt and a t-shirt. I knew that I shouldn’t have walked home alone from the party but I didn’t want to become a burden to anyone since I was leaving earlier than everyone else. I never thought anything would happen.

Physically, I was healing slowly but surely. Mentally, I thought I would never heal. I never told anyone and had never planned on telling anyone about what had happened that night. I kept a diary hidden under my mattress because I was too afraid to keep a blog online. I didn’t want someone randomly searching and finding my blog, only to call the cops. I was always cautious about what I wrote on my blog. It was never anything too personal. It was something my friends could read and they would know that whatever I put in my blog was part of who I am. They didn’t know that the person I became around them was nothing like who I was inside.

Today was Friday—a day where most people start to relax, party, or bar-hop, after a long week of work or school. Today was also the Muslim Student Association’s first meeting of the year. MSA had become a joke recently because we rarely ever did anything, and if we did, it turned out to be something that had nothing to do with Islam. In the past, all of us would take turns reading the Koran, our holy book, or we would read a book of sayings from the Prophet Mohammed. We used to actually plan activities, like barbeques, informational tables, and bring in guest speakers so our city and student community could learn more about Islam.

I couldn’t believe that this was the beginning of the end. The end of the first week of my senior year and I was already ready to get out of college and fully experience the world. I guess having lived here my entire life I wanted to find someplace new where I could start over—where no one would notice the difference between the girl of last year from the woman of this year.

This was also a time when my parents started actively looking for suitors to find a potential partner for me. Since we aren’t allowed to date, we have arranged marriages, and the first step to an arranged marriage is to find a man that fits the bill. Ever since I had lost weight, there were many suitors who had come to our house. Many of them were handsome, had a sizable bank account and had a good sense of humor. I said no to all of them. Ever since I was young I had wanted to get married and fall in love with my husband, but those dreams had been shattered just like a part of me had. I never told my parents, but after what had happened, I never planned on getting married. I didn’t want to endure what would happen on my wedding night and I knew that any man that I married would notice right away that I was no longer a virgin and they would tell my parents and probably divorce me and find a “pure” woman.

I knew my parents were getting upset because of all the men I had turned down over the past year. I don’t even think I cared much anymore. Out of frustration, I told them that I decided to just marry the next guy that my parents thought would be a perfect match for me. After my parents would say he’s a perfect match, I would talk to him alone and tell him all my secrets. I just hope that if I do tell him, he wouldn’t say anything to my parents—maybe he would be too shocked and disgusted to do much of anything. I wouldn’t blame him though. I was disgusted with myself and still shocked about what had happened.

Another suitor was coming to see me this weekend. I wasn’t worried at all about my parents picking a man for me. They knew me well enough to know what I did and didn’t like in a man and what I expected of him in the future. My parents didn’t know much about this one though. All they knew was that he lived in California, was a couple of years older than me and was in his last year in medical school. Ever the careful, loving parents that they were, they didn’t even know what he looked like. They still invited him and his parents over on Sunday. I knew I could look forward to helping my mom clean the house instead of doing my homework—at least I would be keeping myself busy.

“Annie!”

“Yes Mama…”

“Remember to call me when you get out of class. I want you to pick up some groceries for this Sunday.”

“Okay Mama,” I replied.

Throughout the day, classes kept me pretty busy. I was getting a BS in Health Administration and was planning on getting a Master’s in the same field. I was swamped with studying for classes, applying for graduate school and studying for my GREs—not to mention the constant cleaning of our house, which was always swamped with suitors.

After getting the groceries for my mom, I went back to campus to go to the MSA meeting. I had a lot of Muslim friends that I didn’t get to see often because I wouldn’t go to the mosque. Instead of going to the mosque, we would usually pray and eat at home seeing as my parents were always busy. We didn’t exactly have any activities for MSA going on lately so it would be nice to see everyone again. I entered our meeting room amidst hearty ‘Salaam’s’ from everyone and hugs from the girls.

Omar, the president of MSA stood up and looked around. “Is this everyone?” he asked.

At that moment a man came strolling through the door. “Asalaam o’laikum everyone, I’m sorry I’m late! Did I miss anything?”

All I could see were those eyes—they weren’t obsidian like I had recalled, but they were still very dark, a brown pushed to the brink of black. His hair matched his eyes and was very fine. All those memories that I had tried to pushed to the back of my mind came rushing back.

I started walking faster and then suddenly I heard footsteps behind me—that was when I started running.

Men surrounded me to the point where I couldn’t breathe. They wouldn’t let go of me—they wouldn’t stop touching me.

One of them told the others to stop but they overruled him and all he could do was watch. The only thing I could do with shock and the burning of tears in my eyes was to watch him. “Please help me…” He didn’t respond to my helpless plea, but continued to stare as if he couldn’t believe what had happened.

“Annie, are you okay? You look pale,” one of my girl friends said. His eyes widened with shock when he noticed me. As soon as I locked eyes with him, his gaze turned apologetic as if he were ashamed.

I turned away from him and told everyone I had to use the ladies’ room. My mind was swirling with so many emotions that I wasn’t sure what to think. Once I entered the bathroom, I let out the tears that I’d been holding back earlier. I didn’t know if I could handle him being there or not. So many questions were plaguing my brain. Had he told anyone about what happened? Why hadn’t he helped me at least try to get away from those monsters? Why was he here?

So there I was in front of the sink in the girls bathroom, gasping for breath as if I’d run the mile. When I came out he was waiting for me outside, probably hoping he would get a chance to talk to me, but I walked right past him.

“Annie, wait…” he said. I turned towards him giving him the kind of look that would strike him like a blade in his heart.

“Annie, I’m really sorry…about what happened. I was too scared…”

“Scared? You thought I wasn’t scared when they held me down like that? If you were so scared, why weren’t you scared enough to call the police?”

I was so upset that I couldn’t stop the tears coming from my eyes. I knew that he was telling the truth though. I would’ve been too stunned to do anything other than watch. In that one conversation, his eyes told me so much about him. He was being sincere and somehow I knew that he hadn’t forgotten what had happened. Maybe he was even having nightmares about it like I was.

He let go of my arm, turned and walked away. I took out my cell and dialed the number of one of my friends in the meeting to let them know that I wasn’t going to be able to stay.

All weekend, my thoughts were filled with the mysterious man. I was surprised that I didn’t know anything about him—not even his name. This wasn’t all that big a city and word traveled fast. If he was new, everyone would be talking about it. Maybe he was just visiting.

The weekend was a blur of homework and thoughts of him. Pretty soon, it was Sunday—a day where most people in our moderately sized city would be waking up to go to church soon. My family on the other hand, was expecting guests so my parents required that the house be cleaned. These weren’t just any guests though. They were specifically coming to see me—another suitor and his parents coming to impress us with how much money they make, how much religion means to them, and how I’ll be able to get my happily ever after with them.

I was so sick of all these men coming to our house. I just wanted to be left in peace to finish my degree and be able to find a job. I didn’t feel like having another stressed-filled weekend catering to people we didn’t even know.

The doorbell rang and my parents went to greet the guests. I ran upstairs. Once my parents thought he’d be a good match, they’ll come up and get me. I waited what seemed like for hours until my mom came up into my room and told me how handsome and established Amir was.

I came downstairs, only to find him there. I didn’t think I would ever see him again, but he seemed just as surprised as I was. Our parents, who were seated in the living room, told us to go talk alone in the adjacent room.

We sat across from each other and the room was suddenly filled with an unbreakable silence. Both of us were trying to figure out what to say to each other. He finally broke out of the uncomfortable silence and said, “I didn’t know that my parents had recommended you for a bride.”

“Why were you here from California last year?” The question came out of the blue, but it was the first thing that popped up in my head. I could see him trying to figure out what to say.

“Please…tell me the truth.” He was like an open book. I only had to read his eyes to see what he was going to do.

“I came up with a four of my friends to look for a potential bride. They didn’t know that though. The guys thought that we were just going on a road trip. In every city we stopped in, they would go into bars or clubs and they would come back drunk. That day you were invited to one of your friends’ parties. We were invited to the same party but we came a little earlier.

Before going though, I told them not to drink because it was a pain in the ass to take care of them afterwards. Of course they promised but as soon as we came to the party, they got a hold of some booze and couldn’t stop. When you were walking past us in the parking lot, I tried to turn them around so they wouldn’t see you. One of them did, and once he saw you, all of them did.”

By this point I couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down my cheeks. I was in a daze so I didn’t notice when he came and sat down beside me. I felt his hands wipe the tears from my cheeks. Stunned, I looked up at him. In our culture, men and women weren’t allowed to touch before marriage, and here he was touching my face with his hands. It was endearing and scandalous at the same time.

“I tried to stop them…I did everything in my power to stop them. I know I should’ve called the police but my mind was blank and I didn’t know what to do. After they left, I drove back to California in my car and left them at the hotel. I was so disgusted by what they did, that I couldn’t even look at them without thinking about what happened.”

He looked at me with his sad eyes and with finality said, “I’ll tell my parents that we’re not suited for each other. They’ll understand. I just hope that someday you can forgive me.”

I turned towards him. “Amir, I forgive you.” The joy in his eyes brought delight to mine. “I don’t think I am able to marry anyone right now, but I will tell my parents to keep you in mind. I do want to marry someday…but…maybe we were not meant to be.” He nodded his head in understanding.

When Amir and his parents were getting ready to leave, he came up to me again. “Thank you Annie...thank you Qurrat-ul-ain.” As I gazed through my window while their car left our driveway, I knew everything would be alright. Knowing that my mind would finally have some peace, I smiled. Everything would be alright.

Creative Exercise

This is a creative exercise that I did for ENG 465 (The Uncanny Novella) and that I had to read for the whole class. I'm surprised I got positive reviews for it (in class anyway). Well, let me know what you think!

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As I was folding up the laundry I heard him talking on the phone in the other room. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll do it tonight.” He was so serious when he said it, so I went to investigate. As I came into the room, he looked up holding the phone in his hand.

“Hey, who’s on the phone?”

“Just a friend…hey, why don’t I make dinner tonight?” he replied, changing the subject. I gave him the okay to use my kitchen in an attempt to cook something edible. He usually did this when I was tired or particularly stressed about something. Lately, I had been getting really bad migraines and went to see the doctor the week before. Everything was normal except for the fact that I had an excessive amount of earwax. It was a waste of time going to the doctor—all he did was give advice on which meds to use and sent me on my way. I could hear a lot better though, which was a plus.

When I came home, stepping out onto our driveway, I could hear him talking on the phone. I froze and shook my head—it’s probably the meds kicking in or something. When I opened the door, he was in the kitchen, probably getting ready to create some havoc—and talking on the phone, but how I’d known, I had no idea. I didn’t understand—could hear rats scuttling above in the attic but had never heard them there before. As I ran upstairs to change into something comfortable, I heard him talking. “Yeah, I still have it…I put it in the kitchen cupboard. I told you I would do it tonight, so I will!”

“Honey, could you come down and stir this for me? I need to check something really quick,” he yelled. “Sure.” I admit my curiosity got the better of me and once I saw him go upstairs, I looked in the cupboard under the kitchen sink. All I could see were a couple of small moldy boxes that probably had tools in them, dish soap, and rat poison. As I heard him coming down the stairs, I started stirring the concoction until it looked like it was well-stirred.

“Who were you talking to before,” I asked.

“Oh, it was just a friend asking about something at work. Nothing too important.”

“Really?” I replied, “It sounded serious.” He shook his head, “It was nothing.”

He was up to something—too bad I didn’t have telepathy. He was acting odd these days, really secretive. I could hear guilt in his voice, but I couldn’t tell you why. As I washed the dishes he had used to make dinner, he set the table, poured us the soup as I joined him at the table. He smiled and said, “You look beautiful. Go ahead, dig in and tell me how it tastes.”

As I raised the spoon to my mouth to try it, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” he said. I stuck my nose in my soup bowl and found it had a funny stench. So then I took a whiff of the soup in the pot—it was fine. My traitorous mind thought of all the possibilities of why my soup had a strange scent but I couldn’t come up with anything believable. I figured he had put something in the soup as a prank, like he used to when we were younger, so I switched my soup with his. I looked up and saw him staring at me. “It was a just a solicitor,” he said. I gave him a small smile and said, “Let’s eat.” As we sat there, supping soup, I kept looking at him out of the corner of my eye. He caught me staring. “What? Do I have something on my face? Do you like the soup?”

“It’s surprisingly good,” I replied. That night, we fell asleep in each other’s arms. When I woke up, I felt cold. Turning towards him, I smiled, gradually opened my eyes…and screamed.

Sleeping in Class

This is me venting about how I can't stay awake in my Early American Literature class. LOL! I can't even believe I'm putting this up on here but one of my friend's suggested it and that it's really funny. Hope you get a good laugh out of it!

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How can someone so sweet be so boring? Maybe it's the subject--or is it the fact that I'm so sleepy because of work and fasting? I'm writing this for the specific reason of staying awake and not embarassing myself. How can people NOT be sleeping??? She teaches exactly like Paul Hagood!! *Sigh*...I'm so tired.

Oh my GOSH!!! There are so many people annoying me today--especially the one sitting in front of me! He looks like a bum--fat, glasses, scruffy, hairy, gross, and talks like a dumb person. He's one of the biggest crunchers--seriously! I CAN'T STAND HIM!!!! Does he have to eat chips so loudly? Plus the guy behind me started eating something crunchy too. ANNOYING!!!!!!

I'm seriously not even listening to this discussion we're having in the class anymore. Fifteen more minutes left. I wish it would go fast. LOL!!!! The guy in front of me--whenever he laughs---he starts coughing. I bet he's a smoker. When he did that just now I almost laughed out loud. It was THAT funny. Ten minutes---YES!!!

I want to go home and sleep. *Sigh*...I wish I had a cell or something so that I could text Maryam. LOL, I'm even thinking about showing this to her---how sad! The BUM is hack-cackling again. LOL. I'm bored. Not to self-->remember to start writing "My Life As a Kitchen Assistant" as soon as I can. Argh!!! I still have to read so much!!! Especially for both of my art classes. FIVE MINUTES!!!!!! Okay, I'm going to start packing---talk (or maybe write) to myself later. Bye bye! :)

Pakistani Myth Story

I just wrote this in 10 minutes or so on Tuesday (October 4, 2005) for my Early American Literature class. I chose to write a myth about how Pakistani people were born based on the Native American myth that we read in our textbook.

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A single jasmine flower sits in the soil as if it were the queen of the night. It’s sweet smell mixing with the honeysuckle. The wind carries this sweet fragrance of jasmine and honeysuckle, swirling, mixing, until it mixes with the rain—and turns into human skin. A man is born.

The rain floods the river, flowing out onto the land and mixing with the soil. The man looks on to see that the different parts of the soil and mud are forming into an animal with the help of the wind and rain. The cows, sheep, and other farm animals are born.

The soil next to the honeysuckle forms into cats while the one next to the jasmine forms into tigers. All this time, the man is looking on…curious and shocked at the same time. A flash of lightening crosses the sky and turns into a bird, bright and colorful, they soar over the man’s head.

The man tries to talk to the animals but he does not understand them and they do not understand him. He shouts into the sky, “Oh God, creator of everything and anything, will you please make someone who can understand me, and who can trust me as I trust them?”

The rain and lightening recedes. The wind is gone…the sun’s rays shining down upon the man.

The man is confused. He thinks, why would God stop the rain, the lightening—the wind? Did he not hear me?

The man looks out onto the land and finds that the flood is gone and the rivers back where they were. A small pond is the only thing left behind. He finds some bubbles coming out of it. A beautiful woman with hair so dark that it almost looks black. Her brown eyes stare into his and she smiles while he smiles back. He thanks God for the companion and then he takes the woman's palm and walks away with her.

Two Random, Very Short Stories

This was also an assignment for my Intro to Fictional Writing class. We had to write about love in one of the situations but we couldn't say or put the word "love" in there. The other one is about death but we couldn't say anything about that in there.

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It has been many years since my son used to sleep in his crib, play with his soccer ball, or even go to high school. He made me proud. I know at school he used to be called a “Mamma’s Boy,” even though he didn’t tell me that they teased him, but I could tell because he had this certain look on his face that I had come to recognize so often. It was the face that said that he didn’t care and was content on making me happy. After high school, he went off to the army to get an education and to pay for college on his own.

I rarely ever saw him again. Because he was so busy, he was never able to visit for more than a couple of days every two months. War is a terrible thing that separates a mother from their child. My son was there fighting a war (or wars) that I didn’t agree with. I prayed for him. I prayed that he would be happy in whatever he does and where ever he is. I cried many nights because I knew what would happen in the end. I also knew that when it happened, he would be happy about it.

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I wake up to find that it’s a bright, sunny day and no sign of any clouds. The weather fits my mood well. It isn’t too hot nor is it too cold, but a warm feeling tells me that it’s not just the weather making me feel this way. It feels as if there are a million butterflies in my tummy and I feel giddy every time I think of him. I can’t wait to see him again. I’ve known him since we were in diapers. Some people say if you known someone that long, it’s like having another sibling, but I don’t think that’s true at all.

Whenever we talk, he’s always there to listen to me and let’s me pour my heart out. I do the same thing for him. My friends always ask me if I’ve done “it” with him yet and the answer is always the same. We don’t’ have to be physically intimate to satisfy the craving that’s deep within our hearts. Someday, when we get married—we will—but right now we want to enjoy each other by just being with each other. He respects my beliefs and I respect his. We both agree on most things but of course, sometimes that doesn’t happen.

There have been a couple of serious arguments that we’ve had and the day after, we wouldn’t talk to each other. There was one time when we didn’t speak for a whole week. When we apologized and forgave each other, he said that it was so hard being so close, yet so far away from me. I felt the exact same way about him. That’s the day that I was certain that he would never leave me.

Sequel of "Heat"

This is kind of a spin-off/sequel of the short story "Heat" by Joyce Carol Oates that I wrote in my Intro to Fictional Writing class Spring term 2005.

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After I had started dating, my parents would watch me from the doorway of my bedroom every night and I knew their thoughts. I just knew. They were thinking about Rhea and Rhoda and pondering how they could keep me from harm. They didn’t say anything—didn’t even whisper—but I knew from the looks on their faces that they didn’t want me dating anyone. They would do anything to keep me from harm.

I also remind myself of what happened with Rhea and Rhoda. I did marry a man some years ago, but before that, I never let any man touch me in any way. Not even a kiss on the cheek whenever we would come back from our date because they might think that I’m really serious about them and start doing something that I was not ready for.

I saw Rhea and Rhoda at our wedding as well, but I never told anyone because nobody could see them. I would like to think that they came to me that day because I would talk to them in my dreams. They always did tease everyone—including me. When I talked with them in my dreams, they were sweet and told me that they missed being here. The night before the wedding, they told me that they would be there.

My husband knew that I would never let him touch me until long after the wedding, yet he still went through with it. When my father gave me away on our wedding, he whispered something in my ear. He told me everything that he and my mother thought about when they stood in my doorway and looked at me when I was “sleeping.” They knew that I was not sleeping. Don’t ask me how, but they knew. It’s good to know that your parents will always be there for you, at any age and at any time.

"The Pencil"

Pencils are known as writing implements. You can write, draw, and trace with a pencil. Nobody could ever consider it as a weapon. My daughter, Lily, was three years old and in her day care when I got the call that would completely change my life. My husband had been dead long before Lily’s birth and had left me to care for her on my own.

That day I had had breakfast, dropped Lily off to her day care, and went to work at around nine in the morning. I was at work when I got a call from the day care manager at around noon. She said to come as quickly as possible because something had happened to my daughter.

I thought over all the possibilities of what might have happened. I thought of her having a tantrum, screaming, and calling for me. How very wrong I was. I saw an ambulance outside the small day care center and that is when I began to worry. I ran to Lily’s classroom to see what had happened.

There were paramedics everywhere and I pushed through them to get to my daughter. She was so pale and there was something sticking out of her chest that made me cry out. I knew then that she was dead. One of the day care teachers came to me and explained what happened. I didn’t hear anything. I couldn’t hear or see anything except my daughter lying there motionless and so very pale. After a couple of days I heard the story again.

They said that one minute Lily was drawing and then the next minute there was a young boy chasing after her. She still had the pencil in her hand when she was running. She tripped and the pencil had somehow gone through her chest and straight to her heart. Now when I think about it, it had looked like someone had thought of her as a vampire and had put a wooden stake through her heart.

I still have the same pencil that had pierced my daughter’s heart. I saved it to remind myself to never underestimate the power of small things and what they can do to you. I had only ever heard one other case like my daughter’s. A small boy was running around with a pencil when he tripped, and the pencil went straight through his calf. I will never forget that something so small can cause so much pain.

Sorrow

I don't really like this one, since I didn't get enough time to perfect it...but here it is anyway...

My heart and mind are filled with sorrow
The obsidian depths are controlling me
It happens when people are around me
but I feel all alone
It sounds like the painful howling
of a wolf
Sorrowful days are taking over my soul.

The Heart

The Heart has functions many know of
its beating
its bleeding
its pumping
The Heart has functions many know of
its breaking
its caring
its loving
Something that nobody knows--
without those
no one can give you their Heart.

The Sweetest Sound

The sweetest sound is like
poetry
only with a tune attached
the beat will put butterflies in your
body
the voice will move your soul
the tune will keep you listening
to it
over
and
over
again.

Attraction

Attraction lives in a place where eyes look freely onto it
that looks like a
colorful
beautiful
sweet scented garden
Attraction is the feeling of butterflies
flying
trying to escape
from your stomach
Attraction is like the sun's rays
kissing
warming
caressing the ground
If I could tell attraction two things, I would say:
attract me to someone who knows
my soul
and feels
my heart.

My Acrostic

Humorous books are what strike my fancy
Ingenius is Tom Clancy
Nicholas Sparks is good for the heart
And those are the books in my house.

Obsidian Eyes

I'm actually re-writing this story and making it long to include more details. It was originally a short story for my Into to Fictional Writing class, but now that I've taken other fiction classes, I've improved upon this story. This is the final version that I turned in for my Intro to Fictional Writing class. Enjoy!

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When I was five, I asked Mama why I didn’t have a father. She replied, “Everyone has a father and that includes you.”

“Then where is he, Mama?”

“He teaches at a boarding school, here in London.”

“But Mama, why isn’t he here?”

She didn’t reply for a long time, but after a while, she looked at me with sorrowful eyes and said, “I always wish he could still be with us, but he left after you were born. You are too young to know the reason right now, but when the time comes, I’ll tell you.” Ever since I could remember, Mama always told me about my father and what he was like. She said that when I turned eleven, I would go to the same boarding school where he’s a professor, in general science. She seemed excited at the prospect of me going to a school with my father. She had never received any letters from him since I was about a year old. The last time she heard from him was when she received a letter stating his farewell to her. I knew she wanted to know what I thought of my father and to fill her in on what he's had been up to.

Ever since I brought up the subject of my father, Mama told me everything she knew about him. She knew that even as a five-year-old, I was more mature and serious for my age. When I got older, she said that I acted a lot like my father and that she wished I could see him for myself. “You will see him soon, Mercedes. You will see that he is a good man, caring, and sweet. When you look him in the eyes, you’ll know.”

When I was eleven and had first set my eyes on him, as Mama had predicted, I knew he was my father.

He had raven-black hair and eyes that were obsidian. Whenever he looked at someone, he looked them straight in the eye and whoever could look straight back saw that his eyes were steel, portraying no emotion except the coldness that seized his soul. He had a confident stride and he never made a mistake in class.

I think I was the only one who wasn’t terrified of his stare, except for the first day I had class with him when I made the mistake of calling him “Papa.” I never knew he could have such a short temper, but of course, that was only a warning. Ever since then, he would always glare at me with his cold eyes whenever I would raise my hand to answer a question. When I had a perfect paper, he would scowl at me and make snide remarks about my paper.

Since the day I called him “Papa,” I never knew a school could have a teacher that was as strict and severe about punishments as he was. Out of all the classes in Canterbury Boarding School, his were the worst. The first year to the seventh year students were terrified of him, but when I looked at him, I saw my father.

I never did tell any of my friends about him. They would always notice whenever I watched him, though and they would always say something like, “You know, if you keep on staring at him, he’ll probably give you a detention to last a lifetime.”

As far as I could tell, he was not the sweet, caring man that Mama had made him out to be. He would use cruel and heartless punishments...verbally assaulting us with his cold words. No other teacher taught like him. I respected him—I’m not sure why, but I did. Maybe it was because I was hoping that under those cold eyes, he was the kind and caring man Mama talked about or maybe because whenever he looked at me, I could see the cold, steel eyes but at the same time there was something else…something that I didn’t recognize.

The summer before my seventh year was the most horrifying summer I’ve ever had in my life. When I came home from the grocery story, I had heard the water running and thought Mama was taking one of her bubble baths.

Something wasn’t right. She wasn’t humming like she usually does when taking a bubble bath or a shower. I ran up the stairs and found water—bright red water—coming out of the crack of her bathroom door. I opened the door and found Mama in the bathtub, with her white shirt and tan pants on, and bullet holes through her forehead and chest. The faucet for hot water was opened and the pungent odor—the metallic smell of blood reached my nose. While the tears blinded me, I noticed that the window was open and saw a man turn around and stare at me.

I ran out of the room, tears sliding down my cheeks and called the police. It broke my heart—all I wanted to do was stay in my room and never come out. I didn’t want to believe any of it. I wanted to pretend like it never happened. That’s why I never talked about it with anyone except for the police that came that day.

I found out that Mama had left all her money to me, so I sold the house and moved our belongings into an apartment. The flashbacks of that day were never-ending. Through his mask, I had seen his eyes when he turned around and stared out the bathroom window and then I noticed the gun in his hand. I could never forget those cold, obsidian eyes.

In my seventh and last year at Canterbury Boarding School, I was ready to confront a man who I knew as my father.

Walking down the corridors brought back many memories of a time of innocence and naiveté. I only wish those days could’ve lasted longer.

The first day back, the time passed by faster than I thought it would have. I was hoping the time wouldn’t fly by so fast because I still didn’t know what I would say to my father when I saw him again. His being the last class of the day made things a bit easier because I wouldn’t have to rush through our conversation to get to my next class.

The bell rang as all the students entered his classroom. He was as strict as he’d always been, but when I looked at his face, I could see that the wrinkles on his forehead and at his temples were more prominent than they were before. Throughout his lecture, he never once looked at me. Not a single glance.

When class was over, I took my time packing up my stuff. One of my friends asked, “Mercedes are you coming?”

“I’ll be there in a minute. I need to ask Professor Kent about my paper,” I replied.

I turned to face the professor but it seemed as though he didn’t notice. He sat at his desk, grading papers. The sound of his pen on the paper was the only noise in the room. He finally looked up. “Why are you still here Miss Pelham? I believe it is time for dinner.” There is a silence in the conversation while we intently look at each other. Cold, obsidian eyes stare into my black onyx ones.

“What were you doing at my house this last summer?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about but—”

“No! Don’t you dare say that you don’t know! I know it was you! Tell me why you were there holding a gun and wearing a mask, Papa!”

His eyes had glanced at the door and then he turned on his cold voice and said, “Miss Pelham, you now have earned yourself a detention! You’re detention starts now.” He looked at me, glanced toward his office, and then looked at me again. I stared up at him and then slowly made my way to his office. Five minutes later, he came in and locked the door behind him. He then grasped my arm and led me into his living chambers. The memory of seeing his obsidian eyes under the mask kept flashing before my eyes.

Once we were in his chambers, I asked, “Why did you have to give me detention?”

“Someone was at the door, listening to our conversation.”

He then turned around, held my chin, looked into my eyes and said, “What I am about to tell you, must not leave this room, understand?” I looked into his eyes and nodded. “Mercedes, I don’t know what you think, but I did not kill her.” Staring up into his eyes, I knew that what he told was the truth—I don’t know how—but I knew.

He smiled at me and said, “You have grown into a beautiful young woman, Mercedes. Your mother raised you well.” I was a little shocked when he had complimented me, but then I smiled back and said a whispered, “Thank you.”

Suddenly, I remembered why we were here in the first place and before I could ask Papa any questions, he said, “I suppose I should tell you now before you start firing away at your questions. Your mother didn’t want me to tell you until you were out of school, but I think it is time that you knew. You may have noticed how reserved I am towards everyone and everything. That’s because I’m in the CIA. Before your mother and I married, I was in the military and then later on was handpicked to be a CIA agent. Jeremy Wilson, one of my best friends throughout my military years was also picked to be in the CIA with me. We had a mission to find out who was assassinating the professors and students, at schools all across England. I met your mother in London and we started dating. About two months afterward, I found out that your mother was our mission…our target, you could say. She was reported to be a spy for another agency that was reportedly killing off the people in the schools.

I knew what the senior officers said was not accurate, so I looked your mother up on everything that the CIA had, including all information outside the CIA that even the senior officers didn’t know about. All the information that I acquired pointed to your mother’s innocence. I knew then that someone had been feeding information to the chief officers of the CIA.
I don’t know what he did, or how he thought your mother was involved in this, but Jeremy was the one who fed this information to the senior officers. When the senior officers found out that they had been lied to, they fired him. He is the one who killed your mother, my love.”

The expression on my face was filled with shock and horror. “But Papa, he was your best friend why did he do that? He must have known that you loved Mama!”

“Mercedes, he was the spy. We were so close to finding the secret agency that he decided to frame your mother. He was the spy all along and when our backs were turned, he was one of the ones assassinating people at the schools. He wanted to take his revenge on me because when the senior officers had fired him, he couldn’t spy on the CIA’s next move.

That’s why we never lived together. Because I was the one who located a safe place for you and your mother to go into hiding. Your mother and I never married because, if he found out, he would have killed both you and your mother. I couldn’t let that happen to you Mercedes!” His obsidian eyes were bright and misty…I was sure he was going to break down and shed his tears any moment now.

“I wanted to tell you this before, but I had promised your mother that I wouldn’t until you were eighteen. Another reason why I didn’t tell you was because I didn’t want you to be close to me. He has his ways of getting information and when he would find out that you were my daughter, he would have killed you.”

I was speechless. The information was still trying to process itself in my head. Papa was a CIA officer and his best friend had betrayed everyone and had killed Mama. Tears that I had been trying to hold slowly crept down my cheeks. Papa came up to me with tears in his obsidian eyes and embraced me. He gently stroked my hair and my arms tightened around his middle.

“You should go now Mercedes. Everyone will be waiting for you. You have to pretend that none of this happened. You can do that can’t you?” I nodded my assent. He smiled at me and said,

“Go. We will have another detention next week.” He told me to go to dinner, yet he didn’t let go of me, which made me smile. After a couple more minutes, he slowly leaned down and kissed me on the forehead, pulled my arms off of him, and led me to the doorway leading to his office and out into his classroom.

“Now I know the façade that you guard well within your eyes, Papa. You tried to save her, didn’t you? Mama was right when she said you were a kind and caring man.”

He looked up at me, shocked. “She said that? When?”

“She said it all the time. She would tell me how much you loved me and even though you weren’t close by, she always said she could feel you praying for me. Now I know what she meant when she said that.”

He wipes away my tears with the pads of his thumbs and says, “Remember that I love you Mercedes and I will never let anyone harm you.” Before I went into the classroom, his warm, obsidian eyes stared into my black onyx ones and I knew that everything would be all right—I don’t know how—I just knew.

Complete Hope

I revised my story "Complete," after recieving many comments and criticisms and also named it "Complete Hope" because it sounds like a better title than the one I had before. Hope you like it!

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I was a normal seventeen-year-old, straight-A student, and was in my last year of high school. Wait—scratch that—I wasn’t normal. I was always immersed in a book trying and succeeding to fit into the mold of the perfect girl that any parent would vie for. I never got into trouble, never talked during class, never went out of the house unless if it was to go to the library and study, never watched any movies or any TV, and never hung out with anyone who wasn’t like me, which would mean that I never hung out at all. I always raised my hand to answer every question the teacher asked, always had a schoolbook with me, always thought that people who had too much fun would never succeed in life, and always strived for praise from my parents.

Ever since elementary school I would be on my best behavior…well…elementary school doesn’t really count now does it? That’s usually when everyone is on their best behavior anyway and everyone is everyone’s friend. Okay then…on to middle school. I was usually top of my class; nobody would be even close to ahead of me. I would always study my heart out for a test and the next day, I would ace the exam. Not only would I ace it…but I would get a 100% (or 110%) on it.

You know, when in some schools they have multiple valedictorians and salutatorians? Well, when I was in high school, I was the school’s only valedictorian. I always knew I would be one and was excited at getting it at first, but soon after the excitement faded away and I, once again, became immersed in schoolwork. The summer before my senior year, I took the SATs and got 1590…oh well…nobody can be completely perfect! Instead of going outside and hanging out with friends or relaxing in the sun during the summer, I filled out all of my college applications early, started applying for as many scholarships as possible, and read all the books of the classes I was planning to take next year. Many people didn’t take as many classes as I did, because it’s senior year…who would want to stress themselves out anyway?

I still remember the times that everyone would make fun of me because of how smart I was, but one memory in particular comes to mind now…

“Ms. Peters, would you go up and do that problem for us?” asked Mrs. Arlane, our math teacher. I started and looked at her, then at the chalkboard, then went up and did the problem. As usual, I did the problem correctly without leaving anything out and smiling Mrs. Arlane praised me on my work.

I heard a couple of guys talking about me, “Of course, Alanna would do it correctly. Her parents probably don’t even want her, so she’s showing Arlane how much of a goody-goody she is.”

“Yeah, I bet Arlane would adopt her.”

The guys laughed and at once the smile on my face had gone into a thin line. When one of the guys saw my face, he stopped laughing and looked at me with guilt and concern on his face. It seemed like he really felt bad about teasing me but he didn’t say anything to me in front of his friends. What did they know? They’re just jealous that I’m smarter than them and they can’t get two plus two right.

Later on during lunch I had another book open; my physics book. I heard a couple of girls talking about me.

“Look at her…studying like the world never ends.”

“Yeah, I feel kinda sorry for her. I bet her parents want her to stay at home and study instead. Either that, or maybe she seriously likes studying as much as she does. I never see her aside from school.”

“She doesn’t have a life. It’s pathetic.”

The girls saw me listening in on their conversation and instantly glared at me and said, “Yes, do you need something, like a boyfriend? Or are you looking for some friends? Because I don’t think we could supply you with either option!” They giggled and walked out of the cafeteria…

I remember looking around the cafeteria and thinking, not one person was alone at all the tables. Everyone was talking to each other or eating in peace together, and I had also noticed that those girls were right. I didn’t have any friends, no one to talk to, and no one to have fun with. I mean…there were people who didn’t make fun of me…but they didn’t stop the ones who were either. Thankfully that was the last day of high school and most of the seniors had already left and had gone home so that was the last time someone had made fun of me.

It wasn’t as if I looked ugly or geeky, so I couldn’t understand why, throughout middle and high school, nobody wanted to be friends with me. Probably the only thing that had anything to do with being geeky or a nerd would be that I had glasses, but there were a lot of people that had glasses on and they had plenty of friends. Maybe it was just the fact that I had better grades than everyone else because I couldn’t find any other qualities of myself that they wouldn’t like. Oh well! I guess it doesn’t matter anymore since we were all going to college or were working, so there’s no point in thinking about it.

When I heard the girls talking that day in the cafeteria, it did upset me a little knowing that they were right about at least one thing; my parents did want me to stay at home and study all the time. At the same time, I knew that they were worried about me going out because of all the reports about girls being raped or missing and then being found dead days later. That's why I didn't feel so bad when they were a little too overprotective; because I knew that they loved me and just worried for my safety. They wanted me to be happy and to have friends, but they also didn't want any harm to come to me. Of course, none of my classmates ever understood why I would willingly go along with my parents’ decisions and many of their parents even praised me for it, since I was such a "good girl."

All of us (my classmates and I), had known each other since we were young and since we lived in a moderately sized town, most people knew everybody in town. That's why I sympathized with all my classmates whenever I heard them talking about how they wanted to get away from this town and experience something new. I always thought that even if you've lived in a city your whole life, you'll always experience something new in it, so I guess that’s part of the reason why I stayed. I wasn't in much of a rush to go off to college to some place I didn't know very well, plus I was a little dependant on my parents...who would want to do their own laundry or cook their own food when you can do all of that for free at home!

When you first get into college, you don't notice how fast your first couple of years fly by. A couple years passed by so fast that I didn't even notice it. I would always think something along the lines of: I'm getting old...it feels like I was just seventeen yesterday! Time sure flies by fast. Okay, I know I should’ve been concentrating on my homework instead of thinking about how old I had become, but I just couldn’t help it. When I finally looked up from my books, there was a guy walking into the library and he really reminded me of someone. Is that Austin St. John...on our campus? I thought he had moved away, along with all the rest of his friends. Austin, along with his friends, teased me throughout middle and high school but we were friends during elementary school. Go figure! I never did think he fit in with the crowd that he followed at school.

I looked back down again because I really needed to study to ace my exams, but of course, I started thinking about Austin again. If he saw me, it would be really funny to see his expression. When I had looked up again, I noticed that there weren’t many seats left open because of the fact that it was dead week and everyone wanted to ace their exams (or at least not fail them)! He noticed that I was the only one at my table and asked, "Do you mind if I sit here?"

I looked up and replied, "No, go ahead." You should've seen his face! It was priceless! He was so shocked that his mouth was hanging open and his eyebrows so high that I could swear they almost disappeared into his hair. He finally found his voice and said, "Uh, hi...how've you been?"

"I've been good," I replied and then smiled and said, "Weren't you one of the ones that really wanted to get out of this town and try something new?"

"Why yes I was," he said while grinning. He suddenly stopped grinning. “I'm sorry..."

I looked straight into his eyes and knew that he wasn't lying, and asked, "For what?" I had to make him say it just so it would be all out in the open.

"I'm sorry that I made fun of you all the time and I felt bad every time I did it because I just kept on imagining how you would feel after all our harsh comments. I really am sorry."

"I know you are. I'm just curious to know...why did you do it then?"

He gave me one of those pained smiles and replied, "I guess I just tried to get your attention and the only way to do that was to tease you...that's what my friends told me at the time, but we all know better now. I guess it was because we were just really immature and didn't care about people's feelings back then.” He then grinned again and asked, "So, is it too soon to ask if we can be friends?"

I gave him a serious look and said, "Hmmm...let me think about that." For a while I didn't give him an answer and he started to get impatient. I noticed because he often ran his hands through his hair like he might be thinking about pulling it out. I finally decided that he should be put out of his misery and I smiled and said, "Sure."

I found out that he was actually studying biology and wanted to go into the pre-medicine program. When I told him that I was majoring in photojournalism, he wasn't as surprised as I thought he would be. "I've found out that the people who are usually valedictorians don't go for the jobs that are really high in demand, but for ones that they actually enjoy," is what he told me that day.

After that day in the library, we always met there at least three times a week, just to talk and hang out. I know what you’re thinking…who hangs out in the library? Well, I do, thank you very much! We also exchanged phone numbers and talked on the phone whenever we weren’t at the library. Of course, my parents found out that I was hanging out with a “boy,” and when they found out it was Austin, they completely approved and my mother started planning my wedding day. My parents had known Austin since he and I were both in diapers, and plus the fact that I hadn’t told them that he made fun of me all throughout middle and high school, she thought we were a great match. I told her that there’s not much of a chance of us getting married. She gave me a big Cheshire cat grin and asked, “Why not? Can’t I even dream of it?” We had not even gone on an official date yet!

Well, I have to say that her dream did come true. After dating for a year, he pulled me aside one day after the Writing in Business course that we had together during our senior year and gave me a film canister. He knew that I loved photography, but I had enough film canisters already! When he told me to open it, it felt like I was in the scene of the Princess Diaries II—where a guy also proposes to her with a film canister. I open it and inside I found a note squished into it and I thought…where’s the ring? I gave him a look and he said, “What are you waiting for? Read it!” He looked a little nervous when I opened it up and on it, he had written a letter, which I knew was a little hard for him because he wasn’t much of a writer…but on it, he had written down all the feelings of his heart onto that piece of paper. I started crying and he started laughing. After he started laughing I knew that there was no hope for me…I started laughing while crying and hugged him like I thought the world was going to end right there. Whenever I looked back on that day, I have to say that we must’ve been a sight to see!

We had the wedding outside, in a nearby park with beautiful flowers which made it look like we were getting married in a rainbow full of colors. In my books I had always read of the happy endings, but it was nothing like actually living it. I was so happy that I felt like laughing and crying at the same time. I thought, this is the happiest day of my life, but that was before I had children…

…I remember the day our son, Miles was born and the happiness that I felt of having a family. Austin had just started on his residency as a pathologist and I had started writing for our local newspaper. Austin decided right then and there that he didn’t want Miles to be an only child like he and I were, so while we were still in the hospital and Miles had been born just hours before, we planned out when we wanted our next child.

About a year afterward, I had Anna and I have to say…not that I’m bragging or anything…but Anna, next to Miles, had to be the most beautiful baby in the world. I knew that day that my life was complete.

You’re probably wondering now, why I’m looking back on what happened so long ago. My son is now sixteen and my daughter fifteen. I’m the editor of our newspaper and Austin is a very well known doctor all around the US. He’s also one of the doctors trying to find a way for me to live.
A couple of days ago, while I was driving back home from my office for lunch, I was hit by a car that didn’t bother to stop on a four-way stop. The car hit mine on the side that I was driving and after that the world had gone black. Miles and Alanna were so worried that all they could ask me was if I needed anything, if I was comfortable, or in pain. I could see them trying to hide their tears and trying to be calm in front of me, but I knew that they were concerned for me.
When I had first come into the hospital, I heard from my husband that when the police and ambulance came, all they could talk about was how I could have survived something like this. I don’t really remember what my condition is—or was for that matter. I seem to be a lot more forgetful now because Austin told me that I had hit my head hard but that everything would be fine because he was there.

My handsome husband asks, “What are you thinking about?”

“Remembering when we had first met and then later on when we met in college. I was thinking how funny your face looked then.” He grins and kisses me again. He suddenly gets this look in his eyes that, after so many years of knowing him, I know he’s getting ready to say or ask something serious.

“Alanna…I never asked you before, but how did you survive us teasing you all those years? You were always happy. You never did talk back to us, but you never seemed depressed about it either. Because we said some pretty bad things back then.”

I give him a big smile and tell him, “You know those books that I read?”

He nods and I continue, “Well, most of them always had a happy ending, not only the fictional ones but the non-fiction ones did too. That gave me hope that I would have a happy ending too. Whenever you made fun of me, I would look in your eyes and I knew that you felt guilty about it and that you cared. You always cared Austin…that’s why I loved you ever since that day you teased me in math class. It might have started out with books, but it was you that gave me hope and still do.”

Hello

Hi Everyone,

I used to have a different blog that I used for everything but now I've decided to have separate blogs--one for my writing, one for a journal, and one for just pictures or whatever, lol.

Anyway, I'm going to be adding all my old stories and poems on here and then I'll end with the new ones. Hope you enjoy! Please comment on them! Thanks!

~Hina