creative, death, excerpt, Life, messed, self portrait, Short story, words to live by, writers, writing

Fence post. Barbed Wire. Fence post. Barbed wire.
Flashes, flashes, and more flashes. Nothing concrete but those two images. Blurring together, creating an old fashioned movie reel playing through my head.
Nothing-ness. Blackness, utter confusion.
Are those…what happened?
I bring my hand up to my face, my eyes barely able to focus. Blood is dripping down my arm, bright crimson against alabaster.
I look down. Slices. Slices upon more slices.Tattered fabric, tattered skin. The stark white of the dermis. I loved this shirt. This shirt held good memories…now it’s gone. Like the piece of flesh I left on the wire.
Wait…I wasn’t alone. I’m not alone. Where is she?
“ARE YOU OKAY?” I scream out, finding the huddled figure of my friend.
“Ow…errrg…I’m okay!”
Tunnel vision. Am I under water? I think I need a hospital.
Frantic eyes, darting every which way. How will I get out of here? Help…I need help.
“Help!” I scream out, praying the only other person in these acres of land can hear me. “Help, please!”
After what seems like ages, and more inspection of my battered body…they show up.
“Jesus, what the hell happened?”
I try to recall. I was driving the machine…up and up and up the hill. Turn, a sharp turn. I took the turn wrong? Giant rock, avoidance. Fence post. Barbed wire. Fence Post. Barbed Wire.
What happened? What the fuck happened? Am I dreaming? I have to be dreaming because I can see my own body jumping off the faulty equiptment and getting tangled in the thorny wires. Did I? I shake my head, clearing the memory, vision.
“Let’s get you guys out of here. I can take you home.”
Home…”Home? We need a hospital. I’m bleeding and I’m cold.”
They shake their head. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
I’m attempting to walk, but the ground is spinning.
This is the moment, I think. This is the moment that will impact every other moment from here until forever.
It did. It still does.


written self portrait

life, self portrait, writing, writing prompts

I thought it’d be cool to try and create a self portrait through words. So here it goes…

If you passed me on a street corner, you’d see blonde hair falling into my almond eyes. As the breeze tousled through my shoulder length hair, you’d notice a hint of the inner me: pink streaks woven subtly through my locks. I would look at you with my green-blue eyes, expressive as a stage actor, and you would feel comfortable. Chances are I would give you a polite, but sincere grin. Just a small one, lifting the corner of only one side of my small lips. You would notice my obvious paleness, would notice how I appear nearly white under light cloud cover, and you think I need a tan. You wouldn’t know how in love with my fairness I am and how proud I am of it, as it’s a reflection of my great-grandmother never without her parasol. And of course you’d notice my nose, reminiscent in shape of the elegant Egyptian mummies’ nose, three thousand years after theirs deaths.

If I passed you on the street, and you happened to drop money, I would be one of those good Samaritans who return things like that. My internal matrix of values would tell me that money is money and it takes a while to make it, so if I see you drop it, I will tap you on the shoulder. If I see money on the ground with no one around, I will take it, for no one is there to claim it, and if not, it’s just as much mine as anybody else’s. You’d know I’d view it as a positive sign from the universe, and thank the universe in return. If I pass you during the Christmas season and you’re ringing a bell collecting money for the Salvation Army I would do one of two things. I’d walk by and smile because I don’t have any money to give, and I find it embarrassing to give money, because I feel a awkward. If I do have money, I will quickly walk over, drop the money in and then smile at you and walk quickly away. Chances are I will feel overcome with emotion for some reason and need to hold back tears for a moment or two.

If you met with me for coffee, you’d discover that I don’t like coffee. You’d order a dark roast, and I’d order a lemonade, or something like that. But probably just water instead. If you met me for dinner, you’d notice that I never order something complicated or extravagant, with this on the side and extra that on top. You know I’d never order pasta because there is just something so gross about pasta I haven’t prepared myself. If a restaurant has chicken fingers and fries, there’s a 99.9% chance that’s what I’m going to order. And again, water is just fine. I would tip the waitress if she was personable and attentive, but wouldn’t feel compelled to tip because “it’s what’s expected.”

If you were my friend, you’d know my body type is on the slight side, but that I don’t see myself as thin, but average. You’d know I’ve come a long way in accepting myself and becoming content inside myself. You’d know I stay active to not to look better, but to feel better. I go for walks to listen to my music and be with myself. I also go because when I’m exercising, I forget to be anxious, at least for a little while. You’d know that it’s rare for me to have a favourite of anything that I can’t single things out easily. You’d know that I do have a favourite color and number though. You’d know that I tend to dress in black, white, navy, and grey. You’d know my personality is much more colorful than that, and that I like to be surrounded by color. You would know that just by looking at me, you’d be shocked to know that I like relaxing indie music just as much as I like heavy metal. I like swing music just as much as I like scream-o. Basically, you’d know that I’m just a walking contradiction. You’d know I only have maybe three close friends because I value quality or quantity. You’d know that my comparison of my nose to Egyptian mummies earlier is a completely normal type of comparison to me, and I mean it in a positive way. You’d know I’m creative in every artistic outlet I can find, that I’m an artsy-pants.

If you were me you’d know I want to get a small tattoo, but I know I’ll be judged by my parents because they see tattoos as mutilation. You’d know I want to get a cartilage piercing but I’m scared of the anticipation of pain, not the actual pain itself. You’d know that I love thunderstorms because it’s nice to be reminded once in a while that we aren’t the most powerful thing on this planet. You’d know that I fight to remain positive and that negative comments about others really wound me. You’d know I don’t sweat the small stuff and am rarely picky. You’d know I won’t eat the last of anything because I feel someone else should have it. You’d know I walk up the stairs on my toes so it’s quieter. You’d know I go out of my way to make people feel comfortable around me. I don’t ever want someone to feel embarrassed because of something I said or did. I often employ the “How would I feel if someone said this to me” rule when speaking. You’d know I’m not the greatest dancer or singer but I do both because they make me feel happy. You’d know I feel like an old soul. You’d know I curse far too much with my friends and never say “fuck” in front of my parents.

You’d know about a hundred things more about me now than if you just looked at a picture.