Ticket

The train whistle blew.  It made the platform shake.  The hot air made my shirt cling to my back.  Everything felt sticky.  My hands were sweating as I thought about the long trip ahead.  I held my ticket, twisting it in my hands.  I didn't want to think about losing it.  My sister looked at me with a discouraging look..."don't lose it again."  I looked down, then up at her with false defiance. "just hold on to your own ticket."  I looked at my mother's hand.  She gave me a hug goodbye and I drank in her smell.  At that age, a month seemed like eternity.  She promised to write.  I blinked back tears.  My sister took my hand and we boarded the train.  We found seats next to each other and while she made sure to create a barrier so I did not pester her too much, she patted me on the shoulder.  "we'll be back soon and we'll have lots of stories to tell."  Even when I annoyed the hell out of her, she made sure to comfort me.  We each pulled out our books and settled in for the long ride ahead...me checking my ticket in the back of the book to make sure my trip did not end early.

icon

She wondered what it was like, to grow up believing in something more than dirt and air.  It had been years since all icons had been outlawed.   They said the images gave people too much hope.  She laughed.  Hope.  She remembered the last time she felt something remotely close.  She was in line with her father for a piece of bread.  Her father held her hand and told her not to let go.  The crowd submerged them in arms, legs, bodies.  She had held tight until the alarm sounded.  Then the bodies moved in a panic.  They moved in herds towards the shelters, pulling like tides in opposite directions.  She had been knocked over and trampled by feet, no one bothered to look down.  The sea of bodies and colors parted and a hand reached from the sky for her.  Blood had trickled into her eyes, burning, blurring her vision.  She closed them and leaned against the stranger.  She awoke in a shelter, surrounded by strangers, without her father, no idea who had helped her.  She glanced at the remaining, fading scars on her arms.  She picked up a handful of dirt, slowly letting it trickle through her fingertips.  This is what she knew.  She tried to clear her head of useless thoughts of stories she heard in whispers on the wind. She glanced at her hand and remembered the tight grip she had lost.  Cursing the dirt for her watering eyes, she started her day.

orbit

The small room grew in capacity as more passersby trickled in.  She sat in the corner, watching, throwing her head back in laughter at her friend’s jokes, scanning familiar faces and unfamiliar strangers.  She breathed in, feeling the humid air stick to her lungs, smelling stale cigarettes and cheap perfume.  She glanced up.  Across the room, he stood, sipping his drink and swirling the ice to cool the liquor.  His face was dressed in shadows, half-hidden, smiling, and bobbing his head to the beat of the music.  He glanced up.  Their eyes met across the room.  Reassurance passed over the girl’s face.  The music did not slow down, people did not stop talking, and the world did not pause.  Yet, something had changed.  Slowly, over the course of hours, they worked their way closer, pulled, drawn to each other through the sea of faces.  They found themselves back to back.  Almost touching, the air became muggy, attaching their clothes to their bodies, clinging on…to what? She turned to face him.  Smiles in her eyes, trying to pretend her stomach was not churning with anticipation.  He choked down some liquor blaming the strong drink for coming so close.  He turned towards her and without glancing up, walked quickly past ignoring the pain in his chest as passed her, pretending not to notice her half open lips pursed and ready to speak.   It’s better this way, he thought to himself as he quickly moved away from her drawing presence and swiftly moved towards the door.  She watched him leave, heart pulling her towards him, but finding herself planted, grounded to her spot.  It’s better this way, she thought to herself as she blinked back memories behind the façade of a long drink.  The small room began to empty.  The thick air became lighter and stopped clinging to her as his body used to.  Her friend grabbed her arm as they left, but her heart pulled for something that was no longer there. 

guidebook

She flipped through the pages of the worn text, holding the passages close to her face and smelling the musty book.  It made it sound so easy.  plastering photographs of monuments and museums, sentence after sentence sculpting scenes and raving about restaurants.   The girl sighed deeply, exasperated by the elaborate images described before her.  "one day," she said quietly to herself, her eyes scanning the pages and drinking the images into her memories, storing the information, planning.  She closed the pages of the book, carefully, so as not to fold  facts perching the book promptly on the table so as not to hesitate. This had become her ritual.   To escape into the pages, faded and full of future plans until her eyes tired from her travels. 

Dirty

The girls, one blue-eyed, one green-eyed raced through the corn fields.  Stalks towering above them, creating a maze.  Both running, racing to find the quickest way.  Tripping over mounds of dirt and crashing into a cacophony of corn cutting arms and hurting worse than paper cuts.  The girls raced.  Overhead, blue skies shown, giving no aid on which way was the right direction.  Footsteps pounding as the girls ran on, stopping only to catch a breath and brush off crawling insects and trickles of corn cuts. Not troubled by shadows or noises, concentrating only on the destination. The corn thinned out and both girls ran to the edge of the woods.  Laughing, exhausted, streaked in dirt, they collapsed on the ground.  Staring up at the blue skies, finding caretakers of wonder all around, and picking fresh strawberries until the sun began to set.  Wearing sweat and dirt like badges, the two girls counted down and began their race home.

Maroon

maroon skies, fading in the distance.  Reminding me that times were simpler.  Like when I had to worry about how to tie my shoes or how to find my way home after dark.  The maroon summer skies fading into black, lit only by fireflies.  My sun-kissed face gazing upwards afraid I will take these moments for granted.  Eying the beams of light in the distance trying to find me while I try to find the clearest route to escape.  Streets full of children imitating rock biters and keeping water balloons in boxes like me holding on to the memories beneath maroon skies. 

One Word

I still haven't found myself writing like I used to.  Putting my thoughts to words, placing the on paper or on the screen used to be so cathartic.  Now, it's difficult to remember where to start.  I stumbled upon this website called oneword.  They give you one word and you have sixty seconds to write about it.  It made me feel inspired.  I am going to try and pick a word from the dictionary (this could prove to be interesting) and write a little, as often as I can.  My writing is out of practice, but it's exciting to challenge myself.  Here's my entry from one word today.
Cast
They sat in anticipation in the back of the theatre.  Bodies hidden in shadows, only hands showing, white knuckles gripping velvet chairs.  Watching, waiting.  Looking for movement from the director, a nod, a twitch...anything to relay a clue as to what he saw, how he saw...her.  Murmurs rolled through the shadows as the director cocked his head to the right.  The woman on stage squinted through the blinding spotlight with hope sparkling in her eyes. Then, she began.