Two Shades of Red

Agonizing pain as I coughed, turning the snow red as I spat.  Not an appealing memory, not one you care to share with children. Yet somehow I find it frustrating that my story goes unheard thanks to the unpleasant feelings and imagery it causes every day folk to experience.  What a dispiriting thought, you all know me and not one has cared to listen of why I am.  Naturally heart wrenching isn't it?

Ah yes, now I see the intriguing gaze in you, that intense stare you are giving me.  Come now, sit down, I will inform you on how the most horrific childhood granted me capacity to make dreams come true.

If my life were a canvas it would be red.  Nothing more.  No fancy art. Just red.  Red is a horrific color, yet all the while it can be quite a happy one.  Blood is red, fire is red. Destruction. Death.  Yet hearts are red, and my clothes, they are red.  Mercy. Memories.  Quite the contrast I might say.  A childhood full of darkness and difficulty; despair.  Now I am merry and motivated; magical.

The coals glowed a dim white and red on the gray dismal street corner.  My pale face blackened like that of a coal miner's after a days work.  My tar and soot covered body burned in agony from the biting wind as the dimming fire failed to warm yet a tip of a finger.  I began to wander off in my mind, an attempt to ignore my mortal pains.  In spite of a powerless effort, my mind declined me any peace; for as I escaped the physical battering, I entered into a mental torture.

Okay people... Not sure how I'm feeling about this, I'm sure you can see where it's going.

I'm still working on it, but I don't know if I want to make it blog worthy.

If you want me to, just comment below.

And yes "In spite of a powerless effort" is intended to be a little ironic.  I like how it sounds. It seems to add hope to hopelessness. 

Soggy Pages

Dear Diary,

Tears wetting paper, it doesn't happen often. So when it does, nothing's going well.  It's all wrong. I'm not okay.

So why am I telling you all of this?  Well, it isn't my fault you picked up my journal now is it?  Read on, or don't.  Not that I care.

Cold.  Today there was this agonizing cold that made my hands quiver; cracked and bleeding, my hands aren't responding.  It wasn't coming from the air around me.  No snow, hail, rain, not even wind.  But my heart, it made me feel as if I were being pressed into a crystallized coke can that someone had left in the freezer much too long.  I feel like it's time for the can to explode outward. Who am I kidding, that just makes more of a mess doesn't it?  As if it could get any worse. 

The boy threw down his book. "Why am I here!?" His eyes were a forest fire; bloodshot, the red overtaking the gracious green which would regularly brighten someone's day. He thrust his pen into the wall, black ink erupting from it as the plastic shattered and the boy was sprayed with the debri. He began to wail a grisly sound and buried his face into his soft, tear soaked, pillow.

A phone ringing broke the sudden silence.  "Hello?"  he awaited an answer, "You won't get in trouble for calling?" his grumbly voice returned to the choked and teary mess it had been moments earlier as the girl attempted to sooth his strife.  Then tears of trouble dried and laughter replaced the grumbles. "I Love you, goodnight."

Paper's dry, that was quick.  So I guess everything is going well.  Everything's fantastic.  I'm going to be okay.

If you happened upon my Journal, I hope you made it this far.  Please, read on. I'm sorry for the inconsistency in the color of ink, there was an... accident... Hehe ;)

Warmth.  Love fills my heart.  It gets better.

Love,

Me

thanks for reading!

here's a sunrise for you n_n