You know when the greatest introduction to your blog post that you can think of is, "Haven't posted in a while!"
Well, I haven't posted in a while.
But a friend reminded me of my blog and I thought, Hey, I haven't talked to random people on the internet for a long time!
And it's October now, guys. October, the month of schooly-school. Only, I'm bored and done with school at the moment, so it was the perfect opportunity to write on mah bloggy-blog.
Another thing about October is its the preparation month for NaNoWriMo. If you've done it before, you're groaning as you read. NaNoWriMo is a program (National Novel Writing Month) where, in 30 days, you have to write 50,000 words. That's roughly 1,700 words per day (2-3 pages, typed). And for the craycray authors like me, who love to abandon homework in the pursuit of a very badly written novel, NaNoWriMo is quite the adventure!
I've already planned out what story I'm writing--it includes dreams, magic, politics, true love, forced love turning into true love, and a crazy four generational father-son issue that I have to solve. My male protagonist is a renegade prince, and my female protagonist is the viceroy's daughter, running away from assassins, dabbling in magic and joining gangs--all during her engagement to the king!
NaNoWriMo makes people do weird things... This November, I will become a hermit--with nothing better to do than write all day long! It's great fun :)
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Friday, August 24, 2012
Sometimes...
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| Immortal desert-dweller |
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| Steampunk/mecha mermaid |
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Violet Hill - A story based off of Coldplay's music
The snow on those peaks were always said to be tinted violet on the first sunset of each summer,colored by the reflections of the sky. All I knew was that the snow was cold, my journey long, and my friends watching and waiting for my return. But I also knew that my troubles were well worth the reward.
The snow crunched below my too-large hiking boots, reminding me of that long winter, now behind me. But my dreams and nightmares still haunted me, and though my pain had lessened I still blamed myself. I could've stopped it from happening, I told myself.
"John, look at this; it's called Violet Hill, isn't it lovely?" Her voice, now only a memory, echoed in my head.
The wind beat down harder afainst my back, which was weighted down with a pack that contained only essentials: hiking gear, good, sleeping bag, flares in case I get lost, and her.
"Goodbye John," I heard. It seemed as if the wind carried her words from my memory and spit them back at me. "Keep safe."
I should've told her the same. Instead, when I returned home that Christmas, all that was left of her was a simple jar filled with ashes. All through those long, cold months, Violet Hill ran through my mind. "It's called Violet Hill, isn't it lovely?" the reminiscent wind whispered.
I crossed a short, trickling river of melted snow. Tomorrow is the first day of summer, I reminded myself. I need to be at the top by then.
But already the sun was setting. I couldn't hike up the slippery mountain at night, so I decided to set up. Slowly, I plodded on in search of a flat surface.
Spotting a small cliff jutting from the side of the mountain, I changed course, unbuckling my backpack. It was big enough for a bed and a fire, and sturdy enough to stand upon. I set off to work.
"We're great friends," aren't we?" the wind breathed into my ear. "So you'll bring me to Violet Hill, right?"
The snow beat down upon me every time I started a fire, eager to extinguish my only source of heart. I hated snow: snow reminded me of her in life, in death, in love. She loved snow, especially that atop Violet Hill.
I gave up on the fire and sat down by the pack. I swung my legs over the edge of the cliff, looking at the steep fall that would accompany my death if I tumbled over the edge. And I barely cared; the only thing keeping me going was the knowledge that she hated death and sorrow; she wouldn't want me to mourn her.
I carefully slipped her ashes, contained in a jar decorated with beads, out of the pack and by my side. Then I stared at the scene before me: the loping mountains, the snow-topped peaks. They say Violet Hill was the last snow-covered mountain to melt.
As I stared at the snow - snow surrounded me, falling down like rain, packed to the ground like sand, in my clothes and hair like I'd rolled in it - I wondered why she loved Violet Hill so much. Why she made me promise I'd take her once I returned from my travels at sea.
It was beautiful. The snow was like everything I loved and hated at one; it was a bittersweet taste in my mouth, a heart-wrenching pain in my soul. The snow wasn't violet, but it wasn't the first sunset of summer yet, it was the last sunset of Spring. And that sunset, the fading colors melting into the sky, made me want to cry. And the snow, looking almost blue in its pure color, made me want to cry.
***
Violet Hill Lyrics
Was a long and dark December
From the rooftops I remember
There was snow
White snow
Clearly I remember
From the windows they were watching
While we froze
Down below
When the future's architectured
By a carnival of idiots on show
You'd better lie low
If you love me
Won't you let me know?
Was a long and dark December
When the banks became cathedrals
And the fog
Became God
Priests clutched onto bibles
Hollowed out to fit their rifles
And the cross was held aloft
Bury me in armor
When I'm dead and hit the ground
A love back home unfolds
If you love me
Won't you let me know?
I don't want to be a soldier
Who the captain of some sinking ship
Would stow, far below
So if you love me
Why'd you let me go?
I took my love down to Violet Hill
There we sat in snow
All that time she was silent still
So if you love me
Won't you let me know?
If you love me,
Won't you let me know?
When I first listened to that song I kept imagining the girl, his lover, dead. At first he (in my mind) was a man driven insane by his sorrow, and he was at Violet Hill going delusional, imagining she was there and talking to her, though she was dead. But it grew into this story, and I rather like it. :)
The snow crunched below my too-large hiking boots, reminding me of that long winter, now behind me. But my dreams and nightmares still haunted me, and though my pain had lessened I still blamed myself. I could've stopped it from happening, I told myself.
"John, look at this; it's called Violet Hill, isn't it lovely?" Her voice, now only a memory, echoed in my head.
The wind beat down harder afainst my back, which was weighted down with a pack that contained only essentials: hiking gear, good, sleeping bag, flares in case I get lost, and her.
"Goodbye John," I heard. It seemed as if the wind carried her words from my memory and spit them back at me. "Keep safe."
I should've told her the same. Instead, when I returned home that Christmas, all that was left of her was a simple jar filled with ashes. All through those long, cold months, Violet Hill ran through my mind. "It's called Violet Hill, isn't it lovely?" the reminiscent wind whispered.
I crossed a short, trickling river of melted snow. Tomorrow is the first day of summer, I reminded myself. I need to be at the top by then.
But already the sun was setting. I couldn't hike up the slippery mountain at night, so I decided to set up. Slowly, I plodded on in search of a flat surface.
Spotting a small cliff jutting from the side of the mountain, I changed course, unbuckling my backpack. It was big enough for a bed and a fire, and sturdy enough to stand upon. I set off to work.
"We're great friends," aren't we?" the wind breathed into my ear. "So you'll bring me to Violet Hill, right?"
The snow beat down upon me every time I started a fire, eager to extinguish my only source of heart. I hated snow: snow reminded me of her in life, in death, in love. She loved snow, especially that atop Violet Hill.
I gave up on the fire and sat down by the pack. I swung my legs over the edge of the cliff, looking at the steep fall that would accompany my death if I tumbled over the edge. And I barely cared; the only thing keeping me going was the knowledge that she hated death and sorrow; she wouldn't want me to mourn her.
I carefully slipped her ashes, contained in a jar decorated with beads, out of the pack and by my side. Then I stared at the scene before me: the loping mountains, the snow-topped peaks. They say Violet Hill was the last snow-covered mountain to melt.
As I stared at the snow - snow surrounded me, falling down like rain, packed to the ground like sand, in my clothes and hair like I'd rolled in it - I wondered why she loved Violet Hill so much. Why she made me promise I'd take her once I returned from my travels at sea.
It was beautiful. The snow was like everything I loved and hated at one; it was a bittersweet taste in my mouth, a heart-wrenching pain in my soul. The snow wasn't violet, but it wasn't the first sunset of summer yet, it was the last sunset of Spring. And that sunset, the fading colors melting into the sky, made me want to cry. And the snow, looking almost blue in its pure color, made me want to cry.
***
Violet Hill Lyrics
Was a long and dark December
From the rooftops I remember
There was snow
White snow
Clearly I remember
From the windows they were watching
While we froze
Down below
When the future's architectured
By a carnival of idiots on show
You'd better lie low
If you love me
Won't you let me know?
Was a long and dark December
When the banks became cathedrals
And the fog
Became God
Priests clutched onto bibles
Hollowed out to fit their rifles
And the cross was held aloft
Bury me in armor
When I'm dead and hit the ground
A love back home unfolds
If you love me
Won't you let me know?
I don't want to be a soldier
Who the captain of some sinking ship
Would stow, far below
So if you love me
Why'd you let me go?
I took my love down to Violet Hill
There we sat in snow
All that time she was silent still
So if you love me
Won't you let me know?
If you love me,
Won't you let me know?
When I first listened to that song I kept imagining the girl, his lover, dead. At first he (in my mind) was a man driven insane by his sorrow, and he was at Violet Hill going delusional, imagining she was there and talking to her, though she was dead. But it grew into this story, and I rather like it. :)
A Dream, A Girl, A Letter Home
I'm stuck in a bush. Vines entwine my spine, branches claw my hair, thorns scratch my skin, sticks scrap my knees. But in a second I'm out, after something wraps around my wrist and tugs me out. A dragon tail, it was! The dragon sneers at me and licks its lips. "Now I eat you," it roars, grabbing ketchup. "Barbeque time!" Then my sister grabs me before I'm engulfed in flames.
And I wake up.
Okay, let's be honest here; this was just me goofing off. But at the same time I let myself goof off because I wanted this to be like the dream of a little kid, kinda chaotic, kinda laughable, kinda "what?"
***
Kerli is always in a daze. She walks across the air and whenever she jumps she imagines she could touch the earth. She wanders the air, always in her old blue hat, always with her bat flying at her side.
Does she have a house? Does she play with dolls? Maybe. Imagine a house in the sky, spacious enough so she could walk on the air within it. Little creepy dolls would be her toys, hidden in a floating toy chest in her creepy castle.
Kerli walks on air.
This story was rushed and strange, and horribly done, but it was based off of Kerli Kovi's 'Walking on Air'. It's a very strange song.
Did you notice in both of the stories above I accidentally rhymed within a sentence? :P
***
To Robert.
I miss you so much and pray for your quick - and safe - return. Your nephew was born last Tuesday; he's healthy, thank God, and looks just like your brother, Out little Melanie tried to climb a tree yesterday but fell and ripped her skirt. After asking her what happened, she told me the tree tried to eat her. She's got your imagination, that's for sure.
You've been gone for two months, Robert. Your brother has been helping me with the hard work around the house. But I have to tell you something. I'm... with child.
It's your child, Robert, and I just hope your back by its birth. Seven months - I suppose the war will keep you longer than that. But I'll tell our child everything about you in your absence, until you can meet him for yourself.
We're holding up back at home, but everything will be better with your return. Godspeed, my love.
-Charlotte.
Talk about a cheesy farewell! I just decided, if I ever fall in love with a guy who has to leave for an extended period of time, I'm going to send him letters that end with, "Godspeed, my love."
Sorry for that tangent! Anyway, I imagined this story to be about a mother of two (and a half) writing to her husband, who was drafted and forced to join the war. I imagined them Irish, maybe just because I wrote the story in a green pen, but I know that their names aren't Irish. (What's funny, though, is that I read through it I gave her an accent. Or at least as much as an accent as I can give her...)
Well, that's all for now kids! Next up: Violet Hill! A story based off of Coldplay's song, Violet Hill!
And I wake up.
Okay, let's be honest here; this was just me goofing off. But at the same time I let myself goof off because I wanted this to be like the dream of a little kid, kinda chaotic, kinda laughable, kinda "what?"
***
Kerli is always in a daze. She walks across the air and whenever she jumps she imagines she could touch the earth. She wanders the air, always in her old blue hat, always with her bat flying at her side.
Does she have a house? Does she play with dolls? Maybe. Imagine a house in the sky, spacious enough so she could walk on the air within it. Little creepy dolls would be her toys, hidden in a floating toy chest in her creepy castle.
Kerli walks on air.
This story was rushed and strange, and horribly done, but it was based off of Kerli Kovi's 'Walking on Air'. It's a very strange song.
Did you notice in both of the stories above I accidentally rhymed within a sentence? :P
***
To Robert.
I miss you so much and pray for your quick - and safe - return. Your nephew was born last Tuesday; he's healthy, thank God, and looks just like your brother, Out little Melanie tried to climb a tree yesterday but fell and ripped her skirt. After asking her what happened, she told me the tree tried to eat her. She's got your imagination, that's for sure.
You've been gone for two months, Robert. Your brother has been helping me with the hard work around the house. But I have to tell you something. I'm... with child.
It's your child, Robert, and I just hope your back by its birth. Seven months - I suppose the war will keep you longer than that. But I'll tell our child everything about you in your absence, until you can meet him for yourself.
We're holding up back at home, but everything will be better with your return. Godspeed, my love.
-Charlotte.
Talk about a cheesy farewell! I just decided, if I ever fall in love with a guy who has to leave for an extended period of time, I'm going to send him letters that end with, "Godspeed, my love."
Sorry for that tangent! Anyway, I imagined this story to be about a mother of two (and a half) writing to her husband, who was drafted and forced to join the war. I imagined them Irish, maybe just because I wrote the story in a green pen, but I know that their names aren't Irish. (What's funny, though, is that I read through it I gave her an accent. Or at least as much as an accent as I can give her...)
Well, that's all for now kids! Next up: Violet Hill! A story based off of Coldplay's song, Violet Hill!
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Blood-bot
Red-Five felt electricity running through his veins, shooting up his spine, spitting from his punctured heart. It hurt. The water in the basement reached his thighs; he could barely see his arm through the dirty liquid, sparking and zapping as it sunk to the floor. Red-Five looked at the wires sticking out where his arm should’ve been. Then he turned to look at the android that’d ripped off his arm.
Slowly, Red-Five turned completely around to face six androids, all shaking. All violently lusting the blood that powered him, running through the wires that made up his ‘veins’. Red-Five cracked his neck, then lashed out an arm. He gripped an androids neck and swiftly ripped it apart from its body.
The android stood for a moment, decapitated, then collapsed into the thick water. Drops of water splashed onto the remaining androids, and slowly the dead robot’s oil seeped into the liquid to dirty it further.
And then the rest of them jumped into action, spurred on as they realized their companions death. Wires tore, oil spurted, automatons fell, havoc reigned—Red-Five, the fifth blood-bot in existence, dominated.
***
Isn't that creepy? A robot powered by blood... I kinda like the idea, though. In a freaky sort of way.
I actually just really like this story. Maybe because it's based off of this awesome piece of artwork by Udon Nodu? (Click to enlarge)
Slowly, Red-Five turned completely around to face six androids, all shaking. All violently lusting the blood that powered him, running through the wires that made up his ‘veins’. Red-Five cracked his neck, then lashed out an arm. He gripped an androids neck and swiftly ripped it apart from its body.
The android stood for a moment, decapitated, then collapsed into the thick water. Drops of water splashed onto the remaining androids, and slowly the dead robot’s oil seeped into the liquid to dirty it further.
And then the rest of them jumped into action, spurred on as they realized their companions death. Wires tore, oil spurted, automatons fell, havoc reigned—Red-Five, the fifth blood-bot in existence, dominated.
***
Isn't that creepy? A robot powered by blood... I kinda like the idea, though. In a freaky sort of way.
I actually just really like this story. Maybe because it's based off of this awesome piece of artwork by Udon Nodu? (Click to enlarge)
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Forever, Safe, and The Fibber
Sorry I haven't posted in a couple days! Summer has really begun :)
Here are three scenes I've written recently (and a poem).
***
"Remember that time when I told you tea was leaf-water and you spewed across the whole room?"
"Ugh, that was horrible!" Keko cried. "Don't remind me, you jerk!"
"And then my mom made you stand in the corner?" Landon continued, laughing.
"I hate you," she grumbled. "You're so mean."
"You taught me well," he joked. Keko huffed, folding her arms as they walked across the street. "Oh, come on," Landon said pleadingly. "I'm just teasing. You're actually my nicest friend."
"You have friends?" she said sarcastically.
"Why are you only mean to me?" he asked.
"Because I know you don't take me seriously," Keko said, shrugging. "I've just known you for so long, I guess it doesn't matter anymore."
Landon's pace slowed, and he was silent until they reached their destination; The Golden Egg. As they walked inside the breakfast house, Landon caught up with Keko.
"Well you matter to me," he muttered.
"Huh?" Keko questioned.
"Table for two?" the waiter interupted. Landon nodded and the two quietly followed him to their table.
"What are you getting this time?" Keko said, pushing away the menu already placed at her seat. She always got the same thing when they came to The Golden Egg; bacon, biscuits, and lots of butter. Landon had sworn to her exactly two years ago that he would, eventually, try every meal on the menu. That had been Keko's 19th birthday, and Landon saved this meal for the last - the last meal on the menu and the last meal he would eat with Keko for a very long time.
"Biscuits and bacon," he answered, and Keko beamed. "In celebration of your birthday, and your moving away."
"I'm gunna miss you," Keko said, smiling.
"I'll miss you more," Landon laughed, reaching into his pocket. "Happy birthday, Keko." He pulled out a necklace: a pendant hung on a silver chain, with the image of a tree in the center of a ring. The tree had four major branches, each colored differently to represent the four seasons.
Keko gasped, taking the necklace. "Landon! Thanks you so much, its gorgeous!"
Landon leaned back in his chair, hand behind head. "Yeah, I'm pretty awesome."
"No doubt about that," Keko laughed, putting the necklace around her head.
"Landon broke his posture in surprise. "You just complimented me!" he cried.
"Don't know why," she scoffed. "You're a jerk."
Landon smiled, then leaned across the table until his face was only centimeters away from hers. "Guess what?" he whispered. "I love you."
"Uh, have you guys decided what to order?" the waiter said, interrupting them again.
Landon slumped in his chair, a big grin on his face. Keko was frozen in place, completely and utterly shocked. "Two plates of biscuits and bacon please."
***
I really love the characters of this story, just because they're so familiar with each other; Keko is freakishly nice to everyone but Landon, and (though I couldn't exemplify it in this scene) Landon is pretty mean to everyone but Keko (most of the time). Keko is an innocent little girl and never imagined that Landon would love her. Ha-ha :)
***
Safe - a poem (well, technically two haikus)
Keep me here with you
I want to stay in your arms
Now I know I'm safe
Thank God for you, God
For your unfailing
Love, your saving love.
***
That poem was simply me being God-happy. 'Nuff said :)
***
"Mom says I'm not s'posed to talk to you cause you're a big liar."
"Oh? Well yes, I always lie. And that's the truth, little child."
"But... you said you always lie."
"You're right. By honestly saying I always lie I tell the truth, which makes my claim a lie, which makes it true."
"You're crazy."
"Why of course. I lost my mind years ago; dropped it ion the African plains."
"You went to Africa?"
"Only to stop my pirate friends from pillaging the city of God's breath."
"You're friends with pirates? Real, sea pirates?
"No, air pirates."
"You really are crazy!"
"Maybe you should follow your mom's instructions and stay away from me. After all, I'm just a dirty fibber."
"Well... a few minutes can't hurt."
***
Wondering why it's just straight conversation? Okay, here's an explanation; I occasionally listen to this podcast called "Writing Excuses". It's basically advice that three authors give to new writers. On one of the podcasts they talked about dialogue, and how your characters should all have separate speech patterns. So the writing prompt, a writing exercise they give you at the end of the podcast, was to write a conversation that is ONLY dialogue. No tags, no description. And I really liked this little conversation, just because I can envision it happening very clearly in my head, and I can imagine what happens next.
Well, that's all for now kids. :)
Here are three scenes I've written recently (and a poem).
***
"Remember that time when I told you tea was leaf-water and you spewed across the whole room?"
"Ugh, that was horrible!" Keko cried. "Don't remind me, you jerk!"
"And then my mom made you stand in the corner?" Landon continued, laughing.
"I hate you," she grumbled. "You're so mean."
"You taught me well," he joked. Keko huffed, folding her arms as they walked across the street. "Oh, come on," Landon said pleadingly. "I'm just teasing. You're actually my nicest friend."
"You have friends?" she said sarcastically.
"Why are you only mean to me?" he asked.
"Because I know you don't take me seriously," Keko said, shrugging. "I've just known you for so long, I guess it doesn't matter anymore."
Landon's pace slowed, and he was silent until they reached their destination; The Golden Egg. As they walked inside the breakfast house, Landon caught up with Keko.
"Well you matter to me," he muttered.
"Huh?" Keko questioned.
"Table for two?" the waiter interupted. Landon nodded and the two quietly followed him to their table.
"What are you getting this time?" Keko said, pushing away the menu already placed at her seat. She always got the same thing when they came to The Golden Egg; bacon, biscuits, and lots of butter. Landon had sworn to her exactly two years ago that he would, eventually, try every meal on the menu. That had been Keko's 19th birthday, and Landon saved this meal for the last - the last meal on the menu and the last meal he would eat with Keko for a very long time.
"Biscuits and bacon," he answered, and Keko beamed. "In celebration of your birthday, and your moving away."
"I'm gunna miss you," Keko said, smiling.
"I'll miss you more," Landon laughed, reaching into his pocket. "Happy birthday, Keko." He pulled out a necklace: a pendant hung on a silver chain, with the image of a tree in the center of a ring. The tree had four major branches, each colored differently to represent the four seasons.
Keko gasped, taking the necklace. "Landon! Thanks you so much, its gorgeous!"
Landon leaned back in his chair, hand behind head. "Yeah, I'm pretty awesome."
"No doubt about that," Keko laughed, putting the necklace around her head.
"Landon broke his posture in surprise. "You just complimented me!" he cried.
"Don't know why," she scoffed. "You're a jerk."
Landon smiled, then leaned across the table until his face was only centimeters away from hers. "Guess what?" he whispered. "I love you."
"Uh, have you guys decided what to order?" the waiter said, interrupting them again.
Landon slumped in his chair, a big grin on his face. Keko was frozen in place, completely and utterly shocked. "Two plates of biscuits and bacon please."
***
I really love the characters of this story, just because they're so familiar with each other; Keko is freakishly nice to everyone but Landon, and (though I couldn't exemplify it in this scene) Landon is pretty mean to everyone but Keko (most of the time). Keko is an innocent little girl and never imagined that Landon would love her. Ha-ha :)
***
Safe - a poem (well, technically two haikus)
Keep me here with you
I want to stay in your arms
Now I know I'm safe
Thank God for you, God
For your unfailing
Love, your saving love.
***
That poem was simply me being God-happy. 'Nuff said :)
***
"Mom says I'm not s'posed to talk to you cause you're a big liar."
"Oh? Well yes, I always lie. And that's the truth, little child."
"But... you said you always lie."
"You're right. By honestly saying I always lie I tell the truth, which makes my claim a lie, which makes it true."
"You're crazy."
"Why of course. I lost my mind years ago; dropped it ion the African plains."
"You went to Africa?"
"Only to stop my pirate friends from pillaging the city of God's breath."
"You're friends with pirates? Real, sea pirates?
"No, air pirates."
"You really are crazy!"
"Maybe you should follow your mom's instructions and stay away from me. After all, I'm just a dirty fibber."
"Well... a few minutes can't hurt."
***
Wondering why it's just straight conversation? Okay, here's an explanation; I occasionally listen to this podcast called "Writing Excuses". It's basically advice that three authors give to new writers. On one of the podcasts they talked about dialogue, and how your characters should all have separate speech patterns. So the writing prompt, a writing exercise they give you at the end of the podcast, was to write a conversation that is ONLY dialogue. No tags, no description. And I really liked this little conversation, just because I can envision it happening very clearly in my head, and I can imagine what happens next.
Well, that's all for now kids. :)
Monday, June 13, 2011
Sappy Scene
Sam stared blankly at the mergin garden of blue and red flowers, the colors split where the neighbors property started. Her hair, swept over one shoulder, blew gently in front of her face. She listened to the subtle sound of swooshing leaves, and the occasional creak of the board she was perched upon. From her seat high up in the tree, she could see her parents room where they argued about what college she should go to, and her cats grace by the bird-fountain. The noise of anger, the noise of sorrow - or the lack of noise.
Across the street death metal bled out the neighbors' windows. What an annoying noise.
Behind Sam, her little brother grunted as he unloaded mom's groceries from her beat-up car. The noise of work. Sam's mind flashed back to her childhood uncalled, in all its joyful ease. Her giggles and laughter - the noise of happiness.
Everything has its own noise, she realized. Music is a noise, and music carries feeling. So even feelings have a noise.
A black car sped into the neighbors driveway. The sound of success, she thought, compared to the sputter of our Honda.
Jackson slammed the door of his car and spotted Sam. "Hey," he said with a smile and a wave.
"I can hear it now," she mumbled.
"Huh?" Jackson asked.
"There are so many noises, so it took me a while," she yelled to him. "But I can hear it now."
The sound of love.
***
Aww, sweet love.
Okay, so this scene is sappy and undeveloped. I got lazy. But whatever, at least Sam has finally realized her love for Jackson.
But Jackson probably thinks she's nuts.
Across the street death metal bled out the neighbors' windows. What an annoying noise.
Behind Sam, her little brother grunted as he unloaded mom's groceries from her beat-up car. The noise of work. Sam's mind flashed back to her childhood uncalled, in all its joyful ease. Her giggles and laughter - the noise of happiness.
Everything has its own noise, she realized. Music is a noise, and music carries feeling. So even feelings have a noise.
A black car sped into the neighbors driveway. The sound of success, she thought, compared to the sputter of our Honda.
Jackson slammed the door of his car and spotted Sam. "Hey," he said with a smile and a wave.
"I can hear it now," she mumbled.
"Huh?" Jackson asked.
"There are so many noises, so it took me a while," she yelled to him. "But I can hear it now."
The sound of love.
***
Aww, sweet love.
Okay, so this scene is sappy and undeveloped. I got lazy. But whatever, at least Sam has finally realized her love for Jackson.
But Jackson probably thinks she's nuts.
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