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The Lake my fingers glide over your skin as we edge out onto the lakebarely frozen frail ice spiderwebbing but footstep after footstep we keep stepping veins, veins, all around us they criss cross and water laps at the underside of the ice my throat burns. the ice cracks and you plummet into frigid depths with me left to peer over: blue nothingness middle of the lake no return as i echo your name over and over before it is time to submerge myself


January 22, 2011 What is love Love is like a flower It grows and grows Till one day it rots And falls apart But once in a while You find a flower that is rotted And grows into something beautiful That may be hard to fined But it is possible If you look hard enough Just look I have found you Like a rotted flower Our love can only get stronger As we go through life


It was some sort of protest. Helena didn’t know much more than that, but it was all that she needed. By the looks of this crowd, she was by no means the oddest person present. Blending in was not something that a diminutive red-haired teenager with intentionally smudged eyeliner was used to, but Helena thought she was rather less noticeable than the fat man to her right sporting a sign reading “Taxed Enough, America? Take a stand!” with a crude picture of a rifle underneath. It was quite interesting, for a while. She particularly enjoyed the speaker who told everyone that their participation in this historic, ground-breaking event had most definitely ensured their safe passage to Heaven. Everyone seemed really thrilled. It was so stupid, so sycophantic…so funny. She joined in with the chants without hearing the words, imagining that she was at a concert. Maybe it was even Tory up there, having finally formed that band and made it to the subculture big-time. Maybe Helena even had backstage passes. Naturally she did, she’d designed the set and it looked fantastic. The floor was checkered with black and white, no, scratch that, black and electric blue… She was hungry. Helena kept chanting, but she glanced around surreptitiously until she found an oasis of sorts: a woman with dyed blond hair and brownish lipstick manning a hot-dog stand with no prices listed. It was too easy for Helena to duck her way through the crowd towards the stand and, upon arriving, smile piously and say, “This is remarkable, all of these people coming together.” The woman handed her a hot dog. “God bless you,” she said, her abnormally white teeth glinting frighteningly in the afternoon sun. Helena ate the hotdog- it was terrible and rubbery- and then consulted her watch. Two o’clock. Good, she thought, it’s late enough that I can get out of here.” She had only gone because it was easy to lie about. Kids could miss school for this sort of thing. Besides, she had been morbidly curious about the event.


Helena extricated herself from the legions of sign-holders and chanters, striding purposefully towards the fortress of port-a-potties. She made sure that no one saw her as she slipped in between two of the reeking structures. Taking one last glance at the crowd, she was forced to conclude that she had spent four hours at what could only be described as a pep rally attended solely by pissed-off Republicans. Helena tore of down the mostly empty sidewalk that awaited her. She wasn’t running away from anything in particular any more than she was running towards anything, but it felt more productive than walking. The park bench on which Helena planned to spend the night was less than a mile away, yet when she arrived it seemed that she had entered a universe entirely different from the one she had just fled; the relative quiet and tranquility of the park was so utterly sane. Sanity had been sadly lacking for the past four hours of Helena’s life. Settling herself on the hard wooden seat, she reached into her backpackwhich by now felt like a fifth extremity- and pulled out a book that she’d read multiple times. Helena opened to a random page and stared at it, not for something to do but something to appear to be doing. Look at me, she thought wryly, I’m reading and getting fresh air. I’m a responsible runaway. The paradox nearly made Helena smile, until she found herself wishing that she could relate it to Nick or Tori or Eva. If it were Tori, the remark would inspire a hypothetical conversation, growing more and more ridiculous until Tori doubled over with laughter, long pink bangs obstructing her face. Eva might have clinked imaginary glasses with them, declaring “Let’s hear it for responsibility. Now chug!” Nick, on the other hand…well, who knew what Nick would do? He was unpredictable, moody, and at times ingenious. Helena missed him most of all. She spent the reminder of the daylight crouched in the woods, constructing a foot-tall hut from twigs, foliage, and duct tape. It was a huge waste of time, which was sort of the point; if creating useless architecture in the middle of some random forest just because she felt like it wasn’t freedom, then Helena didn’t know what was. The finished structure in all of its glory was about as impressive as Helena’s chewed left pinky nail. One side was slightly shorter than the other, and the places where she hadn’t managed to keep the twigs in place made themselves evident with the dull silver gleam of duct tape. Helena absolutely loved it. She imagined a family of gnomes moving into the hut. They would honor her as the deity who provided them with shelter by making offerings of roasted earth worm. Their lives would be happy, filled with edible bugs and silent G’s. As Helena personally thought that gnomes were the cutest things in the universe, this vision was very satisfying to create. Having catalogued in her mind’s eye the direction in which she had come, retracing her steps was a nonissue. She traipsed confidently back through the dense forest, her black combat boots mercilessly crushing the twigs and briars that lay underfoot. Approaching the park bench, she felt no dread at the thought of sleeping on the cold, hard wood. Helena was warm in her sweatshirt and jeans, and merely resting her fatigued legs felt like paradise. In her drowsiness and near-meditative state of mind, Helena felt as if she were on the floor of a deep ocean. The surface rippled above her at the unfathomable height of the stars, forever unreachable, yet she was not drowning. Helena was in the real world now, and she had developed gills.

rough example  

Messing around with Scribus in attempts to find a way to create a decent creative arts magazine for a high school club. This is just an atte...

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