Adrenaline Rush

This is the second part of the homework we were supposed to do. Just a note, these two pieces are not linked in any way. 

Unwavering heat enclosed the city. Jenny sipped her iced coffee languidly from her Starbucks tumbler, lazing in the shadow of a picnic umbrella on Bondi Beach. Even the shade was unforgivable. The weather defied the natural patterns of nature and chose to torture its inhabitants with blistering heat instead of the cool ocean breezes that were expected. She dared her eyes to wander to the edges of the foamy waves, greedily soaking up the sight. She craved for a swim. Pulling her gaze away, Jenny attempted unsuccessfully to force the pleasure of the water against her skin to the corners of her mind. If it weren't for her stupid brother mucking around carelessly on the jet-ski, she would still be able to walk, able to swim, able to do the things that made her feel alive. Jenny longed to feel the exhilaration of treading on water, the wind ruffling through her hair as she conquered the waves and the rush of adrenaline as she took on mother nature. She wanted to live.

Nothing Was Sweeter Than Revenge

A short piece of writing we were supposed to do for homework.

Murky water churned below. Its dark hands reached its tenacious tendrils towards the esoteric moon. A crackle of lightning danced across the sky, sending a vein of pulsing energy into the earth. With the thunderous boom echoing in the distance, the deep ringing of the timpani rolled the smoky clouds in, obscuring the silky lunar light. Rain pelted down, a monotonous choir of beating drums, drowning out the unwavering note of Jane's scream. Her rage sunk its teeth into the season's first downpour. Lashing out at the gnarled knobs growing from twisted trees, she released the years of frustration that had brewed inside her. She had a task to complete, a lesson to teach, an eagerness to inflict torturous pain on the devil that had destroyed her. Equipped with this new ambition, Jane deciphered the tangled plans that were developing in her mind. Nothing was sweeter than revenge.

Perfection

Just something we had to right in English about our identities. Took me about 15 minutes so it's far from perfect and completely unedited. Feel free to critique.

The world blurred as I pushed myself onto pointe for a double pirouette; the painting of Elizabeth II that I was using as a focus came around, once and then another time. I wobbled and landed awkwardly.

I've always wished I could make perfect turns with perfect technique and yet, with so much practise, I could not guarantee perfection every time. Although it pushed me to work harder, I could not eliminate the nagging conscience telling me I'll never be the best.

The ballet class continued until our backs were damp with perspiration, our feet were sore with blisters and our bodies refusing to work any more. Although I longed to rest, I forced my muscles to move, pushing up onto my toes and holding my weight. I had promised myself I was going to get it right this time and I was going to make that happen no matter what it took.

The dusty fans whirled overhead, recycling the warm air around the room, the teacher's sharp voice echoed against the walls, the younger ballerinas danced playfully around the edges of the room. Calming my heart, I forced myself into a bubble, a silent world where nobody else existed. Focus, focus, focus!

I tried again, shifting my weight onto my toes. The bars on the side flew past, then the chairs where other students sat watching, then the double doors and finally the painting. Landing in fourth position without wobbling, perfect...almost.

Even though it wasn't the most beautifully balanced pirouette, it made me realise something important. Perfection can't always be achieved no matter how hard we try, but at least we can tell ourselves that we've tried our best. And even when we fall short of perfect, we should always keep in mind that close enough to perfection, sometimes has to be good enough.

Payback

Just a short piece on bullying. I don't really know what made me write this, perhaps inspiration from a book. Any events like this one is merely a coincidence. What happens next? Just to leave you guys pondering. :)

Who wasn't bullied at least once in their school years? I guess everyone did but there was always one person who was always targeted the most, one who always ended up with the worst of the torment and one who was never strong enough to deviate from being themselves to fit in. That person was me.

High school was all about accepting each other for the differences and getting along no matter how different people looked, right? Wrong. It was all about fitting in. If you didn't dress like the "plastics", you were "out". If you weren't sporty like the athletic jocks, you were "out". If you were too smart, too dumb, too quiet, too weird, too ugly, too fat, too skinny, you were automatically "out".

I was the clumsy one, who always tripped over my own feet, who always got shoved into the lockers for the pleasure and satisfaction of others, who was always the last one to be picked for a team, the one who got called the most insulting names. Through time, I had learned to make myself numb but I never prepared myself against myself. It never occurred to me that I would eventually be the one harming them in return, inflicting pain against those who made me suffer, causing devastation to the families of the kids who taunted me and being the soul person responsible for all those injuries and perhaps, even deaths.

Unwanted

Well open up your mind and see like me

Open up your heart and damn you're free

Listen to your heart and you'll find,

Love love love love

Jane stared out her bedroom window, blurred from the raindrop races that were fuelled by the thunderstorm above. She turned up the volume and forced the music pounding in attempt to block out the booming echoes. It had been a rainy day when he had broken up with her. She remembered clearly.

"Janey!" he called from across the carpark. I turned around, despite the splatters of rain dampening my old T-shirt. I ran to him as he held an umbrella over me, sheltering me in his arms. I felt safe. "Let's take a walk," he suggested and I followed him.

"Jane, honey. I don't think I can take it anymore. I'm not happy. I don't feel like I used to. I just don't feel the love between us anymore. I tried really hard to be like I used to be. I tried to give you everything you wanted but that isn't me. I don't want this anymore. Janey, I don't love you anymore." I was deathly silent. Could this be? The sweetest boy, my man, didn't love me anymore? When had he turned into this? When did he become selfish? How many stupid times has he said 'I'? "Baby, say something."

"I'm not your baby." I replied, my tone cold like the tombstones in the graveyard. I paused, thinking. "What did I do wrong Kevin? What did I do?" I looked into his bronze eyes, already darkened by someone else's love.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. It was the only thing he could manage before he turned and left me standing in the pouring rain. The tears of Heaven cried my tears, wetting my hair and soaking me through. I didn't care. My heart had shattered and nothing could heal it. Nothing could heal a gaping wound, left to bleed.

As if the lyrics provided Jane with any comfort. None at all. How could she open her heart again when it had been torn through the middle? How could she be free from the shards of her shattered heart when she was reminded every day that he used to love her? How could she listen to her heart when the last time, it led her to heartbreak? Love love love love love. Why does the whole world seem to revolve around love? Everyone at school was looking for it. Girls backstabbed each other to make sure they were the ones who got the cutest guy. Boys became players and flew from girl to girl, heartlessly dumping them when they got bored.

That's what Kevin had done to her. And look at her now, a broken clock that nobody wants. Nobody wants a broken girl. Nobody does.

Fury

Realised I haven't updated this blog for a while so here's just something I wrote. It kind of just flowed when I wrote so, here it is...

A chill rushed through the opened corridors. The winter sun emerged from behind the fluffy cumulus clouds, warming the cold, shaded school. Hannah stood at the balcony of the old brick building, looking down, watching the boys play their daily games of handball. She just stared, seeing nothing. A figure trotted up to her, and embraced her from behind, his hands around her waist, their faces close. She smiled. Her eyes lit up as she turned to face him, sliding automatically into a cuddle. Realising what I had been doing, I dragged my eyes away, embarrassed.

I avoided them for the rest of recess, afraid to look. For the rest of the day, thoughts circled my mind like a building tornado, constantly wondering what had changed her from the bubbly cheerful girl she once was to the current person who only smile when she was with him. It seemed like Joseph was the only person who could make her smile these days.

    

Ding, ding ,ding. Students swarmed the narrow corridors in attempt to get to class. I stood aside, patiently waiting for her to exit the hug that extended over the entire break, hoping we could walk to class together. Time passed. I couldn't wait any longer without being late for the lesson so I stormed off in anger as they lingered for a few more precious seconds. The final straw had snapped.

Lunch came and went, yet I didn't speak to her at all. Hannah, the one who always put her friends before anything else had definitely changed, morphed into someone I barely knew. A part of me willed myself to detach from the deteriorating friendship and I followed it in a rush of angry impulse. From then on, I forgot about waiting for her to walk with me and began to talk to her less and when she actually talked to me, I pushed her away with my lack of communication. Occasionally, I would hope for an argument that would eventually break them apart, despite the constant nagging of my conscience telling me that it was wrong. Pushing it to the back of my mind, I continued to keep to myself. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted her to suffer too, to feel the pain I was feeling.

It Wasn't Meant For Me

An adaptation of what I wrote in the English School Certificate for long response.

Looking at the photograph reminded me of how much things have changed. I was actually happy, among a group of friends surrounding a statue making funny faces. When was the last time I smiled like that? I couldn’t remember.

***********

The school bell rang, signalling the end of the day. Faces rushed past me, in a hurry to catch their trains and buses, eager to get home. I dawdled. There was no need for me to rush, after all, my parents weren’t going to be home until late and there would be no one around to keep me company. Was there a point in rushing off with the crowd, getting pushed and shoved in hopes of reaching the gates first?

I lingered around the front office, pacing back and forth, waiting for Jenny who promised to walk with me to the station. I let my auburn curls hang over my face. Where was she? Did she forget yet again? Not risking missing my train, I made my way out of the school. Did she forget about me? She promised to listen to my problems but where was she?

I kicked at a coke can littered on the sidewalk, not exactly concentrating on where I was going. It clattered onto a piece of glass, the remnants of a beer bottle. I picked it up, feeling the sharp edge with my fingers and the smooth surface against my palms. I walked on. Images flashed through my mind like a slideshow put on fast play. What would happen if I were to die today? Would someone finally care about me? Would anyone realise I’m gone? I felt my hands sliding my jumper sleeve up to my elbows; my fingers brushed the smooth skin. Holding the piece of jagged glass, I watched myself place it on a snaky blue vein. I closed my eyes.

“Lily, no!!!” It was Jenny. I felt hands grabbing my arms and easing the glass out of my grasp. Opening my eyes, I saw the world tumble before me and I let my energy drain completely.

***********

I stared at my reflection on the window of the tattered train. My mascara blended with my tears, forming pools of black under my eyes. I looked hollow. I tried to smile, forcing the corners of my lips upward. What was I doing!? Lying to myself doesn’t conceal the pain; putting on a mask doesn’t make me happy. Who was I kidding? Happiness wasn’t meant for me.