Lai Lai Hei

I'm positively sure that everyone writing anything today is making a reference to the holidays. As I expressed in my prior post, I greatly dislike this time of year. I can't wait for it to be over, the miserable holidays!
Evelyn is sitting next to me on the couch, and Sonja is in the chair across from her. I can tell by their facial expressions that they're fighting, so I pulled out an earbud, and I hear "Sonja! Don't call me fat," and Sonja replies "I'm not! You're not at all!"
This is one of the reasons why I'm so extremely spiteful towards humanity; society. Why do weight and appearance have to be such an extremely big deal? That's what I want to know. It's effects are painful and long lasting. They ruin lives. I don't want this pain and worry to rub off on my siblings like it has on me. It's not fair.
In the past month, I've been on four different antibiotics due to infection from my surgery, and I believe because of that, I've avoided getting my best friend's cold, and my boyfriend's cold. Now I'm off any type of medicine besides my inhaler, and what happens? I wake up this morning with a cold that roars! How's that? :p
Well, I do not wish you happy holidays because I dislike it all. Do not misinterpretate, I'm very content right now, I just hate Christmas!(:

It's almost here; it's almost gone(:

What should I say? Not Merry Christmas because I dislike the idea of Jesus and his mother. I cannot say Happy Holidays either, because I hate this season. I can't wait until March, or something like that. It's such a terrible, corrupted season. On the other hand, I'M FUCKING HAPPY!!!(:

We don't need to whisper

The snow is beautiful. It makes the world so quiet, and that's a thing I used to feel I never got enough of. Things have changed, though. Every night I lie awake and listen to that silence. It screams into my ears, louder than anything I've ever heard. Sometimes I wish I could sleep more. It's not so bad anymore. I hope being able to think so much is not a bad thing, else I'll be insane by the time winter is over.
School is hard these days. It's mostly chemistry that's bringing me to tears. I'm failing it right now because I had to take regence, and we all know I'm not nearly as smart as my brother, or my cousin. I can barely pass it.
I suppose there are more important things right now than writing here. I'm considering stopping again. Maybe it's time to talk to someone about what I really feel beneath the surface.

She blinked. The stars fell like tears on her cheeks against the ever darkening sky.

Pull me under; I'm not afraid.

Terrible day again, but what can I expect? I have my ACT tests tomorrow, then I'm gonna crash at a friend's house. I don't know what was wrong with me today. In all honesty I tried as hard as I could to be happy, but I completely failed. I was quiet the entire time in lunch and I started crying before sixth period. I feel so bad that Austin has to deal with me. The poor kid doesn't know what to do, but then again neither do I. I just feel this inexplicable heaviness inside of me.. it's terrible. I want to be better, and I believe I can if I try harder. I came home and slept today and I'm planning on going back to bed in a few minutes. Here's something I wrote.

The lighting was far too dim for me to distinguish any features on her face, save for the fact that Pearl was very pale, and very beautiful. I wanted to reach out and pull her into my arms. I wanted to tell her it was ok, and that she did not have to go, but I knew none of these things could be.
So I let Pearl go. She tried to smile, but only managed to turn the corners of her mouth upward in a pained fashion. There was another moment of silence, and then Pearl gave a slight wave with her delicate gloved hand; turned, and walked away from me. I could hear her shoes on the cobbles. I hadn't seen her since.
That had been ten years ago, and I was now a grown man of twenty-seven years old. I do not believe in hope any longer.
I lived absolutely alone in this world and I wish it were fine with me. It made for an excellent imagination, and I was a writer. It wasn’t always like that, though. I had used to have family and friends, but eventually everyone will leave you alone in the world, and you must be content with simply having yourself. But sometimes even I struggled with that idea.
She came to me on a fine autumnal day. The leaves had begun to turn about a week before, and a chill wind had swept forth, bringing rains and sometimes even sleet. It was one of those sleety, dark, dismal days. I was in my cottage’s study, warm and working on an old novel that I’d failed to finish. It is to my remorse to say that my luck hadn’t changed on that point.
There was a gentle knock on the door. I looked up, reading glasses sliding down my nose. After a moment of consideration I dismissed it as the sleet and turned back to my novel. It was a good idea, I had to give myself that, but the storyline... oh, it was a wreck.
The knock came again, and this time louder. It didn’t stop, but kept right on going. Very quickly it crescendoed into frantic banging. By then I was out of my chair and stumbling through my study toward the entrance of my small cottage.
“I’m coming!” I yelled, tripping over a rug’s edge.
A gust of wet, cold wind greeted me as I pulled the heavy oak door open. The weather was ghastly. I squinted through the tempest in search of my visitor.
“Hello?-“ My voice cracked. She lay at my feet, rain soaked and shivering. Half -conscious. I wasted no time in scooping her small body into my arms and rushing her into the house.
Once there I set her on the sofa, threw a blanket atop her quivering being, and worked hastily on building up the fire. That was how I met Sophie.
It was a number of dank, windy days before she decided to come around. I stayed by her side at every moment, praying that this young girl wouldn't loose her life in my stead. Thank God that she didn't, too. I was reading a book when her soft voice reached my ears for the first time.
“What are you reading?” It was no more than a murmur. I looked up, fumbling the book in my hands and managed a surprised smile.
“W-why this is called Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Brontë.”
“Isn't that a lady's book?” She frowned, seeming to think it through quite a lot.
The girl was thin. She had black hair that was in a tangled mess, and pale skin that had a n embodying sheen to it. But the part about Sophie that struck me the most were her eyes. They were a blue so light that they were almost gray, with a sea green around the edges. They spoke words without her mouth uttering a sound.
“It can be anyone's book.” I replied, matter-of-factly. “What is your name?” She took a long time to reply.
“Sophie. Sophie Hansen.”
“Lovely to have met, Sophie. You musn't be from around here. I'm Henrich Faber. Faber is fine.” She looked tired, so I did not press her with the ordinary questions such as why she showed up nearly dead at my doorstep, and why she was in the middle of the woods.
I lived in Germany, in a small cottage fit for only one or two. There were no others living within twenty miles of myself. The woods were so deep that even I didn't dare venture too far into them. It irked me beyond belief that this girl had stumbled through them and to my tiny cottage. Had she followed the thin dirt road that trickled off of the highway? If so, why?
She told me I had nightmares. I asked her how she knew such a thing, and Sophie replied that she simply knew.
“I haven't heard you in the night, Faber,” she said, looking out the window. Then, turning to me, “I just know.” And it was true. I hadn't slept one night in ten years without them. I began to feel uneasy about Sophie.
The next week I decided that Sophie was well enough that I should bring her into town. I had to turn her in, of course, but she protested. The girl's eyes were wide with fear and she stepped back.
“No, you musn't do it! You cannot do that, Faber!” Sophie's voice trembled and tears welled. The girl backed herself into a corner and hid behind a curtain so that I could only see her feet. She would not hear of going back.
“Sophie, you're someone's child, aren't you? Don't you think it's only right that you go back to where you belong?” I tried to sound kind, but I believe my voice showed nothing but anxiety.
“NO! I am not someone's child, and I'll never be!” Her voice cracked. I did not speak of the matter any further.
It was strange to have another person in my home, let alone a young girl. I couldn't believe that I allowed her to stay. She was quiet most of the time. I usually found her curled up by the fire reading or sleeping; mostly sleeping.
Sophie caught me off guard far too often, and I suppose that was one of the worst things to loosing the freedom of loneliness. I could not be myself, for I was too painful to be true. She easily saw through that illusion, that screen that I had tried to put up.
“Tell me about yourself, Faber.” She said, standing in the doorway to my study. I had my head bent, laboring over my works. I hadn't heard the floorboards creaking under her light step, nor had I heard the groan of the heavy living room door. I usually did.
“What do you mean?” I didn't look up.
“You know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
“I grew up in Bremerhaven, by the sea. I lived simply, did not finish school, and began to write. My family was killed, and I moved here to be alone.”
“That's not what I mean, Faber.” I didn't look up.
“Sophie, please.”
“Tell me about her. About Pearl. I know.” Her voice was steady, strong.
The silence stretched on for minutes, perhaps hours. I refused to look up, and Sophie refused to leave her perch in the doorway. I swallowed nervously.
“Pearl-” My voice broke, and clearing my throat barely did it justice. “She was.. everything. I don't know life without her. Why must you ask this now, Sophie?”
“Because, I want to know what she was like.” Again that strong voice. I was beginning to hate her for it, since I, a grown man, was near tears.
“We met when I was fifteen, and I would not call it a meeting of good fortune..
“She was the daughter to a wealthy merchant. His prestige among the people of my town was great. Of course that didn't stop a determined, lonely young boy such as myself.
The first time I saw her was on the beach. It was a day truly granted to us by god, for it's beauty is immeasurable to my vocabulary. Let us simply say that the skies were clear, the leaves full, the gulls in flight, and the sun's beams soft and silvery on the fine northern beach.
Pearl was running. Her brown hair had fallen loose of it's braid and strands of it whipped in her face. Her snow-white dress was stained with mud, and her breathing came fast, but still, Pearl ran. I still remember the look of terror her eyes betrayed.
I was standing by the waves when shouts reached my ears. Turning slowly, I saw her coming up the beach, and behind I spied two grown men giving chase to her. My eyes caught on the gold star on her dress, but for only a second. I looked about myself and realized that there was no one else but myself and these others.
My father had always taught me that everyone was equal. It didn't matter what a person looked like, and what they believed. They should always have a chance. When I saw Pearl running, screaming, these things reached my mind and I grabbed her hand. Her breath caught, and she regarded me with panic.
“Come on!” My voice cracked.
I pulled her up the beach with me, and the men pursued.”
I snapped back from the story to find tears standing in my eyes. Sophie still stood in the doorway, her face expressionless. No words could reach me, and the silence deafened.
I cannot take the liberties of saying that life went back to the way it had been, because for the first time in ten years I was not alone. It was strange to be constantly aware of another's presence. Sometimes she scared me, though, because for a reason beyond my mind's ability to perceive, Sophie reminded me chillingly of the one person I did not necessarily want to remember.
For instance, in early November, Sophie decided it would be good of her to arrange my study while I was asleep.
“As a thank you,” she told me sheepishly, later.
To better understand, my study is a sanctuary. I know very well that a place of the earth cannot even come close to the peace and safety I longed to feel, but my study was the closest I believed I would ever get. It was my place, and no one was to see the things I wrote, unless they were specifically allowed.
I awoke to a freezing room. Telling myself it was strange, since Sophie usually kept the fire built, I pushed the covers aside and listened for her.
She was unusually quiet to me. The girl was calm, but never silent. A frown creased itself across my face, and I stepped quietly into the hallway. The floorboards creaked underfoot as I made my way cautiously down the hall.
And there was Sophie, sitting in my big chair, knees to her chest, and reading a writing of mine. I froze. The only thing that made sense to me was- was Pearl. The perfect frown on her face, the way her lips were pressed together just so. The expression of deep concentration that could very well be anger too. Then it clicked, and I felt a raged panic overtake me.
“What.. what are you doing?”
My shout broke the uneasy silence and her head snapped up. Sophie was back, and she dropped the piece of work. Her mouth tried to make words, but failed at first. I believe it was because she was not used to my yell, so I took a breath.
“Sophie, please come out. Living room. Please.” It was almost a pleading tone.
She had been reading nothing more than a short story of mine, and as soon as that became clear, my heart sunk in guiltiness.
We sat in silence for a long while. I couldn't bring myself to look at the girl. Outside snow began to fall. The first of the year, to be specific. Sophie looked up suddenly. Her expression was stone cold, her eyes narrowed in a chilling way that I cannot necessarily describe as angry.
“What have you to hide, Faber?” I couldn't bring myself to answer. “You know nothing of pain,” she went on. There was a choke in her words. “Do you know what it's like to not be.. real? I.. I can't explain. It's rather simple, really.. but all the same. I can't.”
“What do you mean?” My voice was quiet, eyes averted to the floor as though it was suddenly interesting.
“I told you, I cannot say.” The wind outside blew the snow harshly against the glass, filling the silence.
“Sophie how do you expect me to understand?”
“Just keep telling me, then.”
“I'd rather not.”
“You owe me it.” I looked up at these words, and felt a surprising anger surfacing.
“I.. I owe it to you? And how, pray tell, is this so? You showed up half-dead on my doorstep and refuse to tell me anything about yourself, save for your name, and for some strange, damned reason you think it's your bloody right to know everything about my past? Who are you, Sophie? No, what are you?” My voice rang in the silence, but still, Sophie only looked at me. Her curious eyes shimmered, and with another waver tears trickled down her cheeks.
“I said you wouldn't understand. It's not my fault, Henrich. I swear.”
“Very well.” The guilt was once more overwhelming me. “I don't know how, but we got away.
“She watched me curiously as I kept a lookout.
“What's your name?” Her voice held a slight rasp from running. The girl traced the gold star on her dress unconsciously with her finger.
“Henrich Faber, you?” It felt strange to be talking to a Jew. On the surface I felt like a terrible person, disobeying everything I was taught. But there was something else; something deeper. It was blurry and unsure at the time.
“Pearl. Pearl Yanovich. Do you like exploring?”
“How old are you?” We hid under an overturned row boat. The sun's rays were streaming placidly through the cracks in the top.
“Fifteen.”
“And you would like to know if I like exploring? Do you smoke?”
“Oh gosh, no. It takes away from adventure.” At this I had to give her a grin.
“Was a test, and you passed.”
She was particularly tall for her age, with dark locks of black hair, and fair, beautiful gray eyes, and thin lips. She had on a plain sea green dress and knee socks, shoes long gone.
We sat under that boat for a very long time talking, and for some reason, the doubt and the wrong seemed to fade. There was something different about this girl that I couldn't seem to ignore. I couldn't put my finger on it, but we promised to meet again soon in that place.”
This section I finished with a remorseful smile.

Continuation of worst week ever..

Today it snowed like a bitch and they didn't close school; they delayed it. I can't spend time with Austin this entire week because my parents are out of town. I see him for a few minutes in school and in lunch, but that's about it. To make matters worse, he's not talking to me right now. It's unclear as to whether this is because he's angry or some other reason. He talked to me.. but was very blunt and hasn't for hours now. It's probably me being dramatic, but it's uncharacteristic of him and I'm a stressed mess. UGH. I can't wait for this fucking week to be over.

Today was once of those 'worst days ever'. It was one of those in which I'll probably remember, but I will not like. I'm frustrated beyond repair. I don't even FEEL like writing about today. I suppose I'll attempt to leave it behind, unsuccessfully, of course.

And she too, was lost in the grey.

December third. Christmas presents for anyone: zero. Hair dyed: Once! I'm miserable. This week is going to be terrible! Tomorrow I'm taking my SAT's (six hours long??!) and then I have to work at the stupid dome. How terrible:( AND to top it off, my parents are going on vacation, and I'm not allowed to go over to Austin's the whole time. Ugh. It's extremely depressing. I miss him already:(

December. Ohh joy!

I suppose lying on my floor and sobbing could not possibly have been the answer, but it was close enough for me, because I have no real answer.
My mood flipped, as it always does. I found myself overjoyed to be alive and to have Austin. It's something of value to me, partly because I'm learning to speak my mind. I find myself often too afraid to communicate how I feel. That shell is finally coming off. I can speak. It's a bit like the book, one of which I've come to appreciate since ninth grade.
Sunday was.. unspeakably fun. When I go over to Austin's we lie around and talk about everything. There's no such thing as boredom. I rather prefer to call it adventure. We decided to play the 'guess what food I just put in your mouth?' game. So I was blindfolded first, and I remember American cheese (ew!) and apple.. cobbler? Not sure. Me, being devious, couldn't be as simple as that. I knew the moment poor Austin was blindfolded he regretted the game. (That would be from my hysterical laughter as I looked for something to make him eat!) Let me just say it took quite the lot of coaxing to get him to open his mouth. And to what? Oh, not much.. but a spoonful of garlic powder!;) So, so sum it up, Sunday was a good day.
I thought I was going to return to school this week overwhelmed with work. I had three tests to make up, but other than that I did perfectly alright. I'm working on keeping from becoming overly stressed at little things. Progress? I can't say much.
This morning the world awoke to a gray, depressing rain. The chill wind blew at the house and the utter wetness was all too dreary to me. I'm already beginning to hate the cold. By lunchtime the snow came, and within an hour or two, everywhere was covered in it's malicious blanket! I did not have a proper coat. Come to think of it, I do not believe I OWN a proper coat. To say the least, I froze on the bus, at home, at cleaning, and I'm freezing now. My room is dark, and I'm huddled under cover. I most certainly should not be awake right now. Oh well. I just hope my mood can hold up, or my SAT tests on Saturday will turn out terrible.