Flight or..Flight.

Fear and Flights.
(1564 words.)

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_____________________________________________________________________________________I looked out the large airport window, watching the snow all but stop falling steadily onto the runway. I sighed and tried to focus on why I was there in the first place. I had finally gotten everything together for my life plan. Write a book, make some money, move to Paris, Write another book and continue to see England  and France. Well phases one and two were completed and continuing. But then I realized one fatal flaw in my plan, and it was only the night before I was planning to fly that it came to mind.
I'm terrified of flying in planes.
This was not a relatively new fear, I had been on planes before and only felt slightly nauseous , but that was only from Chicago to Texas, or from New York to Montana. Never over the open ocean, never for so long. I had lay awake all last night remembering on the news about how three planes have gone missing in the past two years. I was terrified, speechlessly so. I even think I hyperventilated a bit there. Images of 9/11 flashed through my mind, of a plane rushing to the ground at a hundred miles an hour as my fellow passengers and I floated around  helplessly in the metal death trap. At three in the morning I had finally had enough, flipping open my Windows two in one Tablet, I researched plane crashes, how to survive them and how to distress before a flight. And, if worse came to worse, I had also looked up the most effective sleep pills to take before the plane took off and made a mental note to pick some up at the local drug store. I had learned a lot of interesting facts that seemed to clear the fog of panic that had taken over my brain, such as the fact that the chances of my dying in a plane crash was one in eleven million. Which sounded like a nice big number to me, so I let that seep into my brain as I drifted of to sleep with survival plans and breathing techniques dancing through my head. Five hours later I was sitting in the airport, surrounded by flying death traps, and people crazy enough to actually pay to get on one, myself included. I sat in the seat farthest away from anyone and facing the window clutching at my Starbucks , watching as planes landed safely and took off smoothly. I actually felt my shoulders relax as I worked my brain into thinking this would all be fine. And then it started snowing. I remembered about how turbulence can be when the clouds effect the flow of the air over the wings, how the ice would effect how the planes landed on the runway. Or worse, they would cancel the flight and I was more likely to board a plane that was about to be bombed. I chugged the too cold coffee to muffle the panicked scream that was about to escape my mouth. I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs. I wondered if it was too early to take those pills yet. I stayed there staring out the window, not really seeing anything, tuning the entire world out, when out the corner of my eye I saw a man sit next to me. He wore a grey pair of sweat pants, a black hoodie and a pair of shiny white running shoes. He placed a heavy-looking dufflebag under the red plastic seat and sat with one leg crossed over the other as he stared straight ahead. He looked so calm and put together. I felt humiliated and small. He wasn't panicking about flying, because he was an adult damn it and I am just a silly woman who... Before I could figure out who I was, the man turned to me and looked me straight in the eye as he said with a mild Australian accent, "Mints help with nervousness, would you like one?" His eyes were the clearest blue I had ever seen, and he smiled with just the slightest look of pity in his eyes, his dark brown hair falling in his face. I found myself nodding unsurely as he pulled a small plastic bag of asorted mints out of his pockets. "T-thank, thank you." I stuttered as he took a few of the individually wrapped ones and placed them in my handbag. He resumed his staring out the window, but now every so often he shot me a side glance. Finally after a couple minuetes he asked "What flight are you?" He asked with the attitude of someone asking the time. "Umm.." That's me, the queen of comebacks. What flight am I? How was I supposed to know? I had just forgoten my own name! I glanced down at the bording pass in my lap. "Um, flight 238, gate B. And you?" He smiled, teeth and all, with not slightest amount of pity in his face.
It turned out his name was Alex, he was 27  and he was in New York on a research trip for a travel book he was writing. And he was the seat right next to mine on the flight.
I managed to not even think about the flight as we gave the way to perky blonde woman our boarding passes and walked onto the plane. I popped a mint in my mouth as we waited for the crowd of people to clear so we could find our seats. Alex tossed his duffel into the overhead compartment with ease, while I had to eventually jump to shove my carry on up there along with it. He offered to help but I mean come on, I'm a grown woman I should be able to at least put my own stuff away.  I let Alex take the window seat as I was sure that one look outside would make me vomit. He obliged, but he suggested that I sit next to him instead of the aisle seat. I agreed, but decided not to let him get too clingy.
Turned out that I was the one who was clinging. After the safety demonstrations and the waiting for the taxiing, it was taxiing. And then we were going down the runway. Then I closed my eyes and concentrated on the slightly smaller now mint in my mouth. "This isn't so bad." I mumbled. I heard a chuckle next to me. "That's because we are still on the ground, sweetheart."
Finally as  I felt the last wheel leave the ground I grabbed for something to hold onto, finding instead of the armrest a strong hand. I withdrew my hand slowly and reluctantly. Instead folding my hands in my lap, closing my eyes and remembering exactly where those sleeping pills were in my bag. I stared straight up at the ceiling, silently praying to a god, any god, to help me get through this. I yelped as we went through a bit of turbulence and grabbed Alex's hand. He smiled wryly and put both his hands around mine. "I promise that you will be okay. I promise. And I would not be offended at all if you wanted to take those sleeping pills you've been obsessing about since we took off." I gaped at him as he chuckled. "Go ahead. I've got my James Taylor, I'm okay." He took his right hand away from mine and pulled out a small Walkman and a pair of head phones out of his sweatshirt pocket. "Oh, okay. Well if you don't mind...I didn't get much sleep last night."  He nodded knowingly as he put his headphones in his ears. "Anything you need, just tap my shoulder, m'kay darling?" I wasn't so sure about the nicknames that seemed to flow so easily for him, but I nodded and fished out the pills.
"Can I have some water over here?" I called to  the flight attendant.
I woke up with a dry mouth and my head on Alex's shoulder. I stayed as still as possible, trying to remember what I was dreaming about. Something to do with tea. I sat up slowly and looked over at Alex, who looked as though he hadn't moved since I fell asleep. "You woke up at the best part darling" I glanced at him with wide eyes as he said with a grin.
"we're landing."
I never thought I'd be so relieved to see a plane so close to the ground. And when the plane landed I actually laughed like a madman. The plane touched down and had a relatively smooth landing, bumping a bit more than I'd have liked but hey, at least I didn't die.
When I finally got off the plane, when I was a hundred percent certain that I wasn't dreaming I threw my arms around Alex's neck and whispered "Thank you." I then left, not looking back. But when I clambered into the waiting cab outside, I went to pop one of the remaining mints in my mouth and what I found made me much happier. There, among the pills, ticket stubs and mint wrappers, was a card. On the card was a phone number that would later be a number that was forever on redial on my land line. And under there, in a perfectly messy scrawl, was written "I miss you already, phone me darling?" ___________________________________________________________________________________

-Jessica Baker-

Journal from Martha.

Journal from Martha
(715 words)

January 10th, 2014.
Those were the words and numbers I had hastily scrawled across the top of my journal. I then stared at the black page beneath them. How do I describe  today?

It was cold. And it was windy. And I felt like I wanted to cry, and I don't know why I didn't just stop running. Maybe it was just that Kristina wasn't letting me stop running.

"COME ON. If I wanted to run at zero miles an hour I would have run with Mark!"  She had shouted at me, and I felt bad for Mark. It wasn't his fault that his wife was an insane work-out- aholic.

 "I-Can't-breathe!"

 I managed to force the words out, my tired lungs frozen with ever breath I took. My eyes watered as I looked a couple feet in front of me, to the retreating back of Kristina. I stood straight up and jogged in place to get the feeling back in my feet, pumping my arms and breathing through my nose. "I can do this." I had thought. My feet hurt as they slammed into the pavement and my legs felt like they were on fire, but a couple of long strides later I found myself neck in neck with that long black pony-tail and that bright red windbreaker. I laughed in relief as I saw the place where we had decided was a lap. I picked up the pace, matching my stride with Kristina's. I raced past the marker and threw myself down on the ground. I watched as Kristina streaked past, shouting out behind her "One more lap sweetie!" I groaned, picked myself up and muttered in short breaths, "I hate when she calls me that."
Remembering that afternoon I shuddered at the memory, of how Kristina had basically pushed me till I broke and then stomped on the pieces. But I also remembered how it felt when I collapsed at home, how my legs felt lighter than air as I propped them on the ottoman. I also remembered something that I would have preferred not to. It was at the Starbucks  about a block from the park where we had been racing, and I wanted to stop for a little pick-me up.
"Do you know how much sugar and crap there is in that??"  She practically shouted as I thanked the man behind the counter for my Mint Mocha with whipped cream. I shrugged and took a minty sip, feeling the warmth slide down my throat and warm me from the inside out. Kristina threw her arms in the air in exasperation. "Why do I bother trying to get you to exercise when you eat that junk?" She hissed, so that the other customers wouldn't hear. "And for your information, it has 66 grams of sugar. You're only allowed 25 grams. That's six table spoons." She placed one hand on her hip and took a sip from her homemade kale smoothie.
 I was reminded of how she was in school. Constantly counting calories not for figure, but simply for health. Spurting out random facts about literally everything anyone ate in our school, always racing the fastest  and working the hardest in PE. It makes me wonder why I was surprised when she joined the local gym and started training to become a personal trainer. I watch her now and wonder how fast she would catch me if I sprinted out to avoid another lecture about the dangers of gluten.
Remembering the afternoon made me realize she was probably jealous that I could eat whatever I wanted and still be skinny. She actually had to work for her strong legs and arms, and almost  perfectly toned stomach, I was just plain skinny with not much muscle
Now I sit on my couch, with my TV on in the background, my Great Dane Phil curled up next to me as my pen hovered over my journal.

January 10th, 2014.
Ran with Kristina today, legs are recovering. I might join the gym tomorrow. Maybe I'll even give those kale smoothies a try, or give up sugar, something extreme.That's for sure.
Stay Strong!

I closed my eyes and smiled, imagining the look on Kristina's face when I walked into the gym tomorrow.
It was a hilarious.
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-Jessica Baker-

Edward.

This story is dedicated to the painted man on my wall whose name tonight I found out was Edward.


Edward.
(513 words)
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There is a man in my room. He is not dangerous, nor is he very social. He is almost a shadow. He is dressed in very dark blue, and he sits at my desk when I am asleep. He write poetry for me. I call him Edward, and he wears an orange fedora, a green bow tie and smokes an orange pipe. He has a long nose and he doesn't talk to my friends. He says it's because he's not real, but I say he's just shy. He has his own friends, the ones up in his funny brain. He never talks out loud but sometimes I see him chuckle to himself when he thinks I'm not looking.
Edward has taught me how to stay very still, and how to keep very quiet. Some times I fall asleep trying to stay as still as he does. He taught me how to meditate and to smile when I'm sad.
I talk to him with my mind but he never answers, he just writes them down at his little blue desk, like he's learning something at school. That makes me laugh! The idea of big man Edward in a little child's desk.
My mom talks to Edward too. In the mornings when she comes to wake me up she says "Good morning Abbey. Good morning Edward." In my mind he tips his hat and says "Morning, Ma'am." Like the men in the market do. One day I realized maybe Edward doesn't speak because, he has no mouth. I offered to draw him one on, but he said no. He said he'd rather have a thought bubble over his head because then he could talk but not make any noise. So I drew him a bright orange thought bubble, to match his hat and pipe.
Now when I go to sleep, he always thinks "Good night."
My friends sometimes notice that he's there, but other times they look at the art around him. I painted pictures and quotes and hung paintings there too. His favorites are the ones of the birds. The are flowers on the wall too, but flowers make him sneeze. Across from him and above my bed there is a portal to Paris, France. I made it with my magic powers. I can fly through the portal if I wanted. Edward can't though, because he is scared of heights. I bring him back pastries and chocolates and we share them over tea. It's nice to be able to fly to Paris and to have a friend, even if he can't come with me.
In a week we will paint my bedroom, and Edward will disappear. I'm turning twelve next year, and dad says Edward is old and tired and I am too old as well. I said let's paint around him and just let him sleep here. But dad said no.
So now there is no more Edward. There is only a blank blue wall. But there's a crack in the ceiling that looks just like a narwhal.
And his name is Francis. 
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-Jessica Baker-

Cold Blooded

Cold Blooded.
(816 words.)

We three stood on the tall bank of the now frozen over river, peering over the ledge. There was me, Jasmine and Alice. My name is June. We stood there with the freezing wind whipping around us as the temperature stayed at a solid 34 degrees. Above freezing, but not much.
We stood in silence for a while longer, until finally I couldn't take it anymore. "I'm going down." Without waiting to see how they reacted I crouched down and pushed my legs out in front of me, sliding down a small hill of dirt until my boots made contact with a large rock jutting from the bank. I glanced to my right and found another stone producing from the frozen river bank, and dozens more below it. Encouraged, I swung from my perch on the stone to the one at my side. After several hops and swings, I reached the edge of the river. Before going any further I looked up to the tops of the bank to see my fellow 'adventurers'.  Jasmine looked as though she wanted to look away but couldn't, and Alice had a huge grin on her face. She called down "Find it then come back up, you crazy idiot!" I saluted and started searching around for the thing that I was actually here for, my dad's hunting knife, which he had lent me on the condition that I wouldn't lose it or get it dirty. Guess who accidentally dropped it down the steepest river bank in town? Yeah.. I continued looking around, coming up with things like broken wine bottles, because you know, classy. Also some lighters and too many tires to count. I tried to hug the shoreline but quickly ran out of room to walk. I heard my friends clamber down the stones. "You know the knife is over there, right?" Alice said in a tone that could only be described as commanding. I looked to where she pointed and saw the knife, all the way across the ten foot river. On the ice. I straightened my back and took a cautious step onto the ice, one foot on the bank. I heard a shutter click, Alice's Polaroid, documenting one small step for me, one small step for our little trio. I waited for the ice to crack beneath me, more worried about ruining  my boots than being dragged under the ice and drowning. But as long as I rested my foot there on the ice, I didn't hear any cracking. I gingerly placed my right foot along side my left. Nothing. "Go already!" I whispered to myself and quickly walked across the river, and leaned over plucked the knife off the ice and slid it back in it's holster. I was about to walk back across to the bank, when I watched in laughter as Jasmine came skidding across the ice, her arms flailing madly to keep her balance. "Wha- What are you doing? I got the knife. We can go."  I explained, having to raise my voice against the howling winds. "We're going on an adventure." Jasmine said, huffing between words. Alice walked across the ice with much less effort and slapped me on the shoulder "Why wouldn't we? I mean this isn't exactly climbing Mount Everest, but it isn't exactly up there on the good idea list. And besides" she held up the camera "Nature is a natural model."

We walked up stream, listening for sounds that sounded either like ice breaking or gun shots. "Why are you worried about gun shots?" Alice  asked when I told them to listen out. "Because the man who owns this town lives just over there and I don't think he'll be too pleased with three teenagers wandering around in his river." I stepped around a large log, frozen and sticking straight up in the air. Jasmine, who by nature was usually very quiet, said "Where are we? Are we still in the park even?" I shrugged. "The river goes in a circle, so just make sure we don't go off on a fork in the road  and we'll end up where we started." For dramatic effect I added in a hushed whisper "If we make it that far." We all laughed, just a little uncertain.
So we kept walking, and walking, and walking. Suddenly I heard a crack in the ice, the same time Alice did. "SHIT." We both muttered,scrambling to the bank. I reached and pulled Jasmine up on the back while clinging to a root. We watched as the ice fractured until it looked like a spiderweb, the pieces of ice float on the surface of the water, confined by the larger pieces. "What, is, that?" Alice asked, pointing a shaking finger. All I remember was a gasp from Alice, a strangled cry from Jasmine. And me, stating the obvious. "That, Alice, is a skull."
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Hope you liked!

-Jessica Baker-

The Perfect Library.

I wrote this because the nanowrimo Dare Genorator gave me a dare to make my character read my favorite book, but since I love so many, I just made it so she met most of the character, sadly not all of them were mentioned. :D Enjoy!

The Perfect Library
(929 words)


I was wandering around my local library, looking for something that I hadn't read yet. Something that was adventures, interesting, and and true. I picked up and put down dozens of novels. Take Me There, Speak, and The Absolutely True Diary Of A Part Time Indian were just a few of the choices that I saw, and had already read at least twice. I looked around, trying to make it obvious that I had read these before, because there was a really cute guy sitting in one of the reading chairs, wearing an Indiana 45 jersey, even though it was twenty five degrees outside and we lived in Colorado . Out of sheer nosiness I peered over to see what he was reading. Some book called The Fault In Our Stars. "Must be a space book." I accidentally said out loud. I cringed as he looked up and made eye contact wih me. His eyes were bloodshot and teary, he'd been crying. "It's not a space book, it's a life ruining book that you'll want to read over and over. I've read this six times this week. I already know the ending, and guess what? I still get sad, they were meant to be together!."  He half shouted, half sobbed. He pushed back his brown hair and breathed out slowly. "I'm sorry, I just get pretty defensive about this book." I shrugged and walked away, thinking to myself
"How can someone get that upset over a book?"
After browsing the library for a while longer I got bored and just randomly grabbed a book, a Harry Potter book. "The Prisoner of Azkaban..hu." I flipped through it, taking in random words like "Grim." and "Lupin" and "chocolate" When suddenly a girl  appeared out of nowhere and said "Do the words 'Sorcerers Stone' or 'Chamber of Secrets' mean anything to you?" I jumped at the sudden sound and looked at her. She had wild, curly hair and a bit of an overbite, a was wearing black flowing robes with a crest. She was clutching at a large leather-bound book that instead of a title had runes across the top and was wearing a very stern expression on her face. "Excuse me?" I asked
"Do the words read them in order mean NOTHING TO YOU? " 
I was a bit put off by the sudden realization that she was speaking with a British accent, and even more put off by her bossy  tone. I crossed my arms "Why no it doesn't. And it's just a stupid kids book, what would not reading them in order possibly harm?" Her eyes narrowed, and she clung to the large book just a bit tighter, and for a second I had the horrible fear she was going to smack me with it. "Well, I'm going home, before you get another clever idea." and with that she stomped away.
"Okay now this is getting weird. Just pick a book and leave." I commanded myself. I grabbed a small paperback and didn't even look at it. I didn't need anymore crazy people today. I was waiting in the longest  line I'd ever seen at the library checkout when I heard the boy at the front of the line talking to the librarian. "I swear I didn't burn it on purpose! See I was climbing up the climbing wall at camp, and you know how the lava burns you if you don't reach the top in time?  Well I forgot I had it in my pocket, as it is a very small book, and I reached the top but.." He chuckled nervously, "It..didn't.." The librarian laughed dryly , took the book from the boy and stamped something in red ink on the inside of what remained of the cover. The boy groaned and took the book from the counter. "I'll send the fine in a couple days." He called over his shoulder, as another boy trotted after him, saying in a bleating voice "I told you she wouldn't care.". I watched them walk by and noticed that they both wore bright yellow t-shirts that read 'Camp Half Blood.'  I rolled my eyes. "Nerds" I thought to myself as  the line moved forward. I glanced at the book in my hand, reading the title. "Into The Wild." An old broken down bus covered in snow graced the cover.  Even though I wasn't a big reader it looked interesting.
As I checked out the book, I tried to strike up conversation with the librarian, who wore a name tag that read 'Mrs Who.' I just decided not to find that weird. I said hello and handed her my book, and as she ran it under the scanner she replied in a whispering voice "The story of life is quicker than the blink of an eye, the story of love is hello, goodbye. Jimmy Hendrix"  I still decided to ignore it and I walked out, passing a girl with bright red hair, with ties and bracelets wrapped around her wrists and a too big mans shirt dwarfing her body. She was sitting with a skinny goth looking Asian kid on the steps of the library even though it was freezing out, and they were slowly reading a Batman comic, the girl every so often looking at the boy when she thought he wasn't looking. I smiled in spite of myself, maybe books did hold  a certain magic about them. I found a corner outside the library on a park bench and started reading Into the Wild..
And you know what?  I loved it. 

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-Jessica Baker- 

Moving out and Moving on,

I might be posting more of this one but here it is for now!

Man child.
(809 words)



"I set the alarm I swear!" I protested in a shocked and tired voice as my mom threw the lights on and blinded me. "I know! I woke up to the sound of that horrid beeping At least two hours ago! GET UP" I clung to the comforter for dear life as she yanked it from my bed, my nails digging into my plans with the force of ten steel nails. "You have ten minuets to get up or I'm turning off the heat! And then.." her voice got deadly quiet "The WiFi."
So after I heard her stomping down the stairs in a huff, I rolled over and looked at the digital clock, glowingly announcing that it was ten in the morning and I had overslept at least two hours. I groaned and used all of my willpower to throw the sheets away from my already freezing body. I glance at the clock again, muttering "Ten minuets? I can be ready in ten minutes."
I raced down the hall and slid the rest of the way in my socks, down to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth and ran my fingers through my hair, spiking it up into sort of a Mohawk, and considered shaving. "Nah, you look tough dude." I know, that sounded weird but whatever I'm 28, I can do whatever  I want.
I mosied down the stairs and smelled coffee. Weird, I usually have to make my own coffee. Mom must have finally realized what being a mother means.  I slicked into the dining room and pulled out a chair at the end of the table, tilting it back until my feet were rested on the table. I sighed and enjoyed the warm smell of coffee as it washed over me, savoring the silence of the dining room as my mother bustled in the kitchen just as it was supposed to be.
My illusion of perfection was shattered by the sudden "GET,your feet off the table." from my father, who seemed to hate happiness and relaxation, things that go together quiet well in my book. I sighed in annoyance and dropped my feet to the cold tiled floor and squeaked the chair towards the table, while my father took the chair opposite of me. A stern look was frozen on his face, but that's how it always looked because dad was a big business man of some sort. I stared at the wall behind him until my mother came and practically slammed my coffee down in front of me. I jumped back as a couple of drops of  hot coffee sloshed into my lap and soaked into my pants. "Mooom." I groaned as I grabbed a paper towel from the middle of the table.  "Sorry, sweetie." She muttered under her breath as she passed dad his cup. As I took a sip from my scalding coffee, my mother pulled up a chair next to dad. "Charles, we need to talk." Dad stated.
"About?
"Well, about you."
My  mother just sat silently, wringing her hands together. I looked at my dad with confusion.
"what about me?"
My mind was racing with possible things that they had found, what they had heard.
"About how you don't seem to have any direction, or motivation. I mean look at yourself!" My father pointed at my 3 Doors Down t-shirt and the slight bulge of a stomach beneath it.
"So? It's been..cold." Totally true, since we lived in slightly cold place known as Canada. "That didn't stop your uncle from running EVERYDAY UNTIL HE DIED!" My mother finally started on a ballistic rant, pushing her chair away from the table like she was going to make a speech. "You are a GROWN MAN! You should be AT THE VERY LEAST looking for a job!! I should NOT have to come and wake you up at TEN when your alarm is very clearly set for EIGHT! And why do I even bother? All you do is sit around and tapity tap on your compute!" she imitated me on a computer and then  I had had enough, also getting to my feet. "But you're  supposed to do that! You're my mother for god sakes! We had an agreement that you would take care of me until I moved out! and guess what! I'm still here!" My dad, who had been sitting silently watching this whole thing, suddenly spoke. "You aren't here anymore." I stared at him. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. You have until Monday to find a job, and then until next Saturday to find a place to live. Now I've already set up some interviews..."
"THIS IS BULLSHIT." I shouted, pounding my fist on the table.
"You will NOT TALK THAT WAY IN MY HOUSE." Dad was on his feet now too, staring me down.
"You have until Monday."

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So yes that was weird but I swear there is a plot.

-Jessica Baker-

I'm BAAAACK!

It's 2015 already? WHAT? And I haven't posted on here since when?? June 2nd, 2013....holy craperoni.

Well I'm here now and you are going to be seeing a lot more of me! :D I  have made a new years resolution to write 500 words a day for the next year, including nanowrimo :P Which brings me to my second piece of news! I doubled my page count for nanowrimo and finished my second novel ! yay! So I'm going to post a few of the pieces that I've already written and then I'll bring things up to speed! LOL and I know I don't have to say this but these are infact MINE so if I see them anywhere than this blog, then I'm gonna go all Hulk. Capise? Great. Alright, so here is the last three pieces I've written so far.


January Fifth.
The Gang. (690 words)
My house was  very quiet. Almost too quiet. But that was before we joined "The Gang." The Gang is a intricate gathering of three or more families gather in one household, and you guesses it, that house is usually alwas mine. My house isn't a mansion on a hundred acres or anything, but it seems to get even bigger and more homey the more people we bring in. All of us, exept my little brother, are all home-schooled. We are mostly fueled by tea and sleeping in till eight when we stayed up till midnight. We are a very interesting group of characters. Though there are a few drawbacks. The first is that first night, when we have no idea where anyone is going to sleep. This is kind of what the conversation sounds like
"Okay, so I can-!"
"Maybe you can stay with, no wait-!"
"Why doesn't she just take my spot? I can sleep on the floor!"
"Okay I guess we have room on the couch.."
And so on and so forth until finally a couple people are on the couch, people are sharing beds,someones in a sleeping bag. And it's one o'clock in the morning.
Next thing is Breakfast. The morning ritual of ending the eight hour fast, right? Wrong. It is a wild bedlam of noise and confusion and scrambling to get tea (that's mostly me.. tea fixes everything.) there are dietary restrictions such as what follows.
"Okay eggs..EGGS WITH NO MILK OR MEAT!"
"TEA! no sugar!"
"WE'RE OUT OF BOWLS!"
"WHERE'S THE TEA?!oh..NEVER MIND!"
"H
And so on and so forth. I find it quite funny actually, because when all the food has been given out and the kettle has been boiled and poured then everything goes quiet. And then people start turning on their electronics and finishing their meals. Then it starts again. Slowly and quietly, gaining more strength with every plate that's emptied.
"Can I have more...?"
"Is there anymore tea?"
"I'm fine..I had a rice cake for breakfast..."
so that's the morning, and the evening. But what do we do in between? Well, The boys (there are three of them) mostly retreat to their hidden lairs and play on their electronics, the adults (Three moms, BTW.) chat and drink tea and watch over the smaller ones, there are two of them, watch TV and stir up as much trouble as possible at the worst times. Trying to get ready to go on a group activity? Oh look at that, toddler number one just stripped her diaper and is streaking through the halls of the house. Trying to play a game of Jenga? Oh look at that, toddler number two is climbing on the table and doing her best Godzilla impression with the carefully constructed tower. And the girls? The teenagers? Well there are four of us. We are pretty easy to locate, we are either out on a walk, hanging out in my room, or sitting in the dining room watching other people. There is teen number one, she's sixteen and therefor the first to be listed. She is often in the same room as the adults, with a laptop, a phone or a book a couple inches from her face. Then there is me, teen number two, I'm fifteen. I  can be found either trying to get the other three moving with some workout music or working on my writing skills, listening to my favorite music, which changes constantly. Then there are teens three and four. Teen three is fourteen, a tumblr fanatic, who swears that I am killing her by making her exercise, and a very good player of the favorite game around here, Bullshit. Teen four is twelve and has good taste in music, TV (Whovian!)  and also is a good player of Bullshit.
The boys are easier than easy to locate, as there are only three places you can find them. My bro's room, the dining room, and the basement.
We like walks, we dance like no one is watching and you might think I'm crazy...
But that's okay, we're all mad here.

January Fourth.
The Therapist. (1008 words)
"Dear Mom.
I hate you. I hate that you think that I am worthless because I'm not interested in the things that you are, just because I don't care doesn't mean you  have to convert me. I don't mind that you  need someone to listen to you and your problematic life. But it might be nice for someone else to listen to me for a change. I don't feel comfortable telling you things about my life, because you're half the problem, like the way that you yelled at Julie when she almost ruined your new designer shoes, that was not okay, but instead of siding with her and telling you you were a bitch, I listened to you bitch about how long it took for you to save up for them. You tell me that you don't know why your friends are all leaving, then you go ahead and bitch and moan about how they had their own opinions about something that you don't approve of. You forced them out of your life and then they walked out willingly. You can't seem to understand that you are the reason that people leave you. I mean, the drinking,  the rants that don't have any meaning. The only time you say I'm sorry is when you desperately need help, or a shoulder to cry on, but I am too nice or maybe just too stupid to tell you to fuck off and stop treating your friends, and me, like shit. Instead I just listen sympathetically and agree politely when you stop to take a breath. I just want you to understand that I have my own music, book, outfit taste. I am not you.
I would say that I'm sorry, but then I'd be lying.
Signed- Laura. "
I looked up from the printed email I held in my sweaty palm and met the eyes of my therapist,Dr. Wendel,  who seemed completely calm, and asked
"Should I send it?" She shook her head slowly, looking down at her notes. "Laura, you never send the emails. We talked about this, and how picking a fight would only make things worse." I exasperatingly tore the paper in my hands and shoved it in my pocket. "Laura you are twenty, what, twenty seven?" "Twenty six." I said through my teeth. "Sorry, twenty six. Isn't it time to just stop this emotional manipulation from your mother?" I shook my head. "She has to know what I think about her before she..she...you know.." "Passes?" "I was going to say goes to hell but your version.." I waved my hand "She's got to understand..This isn't healthy." Dr W. nodded in agreement and said "You're right it's not healthy but it is also making you slightly more passive aggressive than you should ever be. Tell me, what provoked the email in the first place?"  I sighed and said "I don't want to talk about it. " "You obviously do otherwise you wouldn't be here, Laura." I made a rumbling sound in my throat. "She called me up, two days ago, and she was crying because people were talking about how gays don't star in books like heterosexuals do and how they should have the same rights and apparently that offended her so she called me and said that she wished that I would just drop the charade of being gay and go join the church that she goes to that is holding a 'pray the gay away' fundraiser. And I just lost it. I told her that 'I didn't care about gay rights or that gay characters weren't peoples first choice to write about.' She lost it. She said that she was the one with a gay daughter and that she was the one getting all the shit and the stares from all the prissy bitches at the country club and I didn't realize until it was too late that I was screaming that I really didn't give a flying shit because I just wanted to work on my music and write my book and not get involved with all the whole getting riled up about politics and rights and stuff and then she gave me, well started to give me,this whole lecture about how I shouldn't just ' brush this stuff off and I should care more because lots of people shouldn't have to hide' and then I hung up and went to the gym." Dr Wendal gave me a stern look "Before you yelled at her, did you try the.." She flicked her pointer finger a couple times and breathed deeply. I rolled my eyes and sighed, blowing a stray lock from my shoulder length hair from my eyes. "No...I was caught up in the anger. I couldn't see straight and I didn't think about how to stop the, Hulk..." Dr W scrawled on the back of my report for our session and as she did said "this is the time and location of that anger management group that we talked about. Now I know that you don't want this. But just one session. That's all I want to see you do. I'll see you next week okay laura?"  I reached out and took the light piece of paper and glanced at the address and the time. I nodded and rose from my seat, making my way to the door, when I heard Dr W say "And Laura?" I turned and found myself nose to nose with her. "Don't forget to call me when you need to. Anytime. Alright?" I couldn't help looking down on her dark red, almost black, lipstick as she spoke. "Of course. Thank you, Rose." I held out my hand for a handshake. she pulled me in for a hug, pressing her year old body against my slightly shorter one. I wrapped my arms around her skinny neck and almost sobbed into her shoulder. I pulled away with the scent of her perfume still lingering on my turtleneck sweater. I avoided her eyes and stalked out the door.

January Third
Adopted (687 words)
I always figured that I was different. Which I know is a cliche for adopted children to say but I always had a hunch that something was just slightly off.  Like that there was some sort of genetic that I missed out on. The beautiful blue eyes and tall posture, the way that the rest of my family holds themselves. The way that they sometimes treated me as though I would break if they mentioned the fact that my skin was paler than theirs and covered in bright red freckles, my green eyes a bit too dark for their shiny blue sapphire like ones. My mother had told me from the start that I was not from their family, and that my mother, my real mother, loved me too much to keep me all for herself. Which was total bullshit. My biological mother, Darleen, was a drugged up alcoholic and I was taken away by child protection services when I was four.  I readjusted to life with my new family, the VanBurns after a year in the orphanage. They were nice and never slapped or scolded me. In fact, they were nicer to me than they were to their own children, Martha and Lucy. I could tell that the girls were weary of me at first, them being used to only each other at the ages of six and four. I was the large blundering five year old who decided that she wanted nothing to do with them and spent her time fighting with the tabbies that they brought in from the rain. The VanBurns took quite a liking to strays, and the quality of their floors, covered in dog hair and cat piss, and their house, filled to bursting with people and animals, showed that.
I was sitting in my room, staring out the window and my refection stared back at me. My shoulders stooped forward and my chin resting on my hands and I balanced my arms on my knees. On the edge of my bed I perched with my legs crossed, as if daring gravity to pull me over the ledge and let me crash on the vibrant orange rug beneath me. I watched the world outside live as though I didn't even need to be alive for it to carry on. My room was slowly filling with silence and darkness as the sun set behind a cloud and robbed me of the orange and purple light that crossed the sky like paint from Bob Ross's paint brush. I watched as the darkness crept in and engulfed the trees and the lawn, leaving what lay there to the imagination. I watched my own refection stare back at me. I barred my teeth to try and catch myself off guard, but all that happened was that I freaked myself out and had to turn all my lights back on. And also brush my teeth.
"Jules? would you come down here a second?" My mother called up the stairs and suddenly every bad thing I had ever looked up on the internet, every cuss word and dirty minded thing I had ever written on a school desk and quickly erased it. "Yes Mrs VanBurn?" I shouted a bit louder than I intended back down the stairs as I bounced from wall to wall down the spiraling staircase until I reached the main floor and landed directly in front of 'mother'. She crossed her arms and stared me down "Are you trying to kill yourself? " I shrugged. "I'd rather die doing something much more interesting. So what did you want to talk to me about?" She sighed and took my hand. "Jules..It's about Darleen. She showed up in the paper today. She was taken in for suspected murder, now I don't want you to get upset but I have to ask you..have you been in contact with her since she called last month?" I set my shoulders back and stuck out my chin. "No. " I was lying through my teeth to the woman who took me in when no one else wanted to. And it felt amazing.

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Okay so there you go! :D A post! WOW! okay so I'll see you all tomorrow!

-Jessica. A. Baker.