So im attempting to kickstart having a blog again. i dont really know how to go about this so im going to post stories and stuff and maybe bore everyone with my life.

I had a dream the other day, a very weird dream might I add, that inspired me to write a short story that I will now post here. Maybe i can figure out a way to organize all my stories in tabs or something if anyone would like to help me figure that out. cool 🙂


The Wardrobe


I was going to meet my friend. A new warehouse had opened up, and it wasn’t nearby. By car, I’d say it would take a good 30 minutes to arrive. The warehouse had already built a reputation in the short time it had been open, and we were dying to check it out. Of course, she was running a little late, so as I pulled up in front of the squat grey structure, I was alone.

There were no eye catching signs or glossy posters, or those stupid decorations that are usually plastered all over commercial buildings to get customers to come in. Just solid grey concrete and tall, foreboding wooden doors with brass knockers.

It was midday, and the weather was cool due to the sun being hidden behind an expanse of dark, churning clouds. I stepped out of the car and made my way across the gravel to stand in front of the wooden door. As my the flesh of my hand made contact with the door handle, a flash of blinding bright white light casted over the building, and I looked to see a jagged bolt of lightning stretching across the dark sky, followed by the boisterous booming sound of thunder.

Ignoring the eerie weather and its timing I stepped inside.

The building was kept cooler than the weather outside, giving me goose bumps immediately upon entrance. The warehouse consisted of one large room with a high beamed ceiling, and stark flat leaden flooring. The room was filled with antique furniture, and it was gorgeous. Each piece had the feel of a different time era. I walked deeper into the store, passing an older Spanish man with dark hair and crow’s feet around his eyes. He gave me a brief glance and then returned to the magazine he was holding. I passed a shelf filled with metal crowns in sharp, curling designs, each one with a pointed tip and adorned with a single jewel. I grazed my fingertips across the neat row of crowns, and pulled back immediately. The metal was at a freezing temperature, numbing the places where it had touched my flesh.

I continued onward, stopping in front of a tall statue like piece. Probably around ten feet tall, a long, rectangular block of wood with curved edges laid against the wall, its wood varying between a rich burgundy and a golden caramel. The entire front looked as though it were hand carved, the hissing, scaly face of a dragon etched into the red wood, almost lifelike in its menace. Strange symbols surrounded it, and above it in the yellow was a fierce tiger with intelligent eyes. This piece was of obvious Asian origin, and it was so strange in its beauty.

I took a step back, the carvings so detailed and intricate, it made them too frighteningly life like. Looking behind me, I saw people had entered while I admired the statue. A blond boy around my age had come in, but the reason I could not look away was because of his dress. He was in an old fashioned outfit that a school boy would have worn hundreds of years ago. A crisp white colored shirt and black shorts and suspenders, and gleaming polished black dress shoes with white socks that went to the ankle. He seemed timid, cautiously walking around the room and avoiding eye contact with anyone. On the other side of the room was a little girl, in a black church dress with a rounded white collar underneath that lay flat against it, and black hair in pigtails. She hummed as she walked around, almost oblivious to everyone as she looked around. I continued on, looking around when a particular piece caught my eye. A dark navy blue wardrobe sat alone towards the back of the warehouse, with double doors and two drawers underneath them. I drew closer as if hypnotized. Carved into the wood were eyes, deeply inset, and only on both edges of the wardrobe. They were very Egyptian looking, with a deep resemblance to the Eye of Rah.  They were also where knobs to open the doors should have been, but there was a hole where these eyes were, meant to hook a finger into the wood to open it. There was an extending board at the top sectioned into different scenes; hieroglyphics. One of them portrayed two rattle snakes, one eating the tail of the other. Another of a pharaoh looking man, with a cane and a head piece and dramatic eyes; the last was a cross like symbol with a rounded top, which I recognized as the Ankh. I was entranced by this wardrobe, its beauty beyond anything I’d ever seen. I sat there and daydreamed about where I would put it in my room. A woman with wild fiery hair approached me, snapping me from my trance.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, how much for this wardrobe?”

The woman paced around it, opening the doors, almost inspecting the wardrobe. She spun it in a full circle, as the piece of furniture was on wheels, but she did all this erratically, as if nervously checking.

“This wardrobe isn’t for you. I highly recommend you look at something else.”

I stared at her, dumbstruck.


She repeated herself. “This wardrobe… isn’t for you.”

I shook my head, mystified, and walked away. The woman seemed mollified that I didn’t fight her on it, but I was really going to the man in the front to ask how much he wanted for it.

When I arrived to the front the little girl was already there, smiling.

“Sir, how much is that wardrobe over there?” I gestured, pointing in its direction.

“I just sold it to this young lady for ten dollars.”

“What?” I felt my insides shrivel. “I’ll give you twenty!”

The little girl stomped her foot in outrage. “I’ll give you thirty!”

“Forty!” I countered. The man glanced between us both and said to me “I really think you should let her have this one, trust us, that wardrobe isn’t for you.”

Why did everyone keep saying that? I wanted it, I had an unexplainable yearning for that piece of furniture.

The little girl smiled a catlike grin and walked out of the store.


A pair of gleaming polished dress shoes walked across the grey concrete, silent as the night. Just a pair of feet, detached from a body, making its way to that glossy, lustrous wooden structure of wood with ancient carvings. A strange sight, really. The feet that were devoid of its partner of a body approached the wardrobe. The doors flung open by some invisible force, and the feet stepped inside, the doors of the mysterious wardrobe slamming shut behind them.




She feels manipulated. She is the kind of person that cringes at the word “love.” she cant stand the idea of romance, nor the way other people her age publicize it so excessively. Yet in secret, she enjoys romance novels and cheesy disney movies. Oh, she puts up a good front. Oh yes she does. An important factor to mention is this girl is a writer. She writes about the most gruesome, horrible things, and they are usually happening to other people, and she is known for her explicit detail, and the ruthless, heartless way she cannot write a story without killing off half the characters, and ruining everything she built. Happy endings? please. Known for her heart of ice and detached emotions, and for the way in which she revels in her miserably unhappy endings where no one gets what they want. This is the front she puts up, and this is how shes seen. Shes prideful of her reputation. She feels it makes her look strong. She doesn’t want to look weak. To look weak and to leave vulnerability. The weak link on her chain her life, is the idea of being weak herself. So she smacks a fake smile on her face, and tells everyone how much she cant stand romance. How unecessary it is, how illogical. She loves logic. “Love in high school?” she says, “Whats the point? you go your seperate ways in the end usually anyway, except in those few rare cases where you go to the same school, or a school in the same location. Its just bound to end in heartbreak. so whats the point of wasting time?”

She can go on and on about this, and all of her reasoning would be on point. But in secret, she gets a pleasure out of reading romance novels, of a cliched, romantic story where they fall in love, and they face against the odds, and even after it all they end up all right, and most of all happy. She watches disney movies and cries when the princess is reunited with her prince, and gets that sought after happily ever after. She feels, she feels everything. all these pent up emotions that she hides behind malice, hate and gore.

Then the girl decides to let someone in. Now, this is a whole different story. 360 degree turn. This is because she finds herself knee deep in everything she said she couldn’t stand. For someone that cannot stand the thought of love or relationships, she falls, so hard that the floor painfully catches her face and flattens her nose, so that she now resembles voldemort. That was a joke. she just proverbially falls. She denied it at first. Her? how could she be in love? and the best part, why did she pick that person?! She yells at herself everyday. “How stupid can you be???” she thinks to herself. “I mean fine, you go against everything you said you believed in, but why THAT person? why not someone nice, why someone who uses you, plays with your heart and feelings, and squishes them between your fingers like its putty?

The worst part is she knew it would never happen, she told all her friends, confided in them, and like friends do, now she cant even be in the same room without someone trying to embarrass her, or to set her up. she and him both know its happening, yet look the other way and just pretend it didn’t, because what else can they say? she cant spill her feelings for him at a table full of people, nor in a crowded hallway, or in a classroom full of upperclassmen. She begins to accept the fact that it will never work, that he will never feel the same way, though sometimes it feels as though he looked to talk to her when he didnt have to, and if she let herself get real hopeful, she would dare say she saw a glimmer in his eyes, as if he might have felt something… anything.

A little after that is when the texting began. On his part. first meaningless little complaints about his day, then the richer stuff. In a way, he bared his life to her, laid out pristine for her to see, alot of his flaws and wishes and emotions. The dysfunction of his familial life, how his step parent made him feel as though he were never good enough. Made him feel little. Treated them as though he were no better than a dog. His dog actually got treated better. Forced to work for everything he had, doing what he can to get out. So just when she was on the brink of finally getting over him, after a year and a half of pining, all those emotions came crashing back, and she fell even harder than before.

They were unstoppable. She needed him, needed his conversation like a drug. He would begin practically every conversation, and each time he did, her face lit up like christmas. She suddenly became very happy all the time, floating around in her own little world, knowing in the back of her mind this would soon come to an end. She feared it, but pushed it away, not wanting to think about it, knowing in her heart of hearts she was right about him, and about romance. She hated when girls thought they could fix guys, you cant change a person, because people dont change. Yet she had a big broken mess in her hands, and she still did what she said she hated, and tried anyway. She fooled herself into thinking it was working, That maybe that part of everyday they communicated, just as it was the best part of her day, maybe it was the best part of his day too. It got to the point that she felt they told each other almost everything. She had never felt this way before about anyone, and not just romance wise. She had never met anyone she connected with so well in her life, how well they understood eachother. It got to the point that whenever she wasnt concentrated on school work, she looked for him. always looking. They would always catch gazes, but she was usually too shy to do anything, and would look away. She looked for excuses to be with him. With her parents ever changing schedule, she found herself needing a way to get home. By luck, he took that bus too. Her obsession level frightened her a little. Then she thinks he caught on. That’s when things got bad. She let herself live in a happy little bubble, allowing herself to think that maybe, just maybe, he might feel the same way she did. Then he probably realized that he basically owned her heart, even though to this day they never outright recognized it. He probably realized he had the ability to crush her, destroy her. Or maybe he never realized and did all the things he did without realizing how it effected her, because he only ever saw her as someone to rant to. But some of the things he did… how could he not know? She soon learned he was a flirt. He knew every single female specimen in the school, and though he was having a conversation with her, he would leave her hanging out the blue and go talk to others girls, visibly flirting. Leaving her feeling as important as a forgotten tissue. They were and are, a select few he talked to constantly, and there is always that one that hangs on him. the same one always. very touchy. he never seems to return it, but he doesnt stop her either. He gives her a secret smile, a smile that shatters her to a thousand itty bitty pieces everytime. The worst part is shes friendly with these people, she puts on a fake face and tried her best to be nice, because they cant know what they are doing to her, except maybe that select touchy one, but its cuts her up everytime. Her smile feels cut into her face, forced.

He might not even know either, but odds are that he did. especially that one day texted her, it was around the time homecoming was coming up, and asked her when the day was. Now of course that scared the living daylights out of her. Could this really be happening? but it didnt. He asked so he could actually told her about he might be going because a few girls asked him. Now, why would he tell her that? what did he expect her to say? that probably hurt the most. Especially when he began to complain about how women were difficult. Obviously he was having issues with other girls. If he knew how she felt… why would de do that to her? why would anyone do that to anyone? How cruel can someone be? but then again, he could have been blissfully oblivious to everything. But the way some things were delievered, it felt as though he KNEW what he was doing. They were times he made her feel so special, and just as easily he can make her feel as though she were next to nothing. Something that astounded her was that she couldnt believe how much he was affecting her. The first two years, he never showed an ounce of interest, all of a sudden mid sophomore year BAM. All of this happened, leaving the girl in a daze. Everything he did shattered her. Pummeling her self esteem. She knows he was first, and after him she will always approach these things with caution, never again giving her heart away to one that couldn’t decide what he wanted to do with it. Then something worse happened… the conversations at first remained the same, even after all the unspoken drama. Somehow physically being with him was more difficult than speaking over text. They were more open that way. Then they decreased, decreasing to the point where they ceased altogether. She didnt change the way she spoke, and she didnt even know what she did wrong. What happened? its something she will always question. Yet today, the conversation still exists, not as richly or as much as it used to, but it happens, even though it is now more her beginning the conversation, his only being few and far between. Maybe he is too busy with his beloved video games, being a boy and all. Half the time he would tell her that he spends hours gaming, barely checking his phone. fine. She tried to quit him cold turkey, and that just left her feeling miserable. An empty space in her life that she tried to fill by immersing herself with friends. She felt as though someone had died, and walked around angry all the time. She was so emotional not for the fact that, even though she hated to admit it, she was in love, and hated every second of it, but for the fact that she lost her confidant. Her person she could tell everything to. And all along she knew it would end that way. In a way, she lost one of her best friends. For her, it was not all about romance. She found someone she connected with in a way she never connected anyone else. She always pondered telling him, but always, always backed out, because with the way he had played with her in the past, and knowing his personality, he might laugh in her face, or not even hear her out if she even tried. He wasnt perfect. She knew that. He cursed too much, probably a product of learning english too late in life and from a bunch a kids, he had anger issues, becoming violent and angry if his lunch was terrible that day, causing him to go on a rampage, and the way he completely blocked out the world playing games on his phone. games, games, games. games all the time. Yet he was a genius too. He excelled in math and science, whereas she excelled in literary arts, and those were her weak points. In a way, they were polar opposites, which always made her wonder as to how they were brought together, how their secret friendship formed. She doubted his friends knew how close they really were. or used to be. Every other day she would sit next to him during lunch, and she would bet her best dollar everyone was clueless except the one friend she told. She never told, nor spoke of that relationship they had, and she doubted he uttered a word of it either Maybe it was because of how he would tell her he never truly liked any of his so called friends, and never hung out with them on weekends, enjoying the seclusion of his home.Or maybe he liked it was their little secret. To her, it was fragile. She never uttered a word, afraid of tipping the precarious balance they had. Only occasionally would they discuss something they were talking about the prior night, the only time they hinted at ever speaking outside of school.

Just when she thought her world couldnt shatter anymore, the pieces became smaller. He was going to do a program, a program where you complete your freshman and and sophomore year, and then stopped going to high school all together, finishing  out your last two years in college, and graduating high school with an associates. She saw how this could be beneficial, yet it still killed her insides. She planned on telling him how she felt one day, she played it out in her head so many many times. She thought she had all the time in the world. All of a sudden, two years became two months left of her precious time with him. The one lunch and once class every other day with him the only time she would get snippets of conversation. She never knew when the right time would be, shed tell herself. she didnt know how to bring it up, how to do it without losing the friendship. That was the main reason she never told him. She feared losing his friendship. She preferred to live in secret and keep it inside, still having the friendship, than to tell and lose him completely. To this day she hasn’t told, and the days are flying by, each one closer and closer. She wants to tell, and she says shes going to. She really wants to, and you know what? what does she have to lose? She tells him, and if he responds negatively, she had two months left and she would never see him again anyway, except for graduation day. The only thing holding her back was fear of leaving whatever messed up relationship they had in bad terms, and on a bad note. But she knows that if she doesnt tell, she will always wonder, and spend the rest of her adult life wondering, “what could have been?” or “What would have happened if I got the guts to say something?” She doesn’t want to always wonder. She hasn’t told yet to this day, and the days still tick by, but she knows once she does tell, the weight she has carried on her shoulders for almost 3 years will life, and that day will be the day she can breathe again.

Now she knows what she has to do, but what WILL she do? To get the answer to that… well only time will tell.

I have to say, this was really difficult for me to write.It was very personal, and i think i almost cried i was so emtional while writing this haha. i hope you can tell how much emotion was put in this piece if you read it, (even though im talkng to invisible people) and even though i wasted like two hours on this, it wasnt really a waste. I feel lighter than ive felt in a long, long time. plus, nobody will probably see this. so i got to let a lot out and vent and this was just really good for me. if anyone does read this, well i hope you enjoy real sob stories without really any ending at all so far cause its still going on. and quotes, cause i couldnt decide which ones were my favorite.

“…unrequited love does not die; it’s only beaten down to a secret place where it hides, curled and wounded. For some unfortunates, it turns bitter and mean, and those who come after pay the price for the hurt done by the one who came before.”
― Elle NewmarkThe Book of Unholy Mischief

“Because, if you could love someone, and keep loving them, without being loved back . . . then that love had to be real. It hurt too much to be anything else.”
― Sarah CrossKill Me Softly

“To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.”
― Federico García LorcaBlood Wedding and Yerma

“A mighty pain to love it is,
And ’tis a pain that pain to miss;
But of all pains, the greatest pain
It is to love, but love in vain.”
― Abraham Cowley

“She hardly ever thought of him. He had worn a place for himself in some corner of her heart, as a sea shell, always boring against the rock, might do. The making of the place had been her pain. But now the shell was safely in the rock. It was lodged, and ground no longer.”
― T.H. WhiteThe Once and Future King


Anatomy of Tea

I really liked this story. I like the raw emotion and sentimentality

Slightly Ignorant

It is the fake kind. Not black, not even green. Herbal. Fake. She is a tea snob, and though I am not, her definitions have sunk into me, etched into my skin. The current skin. If the past is any indication, it’ll flake off eventually. Before too long.

She tells me that she just wants to be friends. She and her boyfriend are looking for a third party, if the spinning rumor mill wheel is to be believed. Why don’t they pick me? What’s wrong with me?

When we watch the sky together on the roof, she tells me she can’t see any stars. They’re everywhere, I tell her, and she says she can’t see them. I look at her, and her eyes are shut. This is the kind of shit she does.

The teacup in my hand is only cardboard. White, with a brown sleeve, it gave under the…

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New Beginnings

Well i find this intriguing because I’ve never actually had a blog before, but i figured hey might as well take the initiative now and get one, which is why im here. I doubt many people are even gonna actually see this cause everything ive read is talking about how hard it is for people to find this site, let alone read my stuff, so if there is someone reading this i hope they enjoy my absolute randomness, but basically this is really just for me. Ive posted a story already, and im gonna post them when i can, but im also gonna try and write stuff like this, get all mushy and gushy like a cliched girl (well maybe not) but everyone loves a good cliche. Ill also maybe put photos or music i like on here… this is like a place of endless possibilities. well so far this blogging thing isnt so bad for my (technically) first actual post. Im gonna press publish post before i probably embarrass myself further, but not before i put a quote on here that i like to feel really special about myself, hence the hash tag… and the title. plus a pretty photo i found gallivanting through the world wide web.Image

“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.”

-T.S Elliot

Mirror (A Short Story)


The metal of the door handle was cold beneath my fingertips. Pushing down, I inserted the skeleton key, and heard the lock click. With the lightest touch, I pressed my hand against the rough wood, and pushed. The door opened ever so slowly, creaking as a sliver of dark was revealed, becoming a larger and larger gap.

I knew I shouldn’t be here. I had been warned not to enter this specific room. When you are given a key that opens every door in the manor, and you are allowed to explore every room excluding one, there is no question as to what anyone would do. Curiosity can be deadly.

Going against my better judgment, I took a step forward. Then another. Every instinct screamed at me to turn and run as far and as fast as I could, but it felt as though something was pulling me forward. Like a cord extending from my chest, yanking, forcing my feet to keep moving.

I stepped inside. The room was large, with a wide, cavernous ceiling. A square of glass was cut in the middle, exposing the dark night sky. Moonlight poured in through the skylight, making the contents in the room (or lack of thereof) visible to the eye, exuding a pale ghostly glow.

There was one item in the whole space, the rest of the room bare of any objects. A long mirror, extending from floor to ceiling in the shape of a large oval. The sides decorated with an intricate framework.

I saw my dark silhouette in the shadows of the reflection, my gown ruffling with each footfall as I stepped into the patch of moonlight. This was the hidden secret? This is what the enigmatic room held that I was restricted from seeing?

As I prepared to turn around and leave, the door swung forward, slamming shut with a force that made the whole frame vibrate.

I stopped breathing.

Then I noticed something else was off, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. Then I realized. I had brought my palms to my face in shock when the door barred my exit on its own, but my reflection did not mirror that movement. I shakily put my hand up, turning it back and forth. My reflection remained the same. Hands rested at my sides.

Then, I smiled. An evil, demonic grin that I never knew my face was capable of, revealing needle sharp teeth. My hand flew to my mouth. That was not me smiling.

My doppelganger’s smile grew so wide I was afraid my face would split open. Bright crimson began to seep from her lips, coating her teeth and chin. The blood splattered against the floor in droplets.

I withdrew my hand from my face to see thick red stained my palm. I gasped, and it flowed denser, running in rivulets down my neck, staining my white gown. I felt the invisible cord tug again, jerking me forward, placing me directly in front of the mirror. My feet were rooted in place. I watched in horror as my reflection rose her hand, pressing it flat against the glass. It then rippled where she touched it, making a suctioning sound, and pushing through to the other side.

I stumbled backwards, regaining my ability to move.

She stretched further, her whole arm now through to the other side, and then she completely stepped through. I kept stepping back, and sprawled to the floor when my foot twisted, getting caught in the fabric of my dress. I scurried backward with my hands, though in the back of my mind I knew it was useless.

She stepped forward slowly, feeding on my fear, savoring it. When she stood directly above me, staring down with menace and the smile ever present, she pulled me up to my feet by my neck, her nails digging into the skin. She then placed her hand on my jaw and pulled down harshly, forcing it open with such force it felt as though my jaw had come unhinged.

Then she took her hand, and shoved it down my throat.

She pushed further and further down, until my lips brushed against her shoulder. I choked and convulsed, hemorrhaging around her arm. My innards were screaming, being torn from the inside.

She then became black mist, already partially inside my body, and entered inside through my throat.

I felt the invasion in my mind. I was losing control. Losing myself. I felt myself being shoved further and further into the black. I could no longer move my own muscles. Someone else was in control now. They moved my hands for me, smiled for me. Then I heard a voice.

“You and the darkness are one. There is no return. No escape. You are gone. There is no you anymore. Now… all that remains… is me.”

I tried to fight. To regain control. But she was too strong. I finally relinquished whatever hold I had left.

“Yes master.” I replied, sinking deeper into the dark, doomed to sit aside as someone seized and dominated my life while I disappeared… into nothing.