Okay, so I told myself the other day that the best way to realize what I can accomplish is by looking back at what I've achieved.
So, in celebration of myself, I've decided to make a series of blog posts which focus on the works I've published to date. Woot!
I think he's perfect. Maybe not like movie star perfect, but he's perfect for me. There's something about how his blond, loose curls bounce around when he walks, and how those sapphire blues pierce right through a person when he looks at them. He walks around perpetually wearing a white wife beater and black pants, which showcases his fine ass body, juuuust the right amount. Sexy, without trying too hard. You know?
Yeah. Like he'd ever notice me. Five foot tall, average build, brown eyed, plain old me. There's nothing special about me, I don't think. I'm the girl that friends refer to in that all too familiar, "Oh Minnie? Yes. Minnie is great. She has the best personality!" Mhm. That's me. Sparkling personality girl.
As my uncle used to say—retired sailor—Fuck me running! Girls like me, don't get guys like him. Only in our dreams.
Thus my infinitly reoccurring “make-out session” dream. Funny though, how dreams like those are just enough to keep us going—they keep our hope alive somehow. At least until reality sets in, then you have the dream all over again, and strength returns. Like a never-freaking-ending cycle. One I could happily do without. The last thing I need is to lollygag in La-la-land. Right? Right!
Our romance was your atypical teenage whirlwind romance. Two hormonal teens, reeking amorous and horny teen havoc all over the place while in private, and being the two best examples of teenage life in public.
But like with all great teen romances, it ultimately ended in a lagoon of tears, two buckets of chocolate ice cream, a few bum-rushed tissue boxes, a few calls to my best friend and a marathon of romedies.
There were of course the few rebounds, but nothing of substance.
Wispy ringlets danced in the sky in a million different colors—some unrecognizable. Soft blue and majestic puffy cotton-balls filled the space behind it. A backdrop of celestial azure with a rainbow of circles aplenty curtaining atop. A single sphere of bright light swayed to and fro above it. A luminescent orb with a life of its own.
Eyes lucidly followed the orb and gazes became hypnotized by the labyrinthine magic of the lights. What was it? Never in written history did anyone ever witness the likes of this, and never would they in years to come. A once in a lifetime event for those lucky enough to see its splendor.
Camielle wasn't paying much mind to the lights like all the others; her mind was fixed on the multitudes' reactions to the unknown. While some were amazed and enamored by the lights, the others watched in fear—the uncharted always caused fear. Such an unusual thing, the human mind, Camielle surmised.
The clicking sound of G's laptop when it opened was so very familiar. For the oddest of reasons G found solace in it. At times he almost felt as if his computer were an extension of himself. Then again, he was a Computer Programmer specializing in Video Game Design. So in a manner of speaking the computer indeed was an extension of him.
Today, like everyday in his life G got up, got ready for work, caught the number 7 north bound bus to Randolph Street, crossed the road and walked into the enormous building that housed his employment. He hated the morning commute. The redundancy therein made him sigh in contempt. However, this was his reality and he might as well deal with it.
Just like he did everyday, G went to the break-room, fixed himself a cup of coffee. Cream, no sugar. Trekked to his cubicle and plopped on the chair to start his mornings labors. Not that this type of work could really be considered labor—but work was work, and he got to fiddle with what he loved the most, so it was good.
Posed over his desk, with a single desk lamp switched on and loads of wires, tools, papers and gismos, he fiddled with his current project. Vlad kept the television running in the background just to hear it. Fiddling as he worked his glasses slipped to the tip of his pointy nose, his curly chocolate hair was soaked with sweat and stuck to his face. With a knuckle he pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose. The sweat droplets made him blink his enormous brown eyes, then a small puff of exasperation escaped his full lips. Still he continued with undeterred focus on his current task.
Vlad spent his entire adult carreer working with scientists, chononaut physicists and engineers in crafting the first ever time travel device. His full lips curled absentmindedly into a small smile when he thought that just one hundred years ago—right around the time that “Ancient Aliens” ran on a regular basis—people thought that time travel was limited to science fiction. Now, it was something especially credible. With all of the advances in science within the last one hundred years, of course it was.
As Vlad tinkered with the motherboard of the would-be time travel avionic devise, he listened.
Like a violent ball of fire the A.L.O.M. descended from the sky, encapsulated in smoke. The speed with which it came billowing down to the earth was ferocious. Vlad, frivolous. He went light-headed and nearly vomited due to the brutal propulsion and turbulence. Then, like a comet crashing into the earth, the A.L.O.M. collided onto soil and rock. Inertia followed rumble, which preceded thrusting and rocking. Never had Vlad experienced such a potent ride. His body could barely take the commotion.
Minutes later, after the fog in his head cleared—as well as the fog and smoke that surrounded his vehicle—Vlad tumbled out of the machine, spacesuit stained with dirt, grit and brimstone.
First his knees gave out, causing him to flop to the ground, his hands the only thing keeping Vlad from liquefying into Mother Earth's gravitational pull. Then he slowly lifted his head and floundered to remove his helmet, gasping for fresh air. Clean air.
I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did.