Stars In the Morning Light

Howdy everyone!! I hope y'all are as excited for Christmas as I am! Thanks again for checking out my blog. I have tons of great ideas for stories that I'll try to get out over the next few weeks. I just can't get too behind because then I'll start forgetting some of the great stuff that comes to my mind. But for now I would like to post a little composition  that's from my high-school years. You can tell it was me but I think I write a little different now. I don't know maybe I was sassier back then. Who knows. But the class was English V, just a fun senior class where we would talk about college, read books, and write on unique topics. One of the topics was what we would say if we were valedictorian (cause the valedictorian was the one who spoke at senior graduation) but I decided to I take it seriously. I remember it meaning a lot to me and I suppose it still does. So let's get on with it shall we? With the spirit of our much younger and rebellious teenage selves! Enjoy.

Stars In the Morning Light

            I had a dream once. Whether I was in it or not, I don’t quite remember. It seems like it wove itself carefully through my mind, sometimes with my family and sometimes with an ambiguous one, like tendrils of mist that snake slowly through the grass of a cool spring morning. This family-they were always happy, always together, and always doing something incredibly fun despite the fact that they lived alone on a small island. But, right before I woke up, I remembered one last thing. Yes, the family was on the island lake. Yes, they had a very expensive looking motor boat, and, of course, they were all waterskiing from the back of it- every single one of them. It’s kind of ridiculous isn’t it, all the kinds of dreams we can have. I know they’re not real, but isn’t it interesting the things our minds can come up with? They can be frightening, they can be fantastic, and sometimes they can be just plain silly, but I guess what fascinates me the most is that they’re almost always different.

            But as fun as sleep-dreams are, my favorite dreams are the ones I get when I’m awake. I’ve had a good many after 18 years, most of which I remember from when I was young. Oh, the days that I dreamed of becoming a mailman. Whether it was that amazing box with the flag that entranced me or that sweet car, I can’t quite be sure, but now, as I reflect, that seems to be one of my more frightening dreams. But since then, so many more have come and gone: my dream of becoming a cowboy, a veterinarian, an astronaut, and a fireman, my dream of becoming President, my dream to work at NASA, my dream to get into MIT, my dream of making a perfect score on the SAT, and last, but not least, my dream of becoming the ultimate Pokémon master. Ok, I know that last one seems stupid now but when I was ten, it seemed like it had potential.

            Currently, my dream is to become a mechanical engineer and create some device to save the world, which might or might not include the prevention of energy crisis, world hunger, mass famine, weather related disasters, killer bee attacks, and/or polar bear extinction. Now this is just a blue print, but I’m pretty sure that given ten to twenty years I can make it work. Impossible? Is this a dream that will end up like most, forgotten and faded inside a part of me that knows it is nothing but a wish, for that is all dead dreams are, or is it something more, something real? I think it is really up to me to decide, as far as I am concerned. Hopefully, I need not remind any of you of the dreams of explorers and inventors, despots and kings, scientists and athletes; theirs are the ones that have shaped this world and they are the proof that with enough vision and, shall I say it, chutzpa, that any dream can become something more.

            My step-dad, not too long ago, told me he dreamed of something as simple as an installed sprinkler system, but then right afterward he said that it would probably never get done. That happens more and more often, you know; people think of something that only they can see come together, then they’ll get this look in their eye and let out some dream that seems so near yet so incredibly far that they let it slip away. My dad and stepmom, for a while, were planning on opening their own pet kennel. They had the money, the vision, the building layout; they even had the spot picked out and everything. That dream would have come to fruition had it not been for the divorce that broke them apart. I know that dreams must always change because we can never prepare ourselves for what life will throw at us. I think people blink and they find themselves in a dead-end job, a dead-marriage, or even just a plain, old dead-end. Dreams change, but they never have to die. I know we are young and graduating high-school; the possibilities for our futures are unlimited. Today it might be easy to dream of something great, but times will get tough and it is then you must hold on to the dream that once drove you. If you don’t, it will slip away like the stars in the morning light, and every time you wake up you’ll see it again, if not just for a moment, before it is erased again by the realities of life.

            I know I’m no Martin Luther King. Most of my dreams are unusual and farfetched, but I do know that our dreams can have substance. They are important because they hold the promises of our future. But as rich as any of those promises might be, they are all empty if never fully fulfilled. My current dream is ambitious, but I would like to think that all of you have dreams like mine with the same potential and promise of making a difference. If we each strive to see our own dream become the new reality, then, chances are, at least one of us will hit that jackpot and achieve the power to actually solve our energy problems or even get rid of all those pesky Africanized honey bees. They say we are the future; if we never stop, who is to say we can’t be?

             I cherish those few dreams that linger in the waking hours of the morning, dreams like that happy family waterskiing on that smooth island lake. I will never stop dreaming, not until the day I die. I vow to live my life on the wisps between the shadows of sleep and time so that I will never lose sight of the dreams that promise me the sweetest memories and the most resplendent sunsets. Don’t let them slip away. 

"Who Understands Me When I Say This Is Beautiful?"

Hello, everyone! I'm back ready to upload another story. This one is one that is closest and most precious to me. It was inspired by the poem Who Understands Me But Me? by Jimmy Santiago Baca. This story was created not only through this poem, but through many personal experiences as well. I wanted it to be human and real. I wanted it to be deep and mysterious, but relatable. I wrote it originally as part of my book, but now it has become a story of its own. I hope you all love it as much as I do. With that, enjoy.

*changes made June 28, 2012

"Who Understands Me When I Say This Is Beautiful?"

Sometimes as I look across the sea, I think about before, when the world was dark and time stood still. They say the earth cried out, louder than it ever had, but there was no one there to hear it. They say that we were lost. 

But the light came back.

And ever since I was a boy, I’ve heard that story more times than I can count, and still I wonder if I completely understand.  But I couldn’t forget it even if I wanted to.

And as I watch the waves, the words come back and I see it all again. I close my eyes and suddenly his world becomes mine in the morning dawn.

That day, the sound of rain touched him, but it was different.

It called to him, and he could hear every puddle, every river, every drop that slid from the tin roof to the clay flower pots that sat outside his door. But instead of pitters and patters, he heard whispers.

They called his name quietly as he lay in bed, watching what little light there was play upon the ceiling. He tossed and turned as he tried to ignore the still small voices that echoed from the trees to the tops of the eastern mountains.

   

They called until they sounded like one and he knew as he opened his eyes that he had to obey. He peered out the window and that’s when he saw them—small streamlets of water that gathered in the cracks in the pavement. He watched them and was mesmerized by them; they were headed somewhere.  He craned his head in a desperate attempt to follow them, but it was in vain as they ran down the street and out of his view.

He quickly pulled on his dark green gym shorts and his black running shoes, and walked outside. “Ill listen,” he whispered to himself more than anything. No one heard but no one really needed to. He knew it was time.

As he began to run, raindrops pattered gently on his face and trickled down his chin. He could feel every one. And it made him feel more alive because they made him feel like he was part of something bigger. He began to jog slowly at first but as he gained momentum, the rhythm of his legs and arms pulsed with the beat of his heavy heart until every muscle moved together, in perfect syncopation.

He ran until he found the rivulets of water that trickled down the silent streets and alleyways, past squat wooden lean-tos, cheap metal mail bins, and the brick factory where the sick and wounded were kept. His eyes passed from the shanties to the tattered streets; for some reason, beneath the drops of rain, they had never seemed so broken.

They say it hardly rained back then because of the all the smog. Ever since the war began, the gasses from the bombs had drifted like fog across the country, floating across the tops of ponds and hanging from the shutters of the wooden shacks that lined the empty streets. No one ever took the time to know exactly what it was, but it smelt of sulfur and rotten food. It would creep into the cracks in the walls until you could smell it even when you slept.

When he passed the only living trees that grew within the boundaries of the city, a lone line of peach trees, he watched how each raindrop stuck to their delicate, pink blossoms, and as the water sparkled in the light, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to run forever and find a place where even the sulfur couldn’t reach.

He followed the rivulets to the edge of town where decayed grave stones dotted the ruin that was the Outer Rim of what used to be the greatest city in the western hemisphere. The grave stones watched him silently through fallen buildings with names almost as old and faded as those etched upon the granite tomb stones. The rubble of the past lay strewn about the land, filling in the gaps the concrete no longer could. But he had not come to remember.

The rivulets of rainfall pushed their way through empty streets and forbidden pathways, somehow finding each other until they were not rivulets but small streams that flowed toward the eastern mountains. It was miles away but he wasn’t afraid. He was determined to follow them to the end. So together they pushed past the Outer Rim and into the countryside. He barely noticed as civilization passed away and was replaced by wide, spacious wheat fields. Their golden arms waved slowly, as the wind passed between each one, but nevertheless, they waved as one—like a sea of gold that lapped gently against the road. In front of him loomed mountains, green with lush vegetation. They called to him, and he heard. It was all so beautiful but he wasn’t there to enjoy it—not then. He knew he was running to something. But was it something he had lost or something he had always wanted? A part of him hoped with every part of his being that she was at the top of those mountains waiting for him. Just maybe she had been there all along, knowing he would find her there one day. He smiled at the thought, but he knew better.  He wasn’t sure what he would find, but he knew it was waiting.

An hour went by and the mountains drew closer, growing larger by the minute, and the road began to narrow. He knew he was the one running, but it seemed like he was being drawn in.

As the rain began to fall harder than before, the rhythm of his own feet helped him think as he passed through seemingly unending golden oceans with tiny islands that held brick cottages afloat. He thought of his mother and father, his child hood dreams, the war and its victims. He dreamed of their faces, even those he had never seen, and he gave them details so that they seemed to live inside him. They each had a story, a life, a family, and every night he would find them again just so he could look them each in the eye and say that he was sorry.

He looked up at the clouds and he was sure the sun blazed behind them, threatening to seep through any crack at any given moment. The grey seemed determined to hide every inch of blue, every hint that there was something better behind them.  But he knew that it was only time.

No one seemed to believe that one day the war would end—they didn’t even believe that it could anymore.  But he wanted to believe. He had to.

As he neared the eastern mountains, his thoughts turned back to when he was about eight or so, back to the first time he controlled the light. He wandered away from the family campsite to chase a blue jay; he had never seen one before. It was only for a moment, but when he turned back, both the campsite and his parents were gone. He tried to retrace his steps, but it was to no avail. He was lost. He wandered for days through the forest, starving and thirsty, until he pled with the stars. It was night then—how could I forget?—it was night, and he looked up to them because they were the only lights in the darkness. “If I could only borrow just a part of them,” he thought, “my parents could find me.” So he pled with them with the heart of a child, and as he lifted his hand into the sky, their light rained down upon him, like shooting stars, until he wasn't afraid anymore. The search party found him that same night because they had seen the lights in the sky, and when they came together, they all wondered what it could have been. But he knew and could never forget how the light came to him, warmed him, healed him, just because he asked it to. And from that day on, he would always ask and it would always come.

But not anymore. Not for years. Not since the war.

His thoughts drifted to the mountains as they called to him again. They had grown so that they now towered high above him. As he crossed from field to forest, he ran with hundreds of streamlets up into the mountain. They ran apart now, but still together upward toward the same destination. He followed the trail that led him only up into the forest, deeper into the trees and the life. He was the only thing that moved besides the rain that blanketed the shrubs and brush beside his path. He felt like he had been here before. The trail was ancient but its pathways were unlimited and uncounted, the majority untouched. But somehow he knew where to go. Had he dreamed of this place? He couldn’t quite explain the feeling, but he knew that he was so close.

The tall Tamerron pines began to get closer together as the terrain steepened. Never had he smelled air so sweet—it made him want to breathe deeper. Everything contributed, from the pines to the wet earth to the small crimson snapdragons that watched him as he ran by. Like the rain, even the air made him feel stronger and more alive.

Pressing forward faster than ever, he climbed until finally the trees began to thin. But there they reached to the sky almost as if asking for something. He ran until the trail leveled off right before the top of the mountain, and he watched the path curve through the trees until it was out of sight. He stopped to catch his breath and peered out into the forest. It was almost warmer, but how?

Then slowly, almost cautiously, he followed that trail around the bend and could not help but marvel at the sight.  As he lifted his eyes, the trail became grass, and the grass became the water of a small mountain lake that lay hidden between the giant Tamerrons and the shadow of the peak of the mountain. Grass and trees surrounded the water on all sides, except the farthest on the opposite end. The water was so close to the edge he felt that it could burst out at any moment from the mountainside like soup in a broken bowl.

 “Is this the place?” he thought.  Why here? He craned his neck to clouds that stood ominously above him. The lack of trees allowed the rain to fall unobstructed so that the tiny droplets fell harder and faster than ever onto his clothes and skin. They crawled down his chin and fingers and jumped from his nose to rejoin their comrades down below. Or were they brothers?

He always pictured them as prisoners—prisoners locked in an iron cage until they could be held no longer. But maybe they weren’t prisoners at all, he thought, as he stared at the sky but in a different way than he ever had before. Maybe they were sent for something. He closed his eyes and only felt. He hadn’t felt in so long. Then he heard them. “Look," they whispered. He looked at the lake, but it seemed like every other lake that he had seen. “Closer,” they urged him. He looked again and moved closer to the edge where the water delicately touched the thick carpet of green grass that lined the lake. And as he looked, he saw that it didn’t look like water at all! As the raindrops fell upon the lake, it seemed as though they didn’t sink or stop or disappear; instead they danced and jumped and tugged softly at the small branches and lazy mallard ducks that drifted to and fro above the backs of other busy raindrops. He had never seen so much life. And as he watched them, he was filled with wonder because it didn’t matter whether they tugged or twirled or simply moved—it was always together, always as one.

He looked around and saw the streams come from all sides, some from above and others from below, but all ran with one goal, one purpose. They came from every direction just to be a part of the same mountain pond.  He didn’t understand how they all knew, how they were all born with the same desire to be together. They looked so strong that he was sure that if he stepped upon the surface, they would carry and support him. So he did. He stepped out onto the water and walked because he never doubted that he could. And as he walked, he asked himself a single question: What if we were all like drops of rain—caring for each other, making each other strong, and knowing that we can be a part of something so great it seems like it has no end? Even to these raindrops, this pond must seem infinite to them. Together, he thought, there would be no end to the good mankind could do. He looked beneath him at the beings that pushed him further toward the center of the lake, and wondered if they were happy. He hadn’t seen true happiness nor felt it in so long. Tears mixed with rain as he remembered his hate and fear, his pride and selfishness, his fear and bitter loneliness, the war and the death. He remembered them all. “How could we possibly fix everything that we have ruined?” he thought. When so much was unfixable and broken, how could humanity possibly save itself?

Once again, he looked up to the heavens for answers. “How?” he pleaded.  As he spoke, they whispered to him again. “Look,” they said but he didn't understand. He thought he had already seen everything there was to see, so they whispered it a thousand times in a thousand different ways until he finally looked out across the lake where the trees stopped and the sky began. He saw the sky and earth run until they ran together and looked like one solid seem that went forever, undivided and indivisible. And for the first time since the war began, he saw in the distance, past the steely grey, that there were no dark storm clouds—only blue and white and sunbeams of brilliant yellow that pierced through iron, bursting forth from behind all form and color. They shot across the sky reaching for the horizon.

In that moment, he understood that it was the light he had lost so many years ago that had sent those streams to guide him there. So right then and there in the middle of that lonely mountain pond, he raised his hand like he had done so many times before, but this time wanting and waiting. Pleading and hoping. Willing. And as he closed his eyes, the wall of cloud and grey parted and sunlight dripped from the heavens onto his cheeks until it bathed him. It washed right through him and drove deep into his soul. The light poured onto him, surrounding him in warmth and washing away all the tears the pain had caused. The pain was so deep he didn't think anything could ever reach it. But the light was stronger and deeper, so when he let it in, it went straight through, illuminating even the darkest parts of him.

That day he met his anger and his hate, his sadness and despair, his fear and confusion. He spoke with them and let them go, let them wash into the cool, dark pond. And as the soft light of the sun penetrated the cold of skin and soul, he laughed like a child—so hard and so pure—and for the first time in years, sunlight came out of his mouth like the greatest beacon in the night. If only for a moment, there was no darkness on the earth as the world watched light rain from the heavens like shooting stars and remembered, once again, why no one ever had to be afraid.

The war is over now, and that story has become legend. They say he made it all right again, but I sometimes wonder how they can be so sure. Even now, I listen for the raindrops that called him to the eastern mountains. Perhaps, one day I’ll hear them too so they can take me there.

"Did I Show Y'all the Pictures Of the Snow?"

Ok, this one was also written by the duck pond, and it is veeerrrryy abstract. But I dont really care, so I guess it doesnt matter. :) It makes me laugh and I like the images it creates in my mind. I want you all to read it first, and try to figure out what the heck it means and what could have possibly inspired it. It's titled Did I Show Ya'll the Pictures of the Snow?.

“Did I show ya’ll the pictures of the snow?”

He smells like smoke.

Quiet.

Peaceful.

People come to relax, to enjoy the birds, and the scenery.

It’s cooler here.

“That’s your car right thea?”

Birds fly in a circle, carefully in formation, with one red bird in the middle.

“I have some stale crackers I need to bring over here.”

“These are some ooold ducks.”

“Are those pigeons?”

They rise into the air and surround me.

“You know Palal?”

“Who, Darlene’s brother??”

 “He got mad at me cause I was late. How could he get mad at me for being late? Palal is late all the time, and nobody says nothin’ to him.”

“When’s he moving? Next weekend right?”

“Every time I see GameStop on the way to work, I think of him.”

I could walk, but I don’t.

So we watch the birds fly figure eights above the lake.

 So, what did you think? :) Crazy, huh? Well, heres the answer...
I was sitting in the park trying to get new ideas for my book and an elderly black couple sat down next to me. And they just started talking...to each other... to me... they just kept talking. They were really nice, but at first, I was a little annoyed because I walked all the way there just to have some peace and quiet. There were empty benches EVERYWHERE yet they decided to sit next to me. But I started listening to them and writing down different things that they said. They were obviously from the same church and Palal is some guy that they knew there. Whatever is in quotes is something they said- even the title- and the rest is just detail from my perspective. And while we were talking, an enormous flock of birds started to fly in perfect unison above the lake in a giant figure eight. It was such an odd experience...
but I hope you all enjoyed it! (or at least got a kick out of it..) Until next time, carpe diem!!! :)

Who Am I?

This next one is on more of a serious note. I wrote this last year as I was working on my book, and well, this time in my life was very difficult because I had to be by myself almost all the time- from morning until my parents came home from work. But as I was sitting by the duck pond by my house, this is something that just came out. It was meant for me at first but after looking back on it, I saw value in it. I changed some things so that it wouldnt be quite so awkward and personal... :) I like it now, and I hope that those who read it can identify with it and remember a time in their lives when they were looking for who they were. This is called Who Am I?.

Who Am I?

Who am I?? What am I?

Sometimes, I’m not really sure. It hurts to think about it. What really defines me? Is it companionship? Is it power? Is it sex? What about life? Light? Religion? Do my thoughts control me? Are they my master?

Who decides the answer? Who am I? What am I? Am I death? Am I a savior? Am I a God? Or am I nothing? Or everything?

Sometimes I don’t know.

I feel so alone sometimes, so alone it hurts and I feel worthless. But who is to say I am worthless? Who is to say I am defined by the things in side my head, the monsters that creep inside me from the cobwebs of my mind?

They want to win- they want to define me. Everyone wants to define me, but I will not be defined as an object or a feeling or a possession or anything less than I am.

So who am I? What am I?

I am Alex Masterson. And I define myself.  I am ambitious and loving and I love to be in love. I am powerful and I rejoice in my strengths but also my weaknesses. Sometimes a little too much. I can make miracles happen in my life and in the lives of those around me and I don’t need the consent of others to feel like I am doing what is right. I am a child of a living God, that knows me and believes in me. Sometimes even more than I do, myself. I am flawed like everyone else in this world, but somehow together they can make me so much more than I could ever be alone. I want to be better, I must be better because they are worth more than they know.
We all are.

I am a creator and I will be a master of myself one day.

But I am learning control. I told you I would, so I will.

I am learning how to keep my promises.

I am learning how to be patient.

I am learning how to be me.

Because I am worth it.

I want to be free.

Floating On the Wind

Hello again! I have decided to stop procrastinating and start finishing some of the many pieces I have written. It might not be perfect but it's as good as it's going to get for now. I really love this piece because it was only supposed to be a writing excercise but at the end of it all I really loved where I went with it. It almost has more meaning than even I intended. I think it would be a decent picture book, but only time will tell.

Floating On the Wind

He picked up a leaf and touched the rough surface with his hands. He let the tiny bumps and ridges pass beneath his searching fingertips, and he found life there.

Millions of tiny veins ran through it, once reaching and spreading, once pouring life into the farthest leaves of the highest treetops.

“Ask me a question and I’ll tell you a story.” He whispered to the boy quietly.

“How long had it lived for?”

“It lived for a million years, and saw a million sunsets that overlooked a savannah that spread out over a million miles. This leaf was the first and greatest of its kind. But not many know that it saw forever because of time and age.”

“Don’t you think it became wise after living all those years?” The boy asked

“Oh, of course.” The storyteller agreed. “That one leaf knew all the secrets of the universe because it watched and waited for so long.”

“Well, what was it waiting for?”

“Death.” The man replied

“Death? But, why death?”

“He waited for death so that he could be free of the tree that bound it to its branches. He waited for death so that it could fly away into forever.”

“How do you fly to forever? How can I get there?” the boy pleaded.

“Ah, ah, ah- only one question at a time. Think before you speak, and if you ask just the right question, you’ll get just the right answer.”

“Right, sorry..” he said sheepishly. After a few moments deep in thought, he asked a different question.

“What is forever like?”

“It is a place where spring and autumn reign and everyday is beautiful.  Leaves fall but never die, and even the tallest trees never stop growing.” the old man said with a smile.

“How did the leaf get there?” the boy asked again, his eyes now deep and searching.

“When it dropped from the tree, it asked the wind to take it there. The wind said it would, but only on one condition. The leaf had to prove to the wind that it had done three great things to change the world. And if it could, then the wind would take it to forever.” , replied the storyteller.

“‘Do you see that patch of dead grass beneath my tree?’ The leaf asked the wind. ‘There I gave shade to all the weary travelers that ever rested beneath me. Not once did I turn them away or tell them I was too busy. Does selflessness not change the world?’ asked the leaf.

’It does.’ said the wind. ‘That is one.’

’Do you see the many marks on my skin? I have been not only shelter but food to even the smallest insects. I gave them safety and offered them nourishment so that they would do the same for others. I taught by example so that there would be life in abundance across the entire savannah. Does all life not change the world?’ asked the leaf.

‘It does.’ said the wind. ‘That is two.’

‘Do you see that I am dead? I did nothing my entire life but serve the tree where I began. I was alive for him, and I stayed by his side for a million years to make him beautiful and help him grow. I gave him all of me. Does sacrifice not change the world?’ asked the leaf.

‘It does.’ said the wind. ‘That is three.’“

The small boy waited but the ending did not come.

 “So what happened? Did he take him?”

“I don’t know.” the storyteller said with a smile.

“You don’t know?!” he shouted. “How could you not know? It’s your story!"

“Exactly!!” The man exclaimed. “It is my story. And my story ends there. But if you want to know the end so badly, then why don’t you finish it yourself?”

“Look, I don’t think…” the boy began.

“Don’t think.” he whispered softly. “Just answer the questions and the ending will come. Did the wind do as he promised?”

“Um, yes.” The man motioned that he wanted more. The boy didn’t know how he was supposed to finish a story without thinking, so he just…began.

“The wind recognized the leaf because he was the first to pass the test. He was just about to take him to forever, when the leaf shouted, ‘Wait!!’”

“Why did he shout wait?” the old man asked.

“Because he still had one more request before he left his home behind.”

“‘ It was you who asked me to take you on to forever.’ Said the wind. ‘Have you changed your mind?’

‘No.’  said the leaf. ’ I have not changed my mind. I just have one more thing to ask of you before we go.'

‘If it is within my power, it shall be done.’ Said the wind.

‘I want to be remembered so that those that come after me know that they too can change the world. Carve me into rocks that will not fall or crumble so that they will remember me and know that I wait for them in forever.’

‘I cannot, my friend.’ said the wind. ‘That is not within my power. All on this earth must fall and crumble; I cannot change that. But what I can do is this. For a million years, you were the only one of your kind, but now billions of others like you will grow around the globe. They'll follow your example and do as you did to remind us of the life you lived. They will be selfless, give life to the world, and sacrifice everything they are to make the world beautiful. They will teach the world as you did. No longer will you be alone.’”

“That's it.” the old man whispered. Then they stood, and only watched as their leaf too, floated on the wind.

The Mighty Epsilon- The Short Story

Hello everyone! I have been working hard, and I have finally finished this story. I have a different version of it that I told to my sister's story telling class, but I had to cut alot out to make the time requierements. But read, it seemed a little empty as far as details go. I like the story-telling version alot, which is why I don't want to change it or take it off my blog, and besides this version is  veerry different. I made so many changes! But it is done, and as good as I think I can make it. So here it is- The Mighty Epsilon.

                                                                The Mighty Epsilon

As a boy, dream is all I did.

Ms. Mayberry would often ask me why I wasn’t like the other children from the orphanage.

They would play baseball and hopscotch, but not me. I was different.

I loved to dream. I would dream that the night sky would fall like rain, so I could sail into my favorite galaxies. I would dream I was a bird so I could know once and for all, if clouds were actually just really big marshmallows. I would even dream sometimes of the way my mom and dad used to tuck me into bed and kiss me goodnight.

But more than anything, I would dream I had a dog. And every night I would dream of the day he would come to me and be my greatest friend.

I still remember when I told Ms. Mayberry that I wanted a puppy. “But not just any puppy,” I said with a smile, ”I want a white one with black spots and little floppy ears that bend over just right!”

She just looked down at me over her horn-rimmed glasses and said “You know animals aren’t allowed in the orphanage.” Puzzled, I asked myself what that had to do with black and white puppies with floppy ears.

“It’s alright”, I exclaimed, “If YOU won’t get me one, I’ll just wait until the day he comes to me and jumps right through my bedroom window!”

Then she tenderly stroked my cheek and said “Honey, that doesn’t even make sense. The windows are too high, and besides, dogs don’t jump through windows.”

I didn’t say anything so she simply sighed and left me there, but I didn’t mind that she didn’t understand.  I knew he would come, but I just didn’t know that he would come that very night.

I was in my little room about to get under the covers when something dashed right through the open window. And I knew exactly who it was.

I crawled to the foot of my bed and there smiling back up at me was a little white dog with black spots and floppy ears that bent over just right.

“I knew you would come.” I said. “What took you so long?”

“What makes you think I’m late?” he asked, cocking his head to one side like most dogs do.

Then I jumped to the floor and gathered him in my arms. I had waited so long for him, and finally he was there beside me. I set him on my bed, looked deep into his eyes, and said “I always knew that you could talk.”  

“Do you like to dream?” He asked me. “I LOVE to dream”, I said.

Then he laughed so hard, I think the room got brighter and he began to sing:

“I am the king of dreams and I’ll show you everything!

The autumn leaves and the summer rain,

The sweetest songs and the strangest games,

The burning dusk and the breaking dawn,

I am the mighty Epsilon.”

It was beautiful really the way he sang. I wondered to myself if I had heard it before, but I quickly shook the thought away. How could I have?

“So, you’ll help me dream of anything?” I asked

 “Of course!” he cried out, “But just as long as you have a box.”

“A box?” I asked intrigued. “What kind of box?”

“Oh any box!” he said. “A small box, a big box, a tall box, a thin box, even greens ones with red polka dots. Any box will do.”

So I rummaged through my room, and quickly found a box about the size of my hand.

“Can we dream of oceans?” I begged. “I’ve never seen the ocean.”

“Just look.” He whispered. So I looked inside the box and there we were! Captains of the largest ship I‘d ever seen with masts that touched the clouds. We sailed all night across the oceans to the ends of the earth where the moon was so large and the water so clear, you could see the seashells and shipwrecks that dot the ocean floor. Then in an instant, that massive ship shrunk until it was a simple wooden raft, and there underneath the moonlight, I dipped my fingertips into the cool water while I watched the ripples catch the waves and disappear into the deep. I think it was right before sleep overcame me and the box slid from my hands that I heard him whisper, “All my life, boy, I’ve been waiting for you.”

Every night we dreamt together. I would find a box, and then we would look inside and dream of things that I had never dreamt I could dream of! We dreamt of dangerous jungles and fierce dragons, one-legged pirates and even castles with bathrooms larger than the orphanage itself! One night we even swam through space, past the moon and the stars, until we had found every planet in the universe. There’s about 3 gagillion. Believe me, we counted.

Then one night, I asked him a question that had been on my mind for some time.

“Epsilon, tonight can we dream of something special?”

“Like what?”he asked gently. A large box, almost larger than me, sat overturned on the foot of my bed. He rested his head on his spotted paws, and by the look in his eyes, I got the strange feeling that he already knew what I wanted to ask.

Unable to contain myself any longer, I blurted out, “Can we dream your favorite dream?”

He only laughed like he did the first day I met him and sang out his song.

“I am the king of dreams and I’ll show you everything!

The autumn leaves and the summer rain,

The sweetest songs and the strangest games,

The burning dusk and the breaking dawn,

I am the mighty Epsilon.”

Then he whispered, “Look”. So I looked inside and suddenly we were at the foot of a mountain on the edge of a plateau. As I craned my head upwards toward the heavens, it seemed to never end. It rose up higher and higher until it disappeared behind the clouds of a purple sky mixed with shades of blue I had never seen before. And as I walked to the side of the cliff, the sun came up and a sea of golden light splashed across my face. I marveled at the beauty of it all and wondered how and why it would travel so far just to warm the coldest parts of me.

For years we dreamt like that, imagining things I had never seen, creating the impossible. Sometimes we would even dream our favorite dream, that sunrise at the foot of the mountain, and we would watch it over and over again.

And I would ask him “Why a box?”, but Epsilon would never say. 

Then one day when I was old enough, we left that orphanage and we never went back. We left to see the world and it wasn’t long until I found myself at the foot of that same mountain, only this time it wasn’t a dream. That day I saw a real sunrise, and as I fell to my knees, I realized that all the dreams that we had dreamed were not only possibilities, but realities.

“Epsilon, how come you never told me?” I said.

He simply cocked his head to one side like most dogs do, and said “You never asked.”

So I cried out, “Epsilon, show me true joy, show me true sorrow! I want to know the world!”

And he said, “My boy, I’ll show you everything!”

So we dreamt of a better world: a world without hunger, a world without war, a world where everyone dreamt like kings and anything was possible.

We travelled to cities and countries throughout the globe, and we showed people kindness. We taught them to care for one another, and stand up for the best and most beautiful things.

We showed the world our favorite dream, and it became a reality.

But one day, I came home and cried out his name, “Epsilon!”, and I waited for that song I had heard so many times before.

But it never came.

Epsilon, my greatest friend, was gone.

I cried that day. But I didn’t cry for long because I realized that he had taught me that I never needed a box to see and feel and make the most magnificent things. And I know now that there is no limit to the dreams that can come true.

Even today, he roams the world in search of other little girls and boys that are waiting for him to jump right through their bedroom window. They’ll gather him in their arms and they'll say “I knew that you would come! I always knew that you could talk!”

And sometimes if I try hard enough, I can still hear him sing.

Satan and Cindy

Hello everyone! Once again I have gotten quite behind in my posts but I have been doing alot of work and I found new pieces that I forgot I had even written. They arnt anything amazing, but I hope you like them. Each is veery different from the other, but each is special to me in a different way. So without further ado, I will introduce them.

Ok, this one is called Satan and Cindy. I wrote this as a script for a SNL skit. My English 4 class decided to make our own episode of SNL, and this was one that we recorded. My sis laura actually played Cindy and did an amazing job by the way. This is a combination of old SNL skits with a satan character(played by WIll Ferrell) and a scene from one of the Bill and Ted movies, but of course I put my own spin on it all. I still feel its hilarious but maybe its just cause it brings back the memories...but yall can tell me what you think.

Satan and Cindy

A little girl, Cindy, dressed in pajamas is getting ready for bed. She kneels down about to pray. Suddenly, a very finely dressed man with slick hair walks out of the bedroom closet.

Satan- Hello Cindy.

He speaks coolly. The little girl stares back in shock.

Cindy- Who are you?

Satan- Me? Why I….am Satan! (He throws back his head and gives an evil, but very cliché laugh.)

Cindy- Who?

Satan- What, are you serious? You really don’t know who I am? (Girl shakes her head “no”. She is obviously confused. Satan presses against his temples thinking and frustrated.)

Satan- Ughh…I don’t know. You’ve heard of the Bible- I’m in there somewhere.

Cindy- Jesus!? (Her face lights up.)

Satan- NO!! (He yells –she frowns.) Not him. I’m the bad one. (Satan is obviously struggling to keep his cool.)

Cindy- Judas?

Satan- You know, maybe it doesn’t matter who I am. (He sits her down on the bed.) It’s why I’m here.

She slowly lifts up a stuffed plush animal, which he quickly bats out of her hand.

Satan- No! Focus! I am here…for your eternal soul! (He laughs again maliciously.)

Cindy- Why?

Satan- (exasperated) I don’t know. Because I collect them for some reason. It’s just what I do. Now, are we quite finished with the questions? (He begins to speak gently. He sits on the bed, holds out a contract, and puts his arm around her.)

Satan- Are you going to give me your soul or not?

Enter guardian angel. He is holding a juice box.

Angel- Cindy, I have your jui…

When he sees them, he stops mid-word and drops the juice box. Satan quickly removes his arm and puts the contract behind his back.

Satan- I swear it’s not what it looks like.

Angel- You! You’re here to take her soul aren’t you!

Satan- No! (The angel gives him a look.) Okay, maybe a little. Wait…who are you? And what gives you the right to interrupt a very important business transaction.

Angel- I am her guardian angel. (He says this importantly.)

Satan- What? (He looks at Cindy) What did you do to get one so….annoying.

Cindy- I saved a family of five from a burning building. (She says cutely.)

Satan- Dang. I’m impressed.

Angel- Don’t be. She still thinks I’m Santa and her parents think I’m an imaginary friend.

Satan- Wow, um-can we just finish this.

Angel- Okay, you want a soul? If you can beat Cindy at just two games, her soul is all yours.

Satan- Really? That’s all?( He looks at Cindy and she gives an innocent smile.)

           -Deal. (They shake hands)

Satan- So little girl, at which game would you like to lose first?

Cindy- Battleship! It’s my favorite- the ultimate game of naval strategy! (She smiles wide and holds out the game.)

Satan- Indeed….(Satan looks at her concerned.) but I should warn you, I have played that game before and I never lose.

As they begin to set up the game, the camera pans to the clock. It changes five minutes ahead, and pans back down to the pair playing the game. The angel watches. He walks over to Satan’s side. He is sweating profusely.

Angel- How’s it goin’ big guy. (All his ships are huddled together in the middle of the board and almost all are completely filled with red pegs.)

Satan- I don’t want to talk about it.

Cindy- B4

Satan yells suddenly overturning both the game board and the table they are playing at.

Cindy- I win!

Angel- Wow. I knew she would win but…I didn’t think anyone could lose that fast.

Satan- Shut up! We play my games now! Next is my personal favorite…War! (He pulls out a deck of cards.)

           -It’s like risk, only with playing cards. (He smiles, amused at himself.)

Angel- No. No, it’s not.

Satan- Will you shut up?!

Angel- Fine…(He backs away. Satan uprights the table and separates the deck. He gives half to Cindy and keeps the other.)

Satan- And…go.

They both flip the top card. Satan has a 2 and Cindy has a face card.

Satan- Hmm….beginner’s luck. (He shoves the cards over to her.)

They play 3 more rounds- Satan gets three more 2s and Cindy gets all face cards. Finally, they both flip identical cards.

Satan- Aha! Now it’s war, you little brat!! Are you scared, yet?! (They each put three cards face down.)

Satan- and…go. (They both flip over a card. Satan has a 2 and Cindy has an ace.)

Satan- What the?! (Satan flips over his three cards and they are all 2s, even though he has already played four 2s.) Are you freaking kidding me?!

Angel- Is that another win I hear?

Satan- NO!! One more. Rock, paper, scissors right now!

They play a few rounds in quick succession and Satan loses them all.

Satan- (defeated) Forget it. You win. I’m done. I hate this job.

Angel- Awww, come one. Don’t feel too bad. She’s really smart for her age and really, really lucky.

Satan- No. I don’t want to talk to you anymore. I’m leaving.

Satan heads to the closet.

Cindy- But…

Satan- No. I hate you. Get away from me. (He shuts himself inside the closet almost as if in a temper tantrum.)

Angel- Geez. Someone is a bad loser. Oh well. What do you want to do now Cindy?

Cindy- Tea? (She holds up a play tea set.)

Angel- I couldn’t have said it better myself.

 

The Mighty Epsilon

Hello everyone! I know it has been a long time since my last post, but I just want to be sure that the work I post is high quality, you know? So this is a little piece that I've been wanting to write for a long time, but I just havn't had the time to put down on paper. Laura had to teach someone how to tell a story, and bring them to class, so I volunteered. I knew that would be the perfect opportunity and the perfect excuse to get me to write it. With alot of coaching from Laura, I was able to simplify it so that only the best parts were included and I love it like this. Now that I've told it as a story, reading it almost doesn't do it justice but I suppose it'll have to do...unless you know me, and in that case I would love to tell it to you! So with that, here it is. Enjoy. :)

                                                                       The Mighty Epsilon

As a boy, dream is all I did.

Ms. Mayberry would often ask me why I wasn’t like the other children from the orphanage.

They would play baseball and hopscotch, but not me. I was different.

I loved to dream. I would dream that the walls were made of marshmallows so I could eat right through them and run to every toy store in town. I would dream I was a bird so I could fly into the sky and never come back. I would even dream sometimes that my parents were still alive and that we were happy.

But more than anything, I would dream I had a dog. But not just any dog. A white one with black spots and floppy ears-but not too floppy. Every night I would dream of the day he would jump right through my bedroom window and be my greatest friend.

One day, I even told Ms. Mayberry. “I want a puppy!” I said. “But not just any puppy, a white one with black spots and little floppy ears that bend over just right.”

She just looked down at me over her glasses and said “You know animals aren’t allowed in the orphanage.”

“Well, if YOU won’t get me one”, I exclaimed, “I’ll just wait until the day he comes to me and jumps right through my bedroom window!"

Then she tenderly stroked my cheek and said “Honey, that doesn’t even make sense.”

And she left me there, but I didn’t mind that she didn’t understand. I knew he would come, but I just didn’t know that he would come that very night.

I was in my little room about to get under the covers when something dashed right through the open window. And I knew exactly who it was.

I crawled to the foot of my bed and there smiling back up at me was a little white dog with black spots and floppy ears that bent over just right.

“I knew you would come.” I said. “What took you so long?”

“What makes you think that I’m late?” he asked, cocking his head to one side like most dogs do.

Then I jumped to the floor and gathered him in my arms. I set him on my bed and told him “I always knew that you could talk.”

Do you like to dream? He asked me.

 I LOVE to dream, I said.

So he began to sing:

“I am the king of dreams and I’ll show you everything!

The autumn leaves and the summer rain,

The sweetest songs and the strangest games,

The burning dusk and the breaking dawn,

I am the mighty Epsilon.” 

“Can we dream your favorite dream?” I asked him.

“Of course!” he cried out, “As long as you have a box.”

“A box?” I asked intrigued. “What kind of box?”

“Oh any box!” he said. “A small box, a big box, a tall box, a thin box, even greens ones with red polka dots. Any box.”

So I rummaged through my room, and found a box about the size of my hand. “Look”, he whispered.

So I looked inside and suddenly we were at the foot of a mountain, the tallest mountain I had ever seen, on the edge of a plateau. And as I walked to side of the cliff, the sun came up and a sea of golden light splashed across my face. I marveled at the beauty of it all and wondered how and why it would travel so far just to warm the coldest parts of me.

Every night we dreamt together. We would dream of all kinds of things! We dreamt of jungles and dragons, kingdoms and pirates, oceans and galaxies. Sometimes we would even dream our favorite dream- that sunrise at the foot of the mountain. And we would watch it over and over again.

And I would ask him “Why a box?”, but Epsilon would never say.

Then one day when I was old enough, we left that orphanage and we never went back. We left to see the world and it wasn’t long until I found myself at foot of that same mountain, only that time it wasn’t a dream. And that day I saw a real sunrise, and as I fell to my knees, I realized that all the dreams that we had dreamed were not only possibilities, but realities.

 “Epsilon, how come you never told me?” I said.

He simply cocked his head to one side like most dogs do, and said “You never asked.”

So I pleaded, “Show me true joy, show me true sorrow! Epsilon, I want to know the world!”

Then he looked into my eyes and said, “Boy, I’ll show you everything!”

We dreamt of a better world. A world without hunger, a world without war. And we dreamt like that for years.

He made the world shine through me and our dreams became reality.

But one day, I came home and cried out his name, “Epsilon!”, and I waited for that song I had heard so many times before.

But it never came.

Epsilon, my greatest friend, was gone.

And I cried that day but I didn’t cry for long because I realized that he had taught me to dream without a box. He had taught me that I could dream of anything, and make it my reality.

Even now I’m sure he roams the world, looking for other little girls and boys that are just waiting for him to jump right through their bedroom window so that they can say “I knew that you would come! I always knew that you could talk!”

And if I try hard enough, I can still hear him sing,

“I am the king of dreams and I’ll show you everything!

The autumn leaves and the summer rain,

The sweetest songs and the strangest games,

The burning dusk and the breaking dawn,

I am the mighty Epsilon.”

Black and White

Hello everyone!!! I am very excited to begin my journey into the world of blogging! I have my baby sister Laura to thank for this(ok shes like 20 but shes still a baby to me!). But I hope to be able to post my work here- I love the abstract and farfetched, the bizarre and the beautiful. I love to dream and honestly most the ideas that I get for my pieces are from dreams themselves. But I hope at least something I have written or will write can inspire you, inspire you to be better, live better, love better. I hope it helps you see beauty in things you hadn't thought of before. Together lets dream like kings and learn to make even what you cant see a reality. Of course, I always want to know any/all opinions of my work. Dont worry-I can take it. :) Today, I want to post a poem I wrote called Black and White. After writing it in English, I translated it, and now I think I like it even better in Spanish. But I'll let you all be the judge. The words in each are just a little different. So here it is in English and in Spanish. I hope you all like it!!

Black and White

Sometimes we live in black and white

Out of touch, out of mind, out of feeling and sight.

We stay within the boundaries. We stay in the lines,

Keeping to the ordinary, remaining confined.

A life without color, a life without change

Is a waste of potential- boring, mundane.

But with the birth of a child are born new colors and hues;

The most beautiful greens and the deepest of blues.

New birth gives life color which reminds us each day

That change is a miracle in so many ways.

Just think for a moment of how one color, lets say… green

With a touch of blue and yellow becomes aquamarine.

With each color we add and each one that is mixed

The possibilities are endless- not limited, not fixed.

And as all the colors dance one with another,

We see that life is something glorious.

With the birth of one man, because of just one day,

A million lives will change and the colors shine in new ways.

The day you were born, the world changed because you took away the rules
and took away the limits.

No longer black and white.

You added color to the world and made the colors

dance in ways no one had ever seen before.

It was one day, but it changed a million lives.

And that is why each morning before I wake up beneath

the light of the fading stars,

I celebrate the lives you have painted,

the sunrise you have made,

and I remember how, before and forever, you have made the colors dance.

Blanco y Negro

A veces vivimos en blanco y negro,

Fuera de los cinco sentidos.

Nos quedamos dentro de los límites, dentro de las líneas,

Siempre al lado de lo ordinario, siempre parte de lo contenido.

Una vida sin color y una vida sin cambio

Es un desperdicio de potencial- aburrido, mundano.

Pero con el nacimiento de un niño, nuevos colores se nacen.

Verdes y dorados hermosos, amarillos y azules profundos.

Un nuevo nacimiento da colores a la vida, colores que nos recuerda cada día

Que el cambio es un milagro en tantas maneras.

Piensa, por un momento, en un color- digamos…verde.

Si le agrego un poco amarillo y azul, el verde se vuelve aguamarina.

Por cada color que se puede agregar, por cada uno que se puede mezclar

Cualquier color en cualquier momento puede despojarse de sus límites, librarse de sus reglas.

Y cuando bailan los colores unos con otros,

Vemos que la vida es algo glorioso, un don de Dios y de nuestras madres.

A causa del nacimiento de un hombre, por solo un día,

Un millón de vidas cambiarán y los colores brillan en nuevas maneras.

El día que naciste, cambiaste todo porque quitaste las reglas
y quitaste los límites.

El blanco y el negro dejaron de ser.

Agregaste color a la vida y hiciste q bailaran los colores en maneras que nadie jamás había visto. Era un día, pero cambió el mundo. Y por eso, cada mañana antes de despertar debajo de la luz de las estrellas invisibles,

celebro las vidas que has pintado,

el amanecer que me has dado,

y recuerdo como, antes y para siempre, has hecho que bailaran los colores.