Miracle

Stars

I Wish

There you go  

OMG STOP HE LIKES ME TOO

HE LIKES ME

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

skkslsldksnhdjsjussnbsb

For those of you who haven't listened to Epic, go listen to it, especially the ocean saga.

For those of you who haven't listened to Epic, go listen to it, especially the ocean saga.

I'm desperate for book recommendations.

And for once I need fantasy, not sci-fi.

I need the grand, sweeping epic fantasy that everyone is talking about but I haven't read yet.

Please help me.

I am so smooth. I mean yes obvious and maybe a little obnoxious, but…

Tell me that wasn’t smooth. 

I just drew a pretty stinking good pineapple in Spanish class. (I didn’t have a reference so it’s kinda shabby lol)

Also one of the bio teachers here lost her snake and is paying $75 to whoever finds it and brings it back to her

bro my tablet has a huge crack across the entire screen now

i literally almost cried this morning because of it because i dropped it face-down last night and it wasn't there them, but suddenly it is now

also, im making a kandi purse, and if you don't know what that is, then look it up, because im not gonna explain it

but i brought the panel im currently working on to school so i could work on it during my free time, and people keep TOUCHING IT IT'S SO ANNOYING

i can't even finish it until i go to the store to get more beads though but i can't go to the store because my room is "dirty" (fun fact: it's not)

i have therapy after school but i genuinely need it now, because i'm overstimulated, its hot in here, and i have a headache

i genuinely might cry

whoooo hoooooo

APHSPAUNH UGH AND MY STUPID KEYBOARD WONT WOrK

Oh! Hi guys!

I'm back!  

I was at a sleepover with some friends who COULD NOT stop talking about Harry Potter (which I have not read) For more that 25 minutes at a time XD

In other news, I had a lil panic attack last night which wasn't fun, but I'm better now.

I STARTED HUNGER GAMES FINALLY!!!

I'M LOVING IT SO FAR!!  

I'm on page 162, and want to be done by this time tomorrow  

I hope Y'all have a great rest of your day!

Love Y'all

~ Stick

It's a bittersweet sort of night. There are lots of reasons, but I'll share one of them here.

So...okay back up. The area I live in is very much an older place. There are lots of old houses, and well...people who've been living in them for three times as long as I've been alive. (Yes, we all have preassigned assignments for funerals) (joking aside though...it's sad)

Anyway, I'm friends with a lot of older couples and people. 

Back up again. To those who aren't a part of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, you've probably heard at least something about missions and missionaries. It's pretty well known that most 19 year old boys in our church go on missions, and a lot of girls too. But what isn't as well known is that we also have senior missionaries. Wonderful older couples who, instead of enjoying a peaceful retirement, choose to leave their homes and serve the Lord in a foreign country, sometimes learning new languages too.

Back up again. When I was maybe...uh...5? When I was younger, my grandparents went on one. I didn't notice it very much, since they live pretty far away from me, so I really only see them a few times a year. When I was a little older, they did another one.

Then 2 years ago, a couple in my ward went. But it wasn't just people I vaguely knew, it was people I honestly feel closer to than my actual grandparents. I grew up fishing in their pond, their granddaughter is still one of my best friends, and I've spent so many hours at their house. They're so kind and loving, and suddenly they were gone for an entire year. 

And tonight...

Well, it feels like I'm losing a pair of grandparents for the 4th time. I know they'll be back, and it isn't like they're dying. But...wow. They're both retired English professors, and we can just talk for hours about whatever. They have horses that I take care of whenever they go out of town. I didn't realize how much I relied on them until we went over there tonight and talked for about 2 1/2 hours and...well, they fly out tomorrow. 

Anyway, it's a little melancholy and a little beautiful and a lot of other things, too.

ALSO monstrous storytelling SU aside, I'm trying to memorize Heartbreak Hotel because we start choreo for it on Tuesday, and half the lyrics are basically saying I'm so lonely I could die...and it's so overdramatic because, y'know, it's Elvis, but scudding stars and slugs above it's hitting me  

Ahhhh yeah life is mostly good. How are you lovely people?

One family.

Ok I also put this in my creator's corner, but I like it. It's written from the perspective of a prisoner of war (in my mind, during the American Revolutionary War, since it was learning about that that made me write it.

In the Ship:

I am surrounded by death; I breathe it in; it is smeared on my face and my arms. It is in my food, in my drink. It is in the smell that never leaves. It is in the darkness of a place that has never seen the sun, and never will. I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever see the sun again. I don’t think I will. I remember, when I was younger, my brother got smallpox. My mama all but kicked me out of the house, trying to keep me from catching it. It worked. I wonder what she’d think to see me here, now, covered in the oozing blisters. 

There are so many ways to pop a blister. You never really notice it, when you only have one or two. But when there are dozens of them…you can press your nail against it, neatly slicing the skin on top and allowing the pus to trickle out in a smooth  line. Or you can pinch the edges, putting pressure onto it until all at once it bursts, the yellow fluid splattering out over your hand. Or you can rip the skin from the top, leaving a small puddle of goo with nothing to hold it there. It’s nice, the ability to pop my own blisters. They used to keep us in shackles. Then there were too many of us, and they decided it was too much work to take them off the corpses. I wanted to fight when they took mine off. I started to stand and fell, right on my face. It was a long time before I had the energy to sit up again…

There is a rat gnawing on my toe. I didn’t realize it was my toe, at first. There are so many corpses, I sometimes forget I’m not one of them. Sometimes have trouble telling the different feet apart. I’m…I’m not one of them. Mama once told me that all soldier boys go to Heaven, on account of their going through Hell every day they were alive. And this boat, this is Hell. So if I were dead, I wouldn’t be here anymore. The rat is still gnawing on my toe. There’s a lot more blood, now. Scritch, scratch. Little rodent teeth grinding against my bone. I think that it should hurt. Doesn’t it hurt? I don’t think it hurts. When I was a boy, I stubbed my toe. Nearly cried, too. Now I don’t have any more toe to stub, but I don’t think I can cry. Scritch, scratch. The rat is looking at me now. Its eyes are so black. Nothing should have black eyes. Eyes are how you can tell something’s alive, only not with rats. Rats are dead, even while they still walk around.

But then, I guess us soldiers are the same way. So maybe we should be the ones with black eyes. We walk around long after we're dead. And then we remember, and our hearts stop beating. I remember the first corpse I ever saw. It was only a year ago. Was it really only a year ago? There have been so many, now. It didn’t have black eyes. It was a boy, barely 15 and about as stupid as I was. Both of us. We joined up the same day, thinking we were saving our families. All it took was one bullet. One bullet to his head, and he dropped. His eyes were brown, I think. I didn’t realize he was dead until I saw his eyes. Eyes are where the life is. Mama used to say that she fell in love with Papa the first time she saw his eyes. I almost wish I had a mirror. I wonder if my eyes are still alive, or if I’m only a corpse with a beating heart. Scritch, scratch. The rat is leaving. It must not be hungry anymore. I’m not hungry, either. The bread they threw in last night is next to me, in a puddle of excrement. Mine, or another corpse’s? I don’t know. I can’t tell. 

Maybe that’s how we’re fighting back. We’re stinking up their ships. The wood down here is all stained a deep red, nearly black. Some of it is completely warped out of shape. They’ll never be able to use this boat for anything but prisoners. Or corpses. Which are we? I can’t quite remember.

It doesn’t smell anymore. I don’t know why. It used to smell so bad, my eyes would water every breath I took. When the guards come, with water or looking for corpses, they still cover their faces. One of them vomited when he came down. They never cleaned it up. It’s still on the floor. Some of it splattered on my leg. But it’s their fault it smells so bad; they can’t tell which of us are dead, and which ones aren’t. I’m not dead. But the men next to me are. One of them died three days ago. They still throw him bread. Bread isn’t going to help him. A rat ate his eye, though, so maybe they aren’t sure. It’s hard to tell, without his eye. I watched the whole thing, though, so I know. I saw that his eyes were dead before I saw the rat climb up his shoulder. It wasn’t my rat; this one was smaller. A lot smaller. It was just the right size that, once it finished with his eye, it could crawl into the socket and sleep, tail hanging down the man’s bloody cheek.

I wonder if my rat will do that when I am dead. Or maybe before. I don’t have many toes left for it, you see. Poor thing. I wouldn’t want it going hungry. Maybe the guards should throw bread to the rats; Lord knows they’ll live longer than we will.

Lord…Lord knows…I hope the Lord will not be angry with me for missing church on the Sabbath. He will understand, won’t He? Mama always said He understood all things. But I don’t think the Lord ever went to Hell. I don’t think He’s ever been to this ship. I’m glad He hasn’t. In all those paintings, He looked like such a sweet little baby. This is not a place God should see. 

My rat is back. It’s on my stomach now. It’s a good thing I don’t have a shirt. Fabric doesn’t taste as good as meat, see, and I wouldn’t want the rat going hungry.

I would like to see the sun before I go. Mostly, though, I’d like to see my Mama. I think I mostly joined to see her proud smile.

I’d like to see that smile again.

Ok I also put this in my creator's corner, but I like it. It's written from the perspective of a prisoner of war (in my mind, during the American Revolutionary War, since it was learning about that that made me write it.

In the Ship:

I am surrounded by death; I breathe it in; it is smeared on my face and my arms. It is in my food, in my drink. It is in the smell that never leaves. It is in the darkness of a place that has never seen the sun, and never will. I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever see the sun again. I don’t think I will. I remember, when I was younger, my brother got smallpox. My mama all but kicked me out of the house, trying to keep me from catching it. It worked. I wonder what she’d think to see me here, now, covered in the oozing blisters. 

There are so many ways to pop a blister. You never really notice it, when you only have one or two. But when there are dozens of them…you can press your nail against it, neatly slicing the skin on top and allowing the pus to trickle out in a smooth  line. Or you can pinch the edges, putting pressure onto it until all at once it bursts, the yellow fluid splattering out over your hand. Or you can rip the skin from the top, leaving a small puddle of goo with nothing to hold it there. It’s nice, the ability to pop my own blisters. They used to keep us in shackles. Then there were too many of us, and they decided it was too much work to take them off the corpses. I wanted to fight when they took mine off. I started to stand and fell, right on my face. It was a long time before I had the energy to sit up again…

There is a rat gnawing on my toe. I didn’t realize it was my toe, at first. There are so many corpses, I sometimes forget I’m not one of them. Sometimes have trouble telling the different feet apart. I’m…I’m not one of them. Mama once told me that all soldier boys go to Heaven, on account of their going through Hell every day they were alive. And this boat, this is Hell. So if I were dead, I wouldn’t be here anymore. The rat is still gnawing on my toe. There’s a lot more blood, now. Scritch, scratch. Little rodent teeth grinding against my bone. I think that it should hurt. Doesn’t it hurt? I don’t think it hurts. When I was a boy, I stubbed my toe. Nearly cried, too. Now I don’t have any more toe to stub, but I don’t think I can cry. Scritch, scratch. The rat is looking at me now. Its eyes are so black. Nothing should have black eyes. Eyes are how you can tell something’s alive, only not with rats. Rats are dead, even while they still walk around.

But then, I guess us soldiers are the same way. So maybe we should be the ones with black eyes. We walk around long after we're dead. And then we remember, and our hearts stop beating. I remember the first corpse I ever saw. It was only a year ago. Was it really only a year ago? There have been so many, now. It didn’t have black eyes. It was a boy, barely 15 and about as stupid as I was. Both of us. We joined up the same day, thinking we were saving our families. All it took was one bullet. One bullet to his head, and he dropped. His eyes were brown, I think. I didn’t realize he was dead until I saw his eyes. Eyes are where the life is. Mama used to say that she fell in love with Papa the first time she saw his eyes. I almost wish I had a mirror. I wonder if my eyes are still alive, or if I’m only a corpse with a beating heart. Scritch, scratch. The rat is leaving. It must not be hungry anymore. I’m not hungry, either. The bread they threw in last night is next to me, in a puddle of excrement. Mine, or another corpse’s? I don’t know. I can’t tell. 

Maybe that’s how we’re fighting back. We’re stinking up their ships. The wood down here is all stained a deep red, nearly black. Some of it is completely warped out of shape. They’ll never be able to use this boat for anything but prisoners. Or corpses. Which are we? I can’t quite remember.

It doesn’t smell anymore. I don’t know why. It used to smell so bad, my eyes would water every breath I took. When the guards come, with water or looking for corpses, they still cover their faces. One of them vomited when he came down. They never cleaned it up. It’s still on the floor. Some of it splattered on my leg. But it’s their fault it smells so bad; they can’t tell which of us are dead, and which ones aren’t. I’m not dead. But the men next to me are. One of them died three days ago. They still throw him bread. Bread isn’t going to help him. A rat ate his eye, though, so maybe they aren’t sure. It’s hard to tell, without his eye. I watched the whole thing, though, so I know. I saw that his eyes were dead before I saw the rat climb up his shoulder. It wasn’t my rat; this one was smaller. A lot smaller. It was just the right size that, once it finished with his eye, it could crawl into the socket and sleep, tail hanging down the man’s bloody cheek.

I wonder if my rat will do that when I am dead. Or maybe before. I don’t have many toes left for it, you see. Poor thing. I wouldn’t want it going hungry. Maybe the guards should throw bread to the rats; Lord knows they’ll live longer than we will.

Lord…Lord knows…I hope the Lord will not be angry with me for missing church on the Sabbath. He will understand, won’t He? Mama always said He understood all things. But I don’t think the Lord ever went to Hell. I don’t think He’s ever been to this ship. I’m glad He hasn’t. In all those paintings, He looked like such a sweet little baby. This is not a place God should see. 

My rat is back. It’s on my stomach now. It’s a good thing I don’t have a shirt. Fabric doesn’t taste as good as meat, see, and I wouldn’t want the rat going hungry.

I would like to see the sun before I go. Mostly, though, I’d like to see my Mama. I think I mostly joined to see her proud smile.

I’d like to see that smile again.

Ugh, Jerkface. He did NOT have to do Spensa like that. 

Also there’s a girl at my school who literally looks exactly like how I imagine Kimmalyn

GUYS IDK WHAT TO GET MY GIRLFRIEND FOR VALENTINES DAY HELP

GUYS IDK WHAT TO GET MY GIRLFRIEND FOR VALENTINES DAY HELP

GUYS IDK WHAT TO GET MY GIRLFRIEND FOR VALENTINES DAY HELP

Happy Single Person appreciation day all ya single pringles! and happy Valentine's Day to the rest of ya'll!

Ah, yes, learning how to interact with leaders and set up times for things- I fear when I have to set my own doctor’s appointments.

I don't fear getting married, I don't fear having a life, I don't fear death, I don't fear old age, but I fear setting my own doctor's appointments on the phone. Or even by text! I am the absolute worst and setting specific times and dates for specific things when it's just me and another person doing it when I have not done the same exact thing with the same person at least a few times.

Setting dates for things is terrifying. Mostly because talking to professionals on phones is scary.

Woah you're a cat O.o

hhehheheheheheheheheheh- not my immature mind kicking in

hhehheheheheheheheheheh- not my immature mind kicking in

hhehheheheheheheheheheh- not my immature mind kicking in

hhehheheheheheheheheheh- not my immature mind kicking in

hhehheheheheheheheheheh- not my immature mind kicking in

hhehheheheheheheheheheh- not my immature mind kicking in