[Wind]

I have, in the past, posted stories here in this corner to accommodate for my telling everyone just how much I love to write. I haven't always been ever-persistent, though I believe that to be the side-effect of my reasoning; up until now, I had no other reason to post stories, other than the ill-suited desire for attention. To drive my point home, I will quote one of the most respected members here:

Confidence is silent, insecurities are loud.

He is correct in that, attempting to explain actions is not as effective compared to acting. RVCA knows I have been a brat in the past, so he and others will also understand what I'm trying to say =]

I have prepared something of a start-up note on my new-found confidence. I hope it finds you well!
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A Good Question

Yesterday, I thought the belt-loops looked beautiful. They were round like eyes staring up at me with silent animosity, dragging me down hallways of other belts and how each has a metal pin to hold all the rest in place; completing the cycle of holding up pockets and tightening faces. The bar above my hanging clothes wasn’t strong enough, so I tied the knot stronger.

The leather would not comply, the hurt would not subside, but the anguish and the feelings remained there. Stuck fast as backs to roller-coaster tracks on seats designed for fun. The belt-loops pressed to my neck and the pin dangling without an eye to puncture, I tried. The bar above my hanging clothes wasn’t strong enough, so I tied the knot tighter.

I stretched back on heels buried in a foot of clean clothing to know how it would feel when my knees finally buckled and Sunkist fangs sank in the days where summer was not a memory.
The bar above my hanging clothes wasn’t strong enough, so I blamed it for not being the only thing between me and society. As if windows envied the taste of having each six rows over six more columns and the jails seemed to howl for them at night, when all I could think of was 'maybe I will.' The bar above my hanging clothes wasn't strong enough, so I crimped my voice and I waited out the dark aftermath of what…

What is wrong with me? I tightened the knot and left the belt-loops without metal pins to hold them in place and pockets to fall down. And my knees buckled, but not after I untied the leather from my neck, and held out a hand to a God who was not there.
And I said,
What is wrong with me?

[Wind]

She Was One of the Quieter Girls

When the first of the high school correspondents asked Ava what her favorite color was, she said blue. When they asked why, she said that sometimes, you have to give a little to get a little.

When Ava sat down in the white-washed waiting room that made her feel like she was looking for a-good-place-to-die, she smiled and folded her legs like her mother used to. On the days she looked at boys in their track shorts and tank tops, Ava told herself that's like staring at a grain of sand when you're a tree and wishing you knew what it was like. All there is, could be the promise of glass falling around you and the smell of burning rubber on the pavement, is it cruel fate or cold destiny keeping us in line? Maybe it was both, but not at the same time.

When Ava latched onto the idea of love, she stuck it to the corner of his forehead like a stamp and called him the messenger. When Ava was five, her dad kissed her on the forehead and said "Don't worry. I'll call you every day." On her tenth birthday, she sat by the phone confident that this time, he would. When Ava turned fifteen, the phone was ripped out of the wall, cords dangling to the laminate. When Ava turned twenty, the house had caught fire a year prior, charring the pictures inside. The dial tone was dead.

When Ava finished her exam in English, he stood with the quiet Jasmine and told her they needed space. Ava told him all she had was space. He said that wasn't enough. Ava had filled him with the loose innings of herself, the entirety of her childhood sat innocently in the cups of his collar bones. His eye sockets were filled with her silver tears. His ear canal was anorexia nervosa in the cafeteria bathroom.

When Ava's love letters started being sent back from the address he had given her, she walked to his house a mile out of town and said "I might as well shoot the messenger." He lived to raise three children with the quiet Jasmine. They were Billy, Bob, and Thorten.

Ava sat in the white-washed waiting room thinking of a-good-place-to-die. She decided to pick the roof of her mouth.

To Billy, Bob, and Thorten.
From Ava, who liked the color blue.

Your father was a monster.
Tell him I shot the messenger.