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Just some random old writing pieces... VERY old... like 4-6th grade.
It Seems there are Always Three Choices in Life
By
Sebrand Warren
How does it feel to slit your throat,
or inhale the sin that stops your heart?
What does it take to take the jump,
to fall asleep and not wake up?
This is my guess tonight:
When the hallway is dark and nobodies there
some search for the switch,
maybe even for hope,
but to no success they wonder just this:
Just give me the light!
Does it exist?
Am I so different?
Is how I am right?
When life gives you two choices
they pick the third.
they search for the switch
instead of the door at the end.
Well maybe, just maybe this it the why,
but the question of how
is a question unknown.
To those in the light at least…
It was Then
By
Sebrand Warren
“What?” I asked, as my friend Ben nudged me on the shoulder in the middle of class.
As I turned to look at him, I saw he was completely curled up in his shirt, like a ball.
“Look, Sebrand,” he commanded. Then, still curled up into a ball in his shirt, he slowly started poking his body parts out of it one-by-one. First his legs, like a chick with the rest of its body still stuck in its egg, then his hands. Next he stuck out his arms, and fourth his head, last, one-by-one, each of his fingers. First his right pointer, next his right middle, so on, ending with his thumb. Then he repeated it with his left hand.
I chuckled and whispered, “Ooh, my turn, my turn!” of course, easily amused do to my little seven years of age.
I stuffed myself into my shirt, pushing and shoving to pop my head in. Then, slowly, I repeated what Ben had just done. I poked out my legs, shoved out my arms in the shape of a V. I poked out my head, my eyes closed. Then I slowly opened my eyes t the same time I was sticking out my fingers one-by-one.
When I had fully opened my eyes, and finished sticking up all my fingers, I peered up.
It was then, that my face turned red and sweat trickled down the side of my face. It was then that my eyes wanted to shut back up and open to see if it was all an embarrassing dream. It was then that I noticed. It was then!
When I looked up, everyone, from the room’s shiny, snow white walls, to the tan wooden door, was staring at me. Even the teacher!
“Sebrand, do you have something to say?” The teacher asked with a smile smacked on her face.
A few giggles came from the class. My face was as red as a cherry, as I shook my head in embarrassment and slouched low in my chair.
A smile cracked across my friends face as he giggled and blabbed, “Gee Sebrand, why did you do that for?”
I turned my head slowly and stared at him with an evil glare, then muttered, “Shut up!” And I darted me eyes back up at the black board, and class continued.
This embarrassing event still follows me. And the same friend, Ben, still teases me for it, and acts like he has no clue about who gave me the idea to do it. And for this, he really annoys me sometimes.
“Yeah Sebrand, who did give you that idea?”
“Shut up!”
wow... this is good for a 10 year old... it's what my gaia name came from.
The Pain of Past In Future
By
Sebrand Warren
The past gives the choices,
But the future is your choice.
Crack! The small rock, Nail had thrown at Jamie, went, as it ricocheted of the ground and smacked into a small tree, beginning to be affected by early fall. A few leaves fell, just a little yellow, with a light tint of orange. They blew and twisted towards the ground, landing for a short second before they were pulled into the air again by a light gust of wind, spinning high into the sky like a small tornado.
“Ha! Missed me again! You’ll never hit me doing it so frequently. You have to do it when I’m not expecting it,” Jamie announced. Then, lowering his voice to a whisper, mumbled, “Humph, you’re so predictable.”
“Shut-up!” Nail said with a sign. Then, speaking to himself, whispered, “If he wants unexpected, I’ll give him unexpected!”
Nail ran and lunged into the air, souring over his gravel driveway. As he plummeted towards the ground, head first, he stuck out his arms, pushing of the ground, and grabbed a decently large rock as he flew into the air again in a front handspring. Landing on the grass on his tip toes and left hand, he turned and chucked the rock straight at Jamie’s chest. As the rock flew at Jamie he threw out his hand.
Smack! Perfect reflex positioning. The rock slapped straight into the palm of his hand and his fingers closed around it.
“Nice! How do you do that?” Nail asked in surprise. Then, noticing the twisted look on his friend’s face, asked, “What?” Jamie’s mouth opened letting out a small yelp. His now red hand opened slowly and the rock crashed to the ground.
“Ow, ow! ow, ow, ow!” Jamie screamed as he jumped up and down, shaking his hand crazily.
“Gee, I didn’t throw the rock that hard.” Nail said, examining his muscle.
“No! You idiot! Take a closer look at the rock!”
Nail kneeled down and picked up the rock. He brought the rock up in front of his face and examined it closely. As he flipped it over, he noticed something yellow and then in a cracked voice, squealed, “Ow!” For on the stone was a large hornet, flattened down on the surface, with its antenna still twitching some.
“See!” Jamie yelled, trying to sound mad.
“Yep, that’s great!” Nail replied with a yawn, “and Jamie, don’t try to act mad. It just doesn’t work.”
“Whatever.”
“Hay, want to go to my place to watch Queen of the D----?”
“Stop! You know I hate curse words, and I already know. You watch it at least once every week. You haven’t watched it this week and it’s Sunday.”
“Nuh-uh!” Nail whined, “I watch it twice every two weeks!”
“Whatever!” Groaned Jamie; plowing his face with his hand and slowly wiping it down.
“So do you—“
“No!” Jamie immediately replied.
“Are you trying to act mad again?” Nail questioned, “And how come you don’t like chicken? God, you are such a freak!”
“What!!! never mind!” Jamie stuttered, “Something tells me you were trying to ask me why I never tell you about my past again, just like you always do after asking if I want to watch Queen of the … that movie with you.”
“No, I was trying to say, why don’t you ever tell me about…Wait… that was right. Well, why?”
“It is just too hard!”
“Aw, come on, that’s what you always say,” Nail whined, “it’s not like it matters. I mean, you determine what will happen next, not the junk that happens before it.”
“You have no clue how wrong you are. If you really think that’s true, why do you ask about my past?”
“It’s just interesting.” Nail exclaimed anxiously.
“Fine, fine. I’ll tell you, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Why would you need to warn me?”
“You see, it was very sad.”
“I can take it!”
“Ok, if you speak a word of any of it to anyone, I’ll kill you!”
“Fine, I won’t. Can you start now?”
“Ok, here it goes…” he stopped.
“Well?”
“No, just thinking about it hurts! I may tell you about it after I make my choice.”
“What choice?” Nail questioned, looking strangely serious.
“Can I spend the night at your house to night? I can’t take my… parents any more,” Jamie asked, hesitating before he said parents.
Nail didn’t ask again. He really didn't want to know. He shook his head slowly for a second, looking at the ground then, trying not to sound worried, answered Jamie’s question, “OK!”
“Thanks. We better get going. It’s a bit dark,” Jamie said changing his trot to a dash towards Nail’s house, yelling, “Last one there can’t eat pie!”
“Hay, I thought I was supposed to be the random one!” Nail joked, running after Jamie.
Jamie was scurrying ahead of Nail like a thoroughbred against a donkey. He came to an abrupt stop as his feet landed on Nail’s front doorstep. Nail was still short behind him, after all it was just down the drive way.
Catching his breath, Nail asked, “How did you do that?”
“I guess I’m just fast. I don’t know.”
As Nail walked in the door he called out, “Mo-o-om!”
Before he said anything else there was an immediate reply, “He can stay!”
“Woo-hoo!” They both yelled and ran to Nail’s room.
Until about 10:30 they did the strange things most 12 year old boys with brown and black hair do inside; popping the few zits they have; playing video games; making a big deal about loosing in video games; burping; doing prank calls on unsuspecting old ladies; you know, the works.
Oh yes, 10:30. Why is that the time they stopped; not bed time, most definitely not. Ten thirty is the time the secret is told, a choice is made and a future is determined.
“Jamie?” Nail called exhaustedly looking down the stairs. No answer.
“Jamie?” he called again his voice trebling.
Silence.
He listened closely.
“Tssst,” came the quiet sound of a cabinet opening.
Nail walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.
“No!” Nail yelled. To his surprise, there was Jamie holding a large food stained kitchen knife to his neck.
“This is the pain of the past in my future, Nail. When I was four years old my Dad was send to jail, forcing me to live with my Mom who, to my surprise was…an alcoholic. And, of course, as you know, everyone—hold you—has made fun of me my entire life. I know you believe what you said about the past not affecting the future is true, but I deeply believe you are wrong. Your own choices may determine your future, but what gives you those choices? Your past, good or bad! A good or average past may lead to a good or average future. But a bad past stained with heart-tearing events could lead to a bad future or, as with me possibly, none at all. Although your past has never given you choices, mine has given me many, but what I chose of those no longer matters for they all would have lead to two sooner or later, two choices that most people would find simple to pick between. But those who ever get them find it much harder, because there is always a reason these choices have come. I hope you never get the choices I have.
“When I was six I was adopted by new, better parents and that’s when I met you. My life is not worth living, my past determined that, but whether I rely on it is my choice. Death is always. And if death is our future, my future is now. You are the most important person in the world to me and I want you to continue your present and let the future be the future. Goodbye, Nail.”
“No!” Nail yelled. “How can you be so selfish! Haven’t you thought about how important you are to me, how I would feel if you were dead! To continue living you do not have to live in pain! You forgot about the third choice: leave your bad past behind and start a new one! Just because your life is #@$!ed up it doesn’t mean you have to #@$! up the people’s that care about you! So think about that third choice before you take such a selfish short-cut!”
Jamie was silent. A small tear trickled slowly down his cheek, then, carelessly, let the knife slip from his hand. Images were pulsing through his mind. For a second everything went black. Clang! Went the knife as it clattered against the ground. Jamie’s eyes flew open and his senses came back to him. He stared silently at Nail for a long time then whispered, “Thank you.” And that was all.
In time, all was forgotten about that night and Jamie’s harsh past was never spoken of again.
Monologue
Alone, Left out, Discarded, for What?
By Sebrand Warren
Character: Chip is a 13 year old boy with strait red hair down to his nose. His skin is the average white peach of most white kids and his eyes are a dull shade of green. He is used to being hugged at random, though angry he is seldom respected and mostly disregarded and even those he cares for and may even love. Every night he cries himself to sleep wishing to be better than everyone else, or at least in someway, to be first for once. He always acts like a loving innocent boy, even through his pain and emptiness. His anger is almost always on the rim, but all cups can fill and all wine can spill. Even a still glass overflows at is rim. Sips can only be taken one by one when the bottle is not being poured, and in chips case the bottle doesn’t stop…
Setting: Chip’s house. Its front door is wooden and smooth and the hall of the upstairs has a light shade of pink plaster on the wall and sealing, wile the wooden stairs are covered by a rough grayish-white rug. In front of the door to chips room is a picture of himself with a bluish picture background. His room is painted a shinny deep blue, the sunlight blazing through the window makes four blocks of light on the flour and on the side of his bed in the center of his room where the dark shadows don’t reach. Next to his bed is a desk with a black digital alarm clock on it and a wooden handheld mirror sitting next to that.
Why am I so different!!!???(staggering up the front steps, holding his backpack on one shoulder) When I try to say something everyone either goes silent as if they’ve just heard a ghost, or continues, paying no mind to me. (turning the doorknob of the front door swinging it open) Ugh, I don’t know why I should care. (slugging his backpack onto a chair) Dang it! (kicking the wall while turning to the stairs) What did I do wrong! They hug me because they think I’m cute, but what good is that to fill the void! (galloping up the stairs) they say they’d be sad if I died,(in a mocking tone) but I doubt they even notice I’m alive most of the time (matter-of-fact-like voice). If I told them I was hurting inside they’d think they understood it (mumbling angrily). But the knowledge of my feelings is not the same as actually understanding them (speaking loudly eyes puffing and holding back tears)! They never understand! If they understood they’d act like they cared for more than a day (reaching the top of the stairs, a tear escaping down the side of his face). No! Stop it! Stop it! I’m sick of crying! Stop it!!! (slapping his hands onto both of his temples and pressing hard in them, shaking head back and forth, tears beginning to shower down the side of his face) How am I any different than anyone else!? (taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself, beginning down the hall) There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m normal (stomping as he reached the door to his room, than turning to look at the picture)! it’s not like I’m ugly or something. I can’t look that bad (slapping the picture lazily with an open hand. It fell to the ground with a crack and the shattering sound of breaking glass. He turns the doorknob shoving the door open and steps into his room). Err…(the light blazing through the window burning his eyes, throwing up his arm as a shield) stupid light. All I ever wanted was to be cared for (jumping so that he twists and lands back first on his bed); Care that can return what’s lost in me; Care that can find what’s missing in my heart and soul; Care that can bring back what was never there (pausing and thinking for a second or two). It’s sort of like living your life in third place. The only ones who are ever proud of you are your parents, and sometimes my sister. Every night I’ll cry myself to sleep thinking about the people better than me. I wish I was better than someone. I wish for once I could be better, than people would respect me and truly care about me. But wishes and dreams… Don’t come true. Besides… who wants to be caught standing in their dreams and wishes any way? (grabbing the mirror off his desk and looking in) I’ve put up with life for too long, even a still cup overflows. And sips can only be taken one by one from wine. The higher the cup gets the harder it is to hold. And when it spills it burns, stings, burns through every cut and scratch on my bloody hand. (holding the mirror as if it were a wine glass, then loosening his grip until it falls from his hand and shatters on the wooden floor where the carpet ends) I won’t let that happen! Not till I have wrinkles on my face and white hair on my head. (rising with pride) I’ll let the wine burn my hands but I won’t let my whole life go with my own clenched fist! I’ll show them. I’ll make them know. I’ll give them a reason to care! (yelling with the fire inside, the toning is down to an innocent boys voice) Then I can go to sleep at night without pain and emptiness. Just like in my dreams.
wooooo!
 Na!l · Sat Nov 18, 2006 @ 11:54pm · 2 Comments |
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