My watch says it`s six o`clock in the evening but you can`t see the moon. It`s supposed to be winter but it still feels like summer — even hotter. Six hours until the end of the world and I`m with my friends.
“Hey, seriously, I want some ice cream.” My friend, Austin said.
“If there`s still some left! I`m sure it already melted from all the heat!” my buddy, Stephen said.
I have two boys as best friends. I`m Charlie — Charlotte`s my real name but they said it doesn`t fit me.
“I`m really hungry. Let`s go home? Mum made us the last supper.” Austin can still manage to joke around in times like these.
“I`m up for that.” I spoke for my growling stomach.
On our way to their house, I came upon this abandoned sanctuary that was once my home. I let the two lads go ahead and promised them this won`t take long. As I approached the front porch, memories immediately filled the atmosphere. I remember how we used to eat breakfast here every Sunday morning and see everyone live a peaceful life. I went up to my room and remembered how mum and dad tucked me in to sleep every night. I went to my parents` room and thought about how much I miss them.
“Mum, dad, wherever you are, always remember I miss you both so much. Okay? I love you.” Tears ran down my cheeks as I wish they were here with me — embracing me and telling me everything`s going to be fine, just like what they always tell me when I get a small wound from running around a lot.
I felt the dust and the heat on my skin as I savor the last time I`ll be in my home. As I did my exit, I said a heartfelt goodbye and thank you.
My watch made noise as it alarms every hour. It`s seven in the evening and I need to get to the boys` house. Running, running, and more running since it`s a block away from mine. Everybody`s in paranoia, 5 hours `til the day the world ends. All I`m caring about is getting to eat and cherish my last hours on Earth.
“Oh, there you are! We`ve been worried about you.” Mrs. Carter exclaims as she waited for me outside the house.
“I just visited my house..” I replied.
“Are you okay?”
“I am. I just really miss them, that`s all.”
I had my last supper with the people I already consider family. They took care of me when mum and dad passed away. They treated me like we carry the same blood.
Stephen and Austin are cousins that`s why it`s always a party at their place. I never felt like an outcast with them.
We then spent hours playing board games in their living room. Monopoly, Cranium, The Game Of Life.
“Look, I`m already in college!” says Stephen “but this won`t happen in real life.” I felt his sadness that we`re just seventh graders and won`t be able to enjoy our teenage years already.
It`s 11:11 and as usual, we wished for a bunch of things we know would not happen but there`s still hope in our hearts that it would. We actually have no idea why wishing on 11:11 is necessary. We don`t even know who`ll grant these wished, we just do.
“What time`s the solar flare again?” Austin asked
“Approximately 3 am.” I replied
“Who wants to go to the lake for the last time?” said Stephen.
Mrs. Dales, Stephen`s mother, butted in, “You are not going out anymore.”
I honestly thought going to the lake was a good idea since it was close to the cemetery. Waiting for the right time to leave, I prepared myself for this massive event for everyone`s history. Looking out the window, I watch people go into mindless chaos. Some are fighting, stealing, running around like imbeciles. I hate to think about the world`s end but it`s already happening. No one can deny the fact that all of humanity would die in a few hours.
Time passed in a jiffy and it`s already one o`clock in the morning — it`s time for me to go. With nothing but my family picture, I told the Carter and Dales family my deepest gratitude and love. They didn`t want me to leave but I insisted. We group hugged and they let me go.
I hurriedly made my way to the cemetery, not minding anyone.
By the time I got there, I can feel my skin burning. Immediately, I found my parents` grave since it lies underneath a huge, sturdy tree. I sat under it but there aren`t any shades.
“Hi mum, hi dad. I`m here now. I hope you`re watching over me.”
I had the urge to lie down the grass but it burnt me. Nothing`s cool anymore, literally. Beads of sweat are running down my face and I can`t control it anymore. I feel so irritated by the heat and the dust and the sight of death in form of the sun. I hugged my parents` epitaphs and didn`t care if anyone can see me.
“See you soon, mum and dad. I love you.”
An enormous ball of fire flashed upon me and cooked me. The last thing I thought about before completely losing my brains was, “Where`s my next destination?”
Care not of what others say
All they aim for is catalyze you down
Relentless of your prey
Pusillanimity you shall drown
Epitaphs on nightmares
Dandelions to support my dreams
Irrigate my thoughts with a stare
Establish yourself, rule a regime
Make your story the headline for years
I went through a million yesterdays’
Five hundred regrets for six hundred days
Giggles, chuckles, endless laughter
the thrill of nirvana on euphoric platters.
A hundred things on today`s agenda
kiss a giraffe and hug a panda
discover a Mafia, find Mordor in Romania
to unleash myself from a bottomless pit of nostalgia.
I would never know what the future offers
No one does; but why is it that we`re always bothered?
Judgment day, zombie apocalypse, martians versus goblins
whatever happens, seize the day, with flying violins.
(Source: orgyversykes)
Tiny little bulbs
Flickering throughout the night
Here go the carols
(Source: orgyversykes)
Sweaters are my friends
They keep me warm and cozy
On these glacial days
(Source: orgyversykes)
What`s that on T.V.?
It`s Santa and his reindeers
It`s Christmas, indeed!
(Source: orgyversykes)
On a gloomy Monday morning
Mr. Jumango went to his room
Got the broom
And swept like a king
After the thorough bath
He got into his Chevy
Kept his Blackberry
And followed the sun`s path
Mr. Jumango arrived at school
Went straight to sixty ninth floor
Slammed the door
And assumed he was cool
“Listen up, everybody!” he exclaimed
The clod got mad at me
Yet I loathe thee
And Mr. Jumango left his head in flames
(Source: orgyversykes)
Some form of hard work, I’ll know will pay off
Calluses on my fingers that once were soft
A hundred of words I come to seek,
and that there, a hundred letters made you weak.
A pencil like you always makes me blind
though it took a few tries before I know I can find.
I’ll bury you in a safe compartment;
I know I’ll never find a replacement.
I rely on you for ideas to flow,
trusting it would lay down the things I don’t know.
I know now it’s up to me to think of what`ll come up,
but now the pencil is dead;
I may or may not have every reason to stop.
(Source: orgyversykes)
Art has its perk
When love has stumbled upon something dangerous
You turn to the fires of your heart, and neglect your brain.
Art is the answer, just let it flow
(Source: orgyversykes)
As I watch England get raped with rifles and bombs, I wished everything was just a dream of mine — a dream of mine that when I wake up, sunshine filled my room and my paper sculptures danced with their shadows while Petunia waking me up with a soppy kiss on my cheek.
I tried to savor the moment of lying on a bed this time, but mother stormed in my small, claustrophobic room just beside the garage telling me that I should be alert next time. I thought “next time” was a really harsh thing to say during a world war. We never know if there`s still a next time for all of us.
As I packed my things, I never thought about the majority of my clothes nor my personal hygiene. I got my suit case, gathered my brushes, tubes of paint, an easel and yards of canvas. I told myself, “How hard could it be?”
Hurriedly evacuating my home that I grew up in and loved, I reminisced the good memories I will leave in our old, cozy conch house. I rode in the back seat just to study every detail as it zoomed out from distance.
Sitting quietly I envisioned my future. Actually, I envisioned nothing. I don`t know what else to do but to create masterpieces and express myself freely. I honestly didn`t care much about things… I was naïve.
Apocalypse happened. My family died during a gun outrage. Since then, I never went back to England again. Ever.
____________________________________________________________________
My name`s Sanger. Stephan Oliver Sanger. My family died in the war when I was just 13. Today I turn 26, I started to discover things way beyond my imagination.
Petunia died some 3 years ago. I miss her, especially the times when she`s the only one whom I can talk to without hesitation or without any violent comments. All she answers is her joyful back and the ever popular tail-wiggling.
“I live alone now.” I told Mr. Wilson, the man next door who has been helping me have a decent life in New York.
“Oh, I`m sure Petunia`s happy for you wherever she is in dog heaven!” the stout man with tan lines peeping out his thin camisole said.
I looked at my blank canvas and tried to paint something — a possible artwork that may transform into cash.
Then came a miracle.
“Money!” I said, a little louder than usual. What if I paint dollar bills? What if I make something so realistic, they’ll think it’s authentic?
There I went locking myself in my little space called studio, carefully drawing lines and curves with forest green ink. A feeling of fear and cleverness came upon me as I was doing some impressive bills.
After some finishing touches, I kissed my bills good luck and rushed out. Bagelman`s Bagel Shop — what a redundant name. “One caramel banana bagel and a cup of white coffee, please” I said as I handed my manmade dollar bills with some sort of hesitation. After looking at it, the cashier lady handed me my change. As I left the store, I thanked everything around me for letting me buy food with, technically, no money.
Days, weeks, and months passed. No one knew my secret except Petunia and possibly, my family looking down on me, or up at me. I hope they`re proud I`ve done something no one hasn`t done before yet.
One day I know I`ll go to prison for this but I`ll be the best criminal there. My experiences taught me well, very well.
Up to this day, I count my days `til my epic capture.
(Source: orgyversykes)
I once knew a man diagnosed with an illness doctors nor witchdoctors knew. He`s deaf though but what`s so special about him is that, the only thing he hears is music — any form of music.
I met him at a gig of my favorite local band at this shabby tavern in the suburbs. He was singing along to all the songs and I was frankly impressed that he knew all their songs.
“Seems like you`re an avid fan as well. I`m Laura, you are?” I awkwardly yet confidently asked him. He didn`t answer as if he didn`t hear me. So I tapped him on the shoulder and introduced myself again. Now he turned to me and had a confused look on his face. I asked again, “I`m Laura, what`s yours?” He got his moleskine notebook beside him and wrote “Hello, I`m Conner. I`m sorry for not hearing you, I`m ill.”
It took me a couple of seconds to understand so I said, “You must be joking.”
“I really am deaf.” He wrote again on his notebook.
“I`m sorry….” That`s all I could reply at that moment. I didn`t know what to say and how to accept the situation because of reasons that he, as I see it, can hear the music and sing along with it.
“It`s okay. Nice meeting you.” He wrote with a smile.
Days and nights went and he still inhabits my mind. I went back to the tavern one night to check on some possibly new bands and fortunately, he`s there again. I approached him and luckily, he remembers me. Conner got his notebook and wrote, “You`re here again, what a pleasant surprise.”
“Yeah, I wanted to check some new music.” I excitedly wrote back.
“That`s cool. Where do you live?”
“Rutherglen.”
“I live in Shettleston.”
“An hour and a half drives from mine.” It somehow made me doubt about giving my town but I guess he`s harmless. He looks harmless. I wanted to ask badly what has happened to him, but then again, I was in doubt he might get offended.
We listened to the good music and took a couple bottles of beer. I had a good pass-the-message session with him.
After a two and quarters chat with him, I gathered my courage and wrote, “If you`re deaf, how can you hear the music? I`m sorry, no offense.” I hope he doesn`t find it offensive.
“You see, I only hear things when they`re in music form — when they have melodies, rhythms, tones, pitches, all kinds of those. I find it weird too at first but I am thankful that one way or another, I can still hear the goodness of music around me.” He explained.
I read his note seriously with a lot of hope.
“You`re one extraordinary man.” I replied.
“Thank you. You`re one awesome girl as well.” He said. I got flattered, I didn`t even find it creepy for someone I didn`t know that much.
For the days and nights we hung out together, our friendship blossomed into infatuation. Infatuation turned into love. We bonded over music and visual arts.
I loved him too much, I made everything I`ll tell him a song — which is dramatic but I`d rather do it out of love. Conner made me happy, and I made him happy. The only complications we had was I`m not a good singer. I uploaded my videos on YouTube and I get a lot of comments, mostly bad. I still didn`t mind.
One Saturday afternoon I made him go to this record bar just a couple blocks away from our favorite tavern. I told him to just wait there and try to listen to some covers. I watched him from afar if he`ll notice my album. After minutes of looking around, he went to this listening booth where my album can be listened to. I saw his face full of awe and joy. I guess he heard what he wanted.
He got out of the booth and found me. “I love you, Laura. I may not be hearing what you`re going to tell me after this but I`m telling you, you`re the best-est friend I`d ever had.”
Today I`m off on a world tour. On an interview before my concert, the press asked:
“Who inspired you to create such good music?”
My answer, “Conner, just Conner.”
This is a story of a girl named Laura and a boy named Conner who bonded over their love for music with loving harmonies.
(Source: orgyversykes)
