A Very Short Story: Emma’s Journal

“If love were easy, everyone would have it” Emma wrote. The 16 year old girl is writing in her journal like she always did before going to bed. Her eyes wander away from the page while she scowls. Her own cliches disappoint her, but she keeps on writing. Because what’s the point of meticulously documenting everyday of your life if you stop every time you hate yourself. If that were the case Emma would be less of a girl who writes in her journal and more of a girl who does literally anything else…Pretty much all the time.

“If I had to say anything to future me about love it would be this: just let it happen. Stop trying so hard. The amount of time and effort you put into falling for the right guy has just left you falling. You know that feeling you get when you’re woken up suddenly after getting thrown off a cliff or pushed out of an airplane in a dream? Well, my entire life can be summed up in that moment.”

She looks up again from the book she has been keeping since she was 11. It was raining outside. Which made sense – why would it be a clear night’s sky? That would just ease the process of longingly looking toward the stars and pondering her existence. But no. It was raining and cloudy and her life was over…or whatever.

She looked back down and put her purple inkjet pen to the page, “I live for moments of change but change is the scariest thing in the world to me….I bet a lot of people on their death beds, if asked what their favorite memories were, would come back with something amazing. Some exuberant snippet of their life that lifted them up to a height that was so out of this world gravity lost hold. Because what is the search for happiness other than your fight against gravity? It’s keeping you down when all you’ve ever wanted to do was fly…okay that sounds insane. Please, someone punt my head like a football…for the greater good.”

She exhaled and fell back onto her pillow, her journal now above her and her pen upside down, “If writing upside down makes me one step closer to an astronaut I implore whoever finds this journal in 100 years to call the embassy…or anybody really who knows Buzz Aldrin’s number. I bet that guy would appreciate what’s happening in a 16 year old girl’s bed…nope, that sounded weird. I retract that previous statement BUT I REFUSE TO CROSS IT OUT. I have principles. They aren’t quite visible to the naked eye, but they’re around here somewhere….Also I just remembered Buzz Aldrin is like a billion years old so the chances of him being alive in 100 years is slim to none. One could hope, I guess. And I shall!”

She adjusted herself once more, and propped her left arm up, placing the journal down on her bed. Her gaze returned to her window – full of rain, and subtle street lights.

“I feel as though I’m living inside a water painting where everything is melting away except for me…”

She closed her journal and placed it on the ground. Her hands reached for her covers so she could tuck herself in tight, while staring straight at the sharp popcorn ceiling.

“I’d like nothing more than to melt away” she said out loud to no one in particular. She laughed. Her melodramatic moments amuse her. And since she lived for those moments she embraced them with vigor.

“Or maybe not. Maybe I should stay right here, you know, just in case…If the world is melting…let it melt. I’ll be right here, world!” She let out a big yawn and shut her eyes tight.

“I’ll be right here.”

 

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Jolly Good Show

When I’m not full time jobbing or writing- my other hobby is being a hardcore rapper….or more accurately writing and producing rap songs with my friends that are recorded in a closest that we call our “studio.” It’s a combination of talents to create sounds. I write the lyrics and rap as well as I possibly can, my friend Adam records, masters, raps, and sings, – and the rest of my friends patiently listen to tell me if it’s good or not. On this new song we put another one of our friends, Elliot “Steezy Neezy” Smith on the track because like all white people, rapping is a secret guilty pleasure hobby he desperately wanted to try.

This new song is called “The Floor is Lava.” There are a bunch of references to a bunch of things that aren’t all that important – but I like writing them anyway. Also, I’ve always wanted to rap about The Busy World of Richard Scarry. Take a listen and download (for free) if you like it! And if you so happen to show it to like, one million friends, I wouldn’t be totally against it. Lyrics are below.

CHORUS
(Shout) Jolly Good show!
If you see us on the streets we got no money to blow
We’re going old school, that’s all we can afford
We’re dropping A major cause We’re striking a chord (Come On)

We don’t have a plan
If we did you’d see us strutting
With that money in hand

I think we hit our stride, pick up your feet, got nothin’ to fear
Let’s pretend the floor is lava, and dance til it is crystal clear

Verse 1: RYAN
I’m an addict for the dramatics; I confuse your use for love
But with this world as my witness, I think I can rise above
You see I have this certain swagger, not the normal kind of course
Yeah my friends they call me Old Spice, Look he’s riding on a horse

I can run four minute miles, Take an eagle in a fight
I’m so fly I can’t be wrong because I’m always Orville Wright
This is a sticky situation; we need to mediate this quickly
Write to PO box 963 with Attention to Mr. Stickly

They call my dick skittles, biddies tasting on my rainbow
Tend to be in high demand like labor at home depot
If you think that I’m self centered, just take a step back
And know that I am lying about everything on this track

You see, that’s what raps are, just a cavalcade of lies
If I rapped what I really thought, It’d be sweet potato fries

So let’s pretend for a moment
That my monies making money
Wearing dollar green vests
Hit The Beets like Doug Funnie!

2nd CHORUS /w
I think we hit our stride, pick up your feet, got nothin’ to lose
Let’s pretend the floor is lava, and dance til we run out of booze

Verse 2: ELLIOT
New 20 inch rims on all 4 sides
I choose my car over food but ramen will be fine
If my game were horses mine would have to be glue
And if my name were style, I’d lose myself to blue’s clues

If your dick is skittles mines the everlasting gob stopper
Willy wonka want my recipe, V. Salt wants me to Pop her

In my nature to spend money, call my wallet kill bills
If Travolta tries to stab me he’ll meet my Royale with chi grill

Rackin drinks at the bar yeah I never go wrong,
Rum and cokes so instrumental better call em’ my song

When Sunday morning comes around, man you know it’s fam break
Always hittin up the coffee break where they know to split the check
Leave Kate in the dust at the end of our meals
Stab her in the face for tix to deal or no deal (Don’t cha know!)

Team Big pretties represent as I start to transfix
But listen I’ll hafta to call ya back once I finish Netflix (BITCH)

Original CHORUS

Verse 3: ADAM

Might not be poppin’ bottles
But I’m poppin’ now in your chest
You can call me Gravedigger
From the way I’m alive but bury the rest

I don’t go HAM, I go turkey
Breakin’ each and every leg
And if I ever need a wish
I’ll dig up all those bones I save

Yeah you can tell I’m magic
In my busy world of Richard Scarry
Just got the master key at Gringotts
“You’re a Fuckin’ Wizard Harry!”

So here we are with these ambitions
Hitting the tracks of life full force
Plus I’ll be down for making babies
When I get pushed off my high horse

But in truth you’re more than objects cause our mommas raised us right
But if you want a sketchy STD I won’t put up that fight
Cause I’m worth it and I know it that’s why I won’t let you get me down
The best offense is a good defense and I’m going hard downtown

You look encumbered
Hate is baggage
Empty your pockets
That looks average
Maybe you should fly you fools
To ensure your fellowships safe passage

At my house party
CT Lovin’
Drinks are flowing
Subs Wub-Wubbin’
Get your feet up off this floor
It’s this fire that we are lovin’!

2nd CHORUS

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The Other Side

Dear future me,

You can still only sleep on one side of the bed.

Nothing physical is stopping you from rolling over. It’s completely mental, in more ways than one. There’s no one in particular you’re waiting for to occupy said space either. It’s just an empty space.

A space that represents a whole lot. It represents the person you are today, because you want that space to be filled one day by a human being who is  a real life person who you truly enjoy being with…but you don’t need that space filled.

…Last night you didn’t feel that way, though. In fact for the same 20 minutes every night you are doubtful. Those 20 minutes right before you fall asleep. You can’t help but realize what you’re doing and it’s inherently depressing, but then you fall asleep, wake up, and you’re fine once more. The cliché thought that always runs through your mind in those twenty minutes without fail is, “I’m waiting for my other half.” But that’s bull shit.

Waiting for your other half is admitting you’re not whole. You’re at the point in your life where you’re pretty much the human being you’re going to be forever. Your belief system and moral code are solidified, and in all honesty I think you can tell the world you’re happy with how you’ve turned out. Now, you still make mistakes, but you can’t not learn from them anymore. It’s not within you to let your own mistakes slide. You tell yourself that during those 20 minutes. You like yourself. You like who you are. You don’t need someone else to fulfill the Disney induced pipe dream that you need to be with someone to make you happy.

Don’t get me wrong here though: this is your fault, and you know it is. The other side of that bed isn’t empty because the world is against you. The other side is empty because you keep it that way. You do this to yourself. You want the feeling of making someone else’s life better for no other reasons other than they are doing the same for you, but you think the only way to win the game is by complete chance. Well I have a news flash for you, it’s not. Chance is a roll of the dice, but the dice won’t tell you shit if you keep them in your pocket. That empty space is a constant reminder of your failure, but you can’t seem to roll over, and I’m not sure you ever will.

Just remember though, and I genuinely mean this: when that space is filled and it’s the easiest thing in the world to comprehend why, that feeling will make you forget you ever even wrote this note. That feeling will consume you, for better or for worse. You know the feeling I’m taking about too, and it’s not being whole…it’s knowing that you’ve been whole this entire time.

Sincerely,

Past You.

PS: Go grocery shopping, I’m starving.