you don’t see her

    you don’t want her

So she breaks

    she cries at night

    she weeps in silence

She breaks away

    the gaping wound

    the seared flesh

She fractures

    a broken mirror

    a shattered heart

What more could you ask for?

20 Random things about me.

1. I’m a psychology major, and while i find it fascinating, i don’t know that i want to get further in the field… I enjoyed anatomy, so something in the medical field might be cool. Somewhat ironically, i’m minoring in history. What that has to do with anything at all, i don’t know.

2. I can’t stand condescending people. Do not talk down to me like i’m some complete idiot with an IQ of 2. I also have issues with people who state the obvious. It irks me at times.

3. It seemed a semi-defining moment to me when our psych of adjustment teacher told the class that “maybe you aren’t meant to find someone” (in speaking to the class as a whole). As obviously thrilled as i was that someone else recognized that i wasn’t going to be getting guys lined up around the block, it still sucks to think it might very well be true.

4. I am an introvert. So, if i ditch hanging out with you to stay home and do nothing, don’t take it personal.

5. Being an introvert, i don’t really know how to make friends. All the friends in my life have come to me through someone else or on their own extrovertedness. Case in point, most of the friends i have in college. That being said, i know what the extroverted friends do for me… get me out, make me socialize and hang out and not become a complete hermit. However, i have yet to understand what it is that i do for them. Why do they want me as a friend? What do i possibly have to bring to the friendship? In all honesty, i’m rather boring and quiet, and somewhat of an intellectual snob probably, so i know i’m not really fun to hang with or talk to, yet people still continue hanging out. It somewhat baffles me.

6. I love video games. I’m not all that into first person shooters or the beat-em-up or sports sorta things, but i love games that have story and substance to them. Generally that means RPG’s. Love Star Ocean: Til the End of Time, Suikoden, Shadow Hearts, Final Fantasy, all those…Games that are just puzzles or the same thing over and over just bore me after a while. Mario keeps me entertained for a little, but then just fizzles until i stop playing. I do love Guitar Hero though, particularly 2… though that might just be cause i’m most familiar with those songs lol.

7. I love books. Ever since my mom would read me The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe and when i’d read The Chronicle of Prydain, I just loved it. The worlds and characters and stories that could unfold. The Sword of Shanara was the first book that started me in on the “hardcore” fantasy and it escalated until now, i generally read The Wheel of Time about once a year. The largest book, and possibly one  of my all time favorites, that i have read to date is The Count  of Monte Cristo…which is so much more awesome than the movie gives it credit for, although it’s still a decent movie.

8. I love British humor. I don’t know why, maybe because it’s less of the dumb, slapstick sorta humor that pervades America, and more funny in a sarcastic, cynical, wordplay sort of way. Eddie Izzard and all the Monty Python guys are in my top favorites. One of the few Americans to top the list is Mel Brooks. 

9. I stare out into space at times. What’s amusing is that people think that I’m really smart or deep because of it, as well as because I’m quiet. Truth to tell: if you ask me what I’m thinking, I couldn’t tell you. I have no idea. Lol
10. Things that I used to be annoyed with my mom for, I now appreciate. For example, her endless badgering to use the typing program and practice typing all the time. Now, it’s second thought and I don’t know how people can stand to only use 3 or 4 fingers to pick out keys. In all fairness, these people have usually gotten fairly fast at it, but I just wouldn’t be able to stand it.

11. Sheep have invaded my life. I blame it on Chisnell.

12. I treated myself to my first tattoo for my 21^st birthday.

13. I adore peanut butter. There will never be a time when you come to my place and there is no peanut butter. Pancakes, fruit, sandwiches, chocolate…amazing.

14. I’m really cynical, and really don’t believe in selflessness anymore.

15. Sometimes, I really miss my brother. 11 years older, living like 5 states away, and rarely get to see him, been around the country since I was about 7, but I really miss him at times. We’re on similar wavelengths and it works. My sister and I work well enough because we’re so different we generally just amuse each other.

16. For now, I am growing my hair out. It is quite possible that I will chop it off again after a few months of having it long.

17. I loved high school, but going back to that much homework and that much school, every single day, would just suck.

18. I have some symptoms of OCD, but definitely don’t have a full-on case. Mostly, I have issues with things being in order or in piles and I definitely have issues with bridges, especially if I’m walking across them (bigger bridges, not like, little footpath bridges), or if they are reeeeeaaaaallly long. If you don’t understand, don’t worry about it.

19. I suck with emotions. I don’t really know how to deal with myself sometimes. As for my friends, it comes to the point that, no matter who you are or how close we are, I won’t want to see you and may withdraw. It doesn’t mean I hate you, please trust that.

20. I used to think of myself as a writer. However, I might have to give up that thought, since the personal writings (poetry, stories, etc.) have been completely overshadowed by all manner of things “school”. If I had to give a ratio, I’d have to say about 4:1 in favor of school. Kinda sad.

Shatter this visage.

Destroy this face;

make it into something beautiful

something holy,

sacred.

Something to adore,

to worship.

Breathe lips across my neck,

my eyes.

Breathe teasing kisses

along hopeful cheeks.

Breathe your blessing, entreating

whispers along my ears.

Break this face

make it something tender

something worth of praise.

Make my name sing

along wondering nerves.

After Alice had thoroughly investigated the considerable Nothing that she found herself in, she quickly realized that the Nothing was punctuated with the regular patter of very small feet and what seemed to be a couple of very peculiar voices.

“Aye, but now, ‘ow does won gae about losin’ a peach?”

At this slightly, Alice thought, absurd question, another more pompous and commandeering voice replied.

“Well, it was during the Great Jam War of 35 that i did just such a thing. First, i twisted around a caravan, rolled under a hedge, crawled, doubling back, and sloshed through a river before eventually finding myself five miles away and no sign of the blasted peach anywhere.”

“No, no, no,” another accent replied. “What ya do, see, is ya take her to the county dance and while she is admirin’ the lights and dances and such, you take another gal back behind da shed and make with the snogging….”, a wistful, regret deadened quality enters his speech, as though fighting back a rush of emotion. “Right, well, i damned well lost her, and what a peach, that doll.”

At this, of course, Alice had grown mightily confused, not quite sure how a peach could be a doll, her thoughts naturally following that one would get quite sticky if one tried to play with it, nevermind if one got peckish.

Meanwhile, the voices grew closer, jibing the one who had spoke about the peach doll, when the third spoke up, with a sharp SMACK, a loud “OW! What was that for??” , the one who had asked the original question  replied:
“No you twits! You want to lose a peach, you drop et inna peach orchard! Morons, the lot of you…” the voice degenerated into vague mumbles.

“Well then, ‘ow’s this: How d’you get a cold duck?” the second asked.

“You beat it over the ‘ead with a large stick!” the third replied, sounding very triumphant.

“You dump sum ice awn et!” the first said.

“No you fools…”

At this point, Alice realized that the voices were practiaclly on top of her, echoing in the Nothingness with resounding peals. Looking around frantically, she realised that there was no where for her to hide. Setting her jaw, she took a stance, determined to face and fight such neanderthals that would consider beating a duck for no good reason (ducks did NOT have an entry in the Encyclopedia of Mean and Furry Things, being neither mean, nor furry for that matter).

Still talking amongst themselves, the three echoed as though all around her, then, abruptly, they were behind her. A little bewildered and befuddled (beings that tended to buzz around the eyes and ears for the sole purpose of confusing a poor soul, they feature prominently in Alice’s tale) Alice looked around her, probing the Nothing (which it should be mentioned, is very ticklish, and should only be probed when absolutely necessary, provided one doesn’t want to end up tossed about like a piece of jello)  for the source of the voices, finally, and very cautiously whispering “h-hello?”

Screams buffeted her poor ears as the three beings, so startled to hear another’s voice, started scurrying around, anxiously trying to hide, but only succeeding in landing themselves in a quivering heap in front of Alice’s left foot.

“M-mice?” Letting out a loud, slightly giddy sigh, she bends low, looking them over.

“HURRICANE!!!!” one of the Mice screamed, his voice still echoing in a resounding squeak in the Nothing surrounding them.

Picking up one of the Mice, she tried to reassure it, only succeeding in stopping it’s shakes when she held it up to her eye and held her breath.

Seeing the crown on her head, the Mouse jumped up and bowed low.

“Your Majesty! Ehh…um… well, who are you, exactly?” The mouse blinked and looked her over, realizing that this was either a very large, overgrown rat, or a dragon, with it’s fierce breath.

The simple Question struck her hard across the mouth, gave her a scornful look and marched out into the Nothing fearlessly.

Sputtering a little, Alice suddenly realized that she couldn’t answer, anymore than she could get the Prince-essly crown off her head…

            I sat in the chair behind the artist, watching as he added the shades of grey that had come to dominate the features of the man who sat at the window. He was an aging gentleman, just a faint hint of dark chocolate lingered in his hair, the rest faded to gray or white; it was difficult to tell at times which it was. The artist continued his sketching of the ragged corpse, the sunlight playing across the eyes that had slid shut. In the time I had known him, his skin had turned a pasty grayish green, where once it had nearly glowed with pinkish health. He looked so fragile, sitting there, as though one small draft would blow him into dust.

            Giving a small snort, the dead figure moved, slowly awakening from its peaceful slumber. Paper thin eyelids slowly glided open, revealing haunted, bright green eyes. I smiled to my long time friend and watched as he turned from sickly, gaunt, animated corpse, to laughing schoolboy who had been long away from the playground. I smiled again and stood, turning to cautiously pick up the tray the serving woman had forced on me, careful not to spill any of the broth she had carefully drugged with the medicine she wasn’t able to force him to take. I had taken a mere two steps when the rug tripped me up, sending me stumbling forward toward the man I owed so much to. As the china rattled threateningly, he caught my arm, and putting the tray aside, tugged me into the chair across from his place on the window seat.

            “here I am, come to help you, and yet you find yourself helping me,” I exclaimed dejectedly.

            He gives a short, scratchy laugh at this, and after giving one last disdainful glance at the covered tray, leans forward, his entire being now fully animated. He stands, and totters a few steps, then paces with a stronger stride, eager and excited at his good fortune to have a friend drop by.

            “Now, now,” he started, “where did we leave off? Was I in Borneo? No, no, that was a while ago. I was at the excavation wasn’t I? Yes, now sit, sit!” he rambled, the last comment directed at my attempt to usher him to his seat.

            The artist, in the background now, worked on at his masterpiece.

            “Now, when I was 25, I and the love of my life, Alessandra, left for a small desert town just outside of Cairo. That’s Egypt you know. It had been assumed that the reason it was uninhabited was due to the town well drying up. I, on the other hand, had my suspicions…” he began, a soft, gleaming twinkle in his eye and a lightness in his step that had been somewhat absent during the long years of his illness.

            I sat there, watching his emaciated figure parade around the room, laughing at the jokes, frowning at the betrayals, growing panicked with the time restrictions that pervaded his stories. With each turn about the room he seemed to grow just a little slower, though his speech retained its youthful vigor, his body was slowly starting to shut down. After a bit, just when he had gotten to the part where he and Alessandra were trapped by 50 Egyptian guards, he grew weak enough to be suffered to be put in bed. I sat with him until finally his eyes drifted close, and he fell peacefully to sleep. As I watched his chest rise and fall shallowly, his lips flutter once more with the words of his beloved on his tongue, his illness finally taking him to places beyond what the mortal eye could see.

            With a sigh of sadness, I stood and taking my coat in hand, walk to the door. Before I got there, however, I noticed two new pieces, leaning on the old, dusty mantle. It was the portrait that the artist had worked on that afternoon. The first one was how he was before; his ancient clothing, the wear and tear making it nearly transparent and just barely hidden by an old silk robe, his hat, perched upon his head, like it might very well fall off with every quick movement. His face was ashen, and sunken in as though he was already past life and well into the stages of death. But the second! The second picture showed him in all his glory, a man in the prime of his life, animated and lively. Instead of the dry, dusty gentlemen I saw when I entered, it pictured him as young, eyes twinkling with the light of his own burning passion and good humor. It was a face that had seen the world, and rejoiced in it’s mystery and awesomeness.

            A note was attached to the paintings, it was simply signed “the Artist” and on it, written in a simple scrawling script was a plain message; “No charge. Life is in the journey.”

© K.A.Price 2005

“No wonder you’re late. Why, this watch is exactly two days slow.” -The Mad Hatter