The air felt still. It might have been due to the lack of noise and movement that normally filled the air, but there was a difference whatever it was due to. I sat on the porch, alone. The early Spring sun warming my skin, with the promise that warmer weather was to come. While I was warm that might have been due to the many layers I was wearing so I could sit outside in the 50 degree weather. I was warm, and for the first time in many months I felt the sun filling my body and making it hard to move. Everything was slower and I could just tip back my head and close my eyes and see the red of the sun shining through. As I felt my body filling with sun the world around me looked like the sun was filling it too. The buds looked bigger and the trees not so barren. The sun on the porch was good and warm and sleepy.
The refrigerator hum emanates from the corner of the room, washing over my brain in dulling waves. As I sit here, quietly, my mind starts to slooooow doooowwwwn, until it crawls slowly over the words and to-do lists and ideas. I can feel the tiredness from last night up in my head today, instead of where it usually lives in my chest. It pulls at me, stroking my brain lazily, languidly, whispering lullabies, easing my brain down into its soft nest of enticing sleep. The fingers of sleep, the soft, misty tendrils, never let my brain go today. Today, I am sluggish with cobwebs, moving through the world in a constant molasses state, sleepy, yawning, quiet.
The paper towel is yanked out from under me, and suddenly I’m moving upward into the air at an astonishing rate. My antennae twitch madly. I hurl myself off the paper towel, making a spectacular leap onto a flat wooden surface. I land hard on the edge of it. I have no time to clean myself or check for injuries. I run, faster than I've ever run before. Behind one plastic container, then another and another, each containing a single captive. No time to pause and check each one out. I run down a wooden pole that turns into a cold metallic pole. No time to see what it is. I drop onto a freezing concrete floor, my feet, moving at an incalculable speed, keeping my body mere millimeters from the surface that would surely slow me to a crawl. I see the hand moving to intercept me, and I know I’m too late. I see an inviting dark corner to my right, and in that second, my determination gets the better of me. I turn on a dime, changing direction in a split second. I pump my legs with all the speed I can muster, faster than any other animal could run under these circumstances. I am a bright tan streak as I disappear into the darkness.
The sand flows like water in between my toes as I walk across the beach on a warm summer afternoon. I soon find a warm spot to sit, and slowly lower myself down. My feet are fully emerged now. I let my eyes droop down, and eventually shut, feeling the hot sun beat down on my face. I can almost feel the small, soft freckles forming across my cheeks. I keep my eyes closed, focusing on the sound of the waves. I let the sound wash through my ears, and it clears my head of all thoughts. This moment of peace is something I live for. This one single moment, before the waves wash back out, and my thoughts flood back in.
Lauren, your description puts me right there in the moment. It makes me miss summer. Your choice of words is really strong; they're simple, yet evoke exactly the feeling you want them to. I really like that. They way you formed your sentences makes the piece feel very long, languid, like a stretch. I really like the juxtaposition of the waves drawing back out while your thoughts flood back in at the end, but it makes me wonder. What's on your mind? Why are your thoughts so troubling? I'd love to see that expanded. Overall, though, this is a wonderful piece. It really captures the moment. Well done.
The moment when my bed feels the most comfortable is during those stolen moments when my mom thinks I've gotten up (or isn't telling me to get up, anyway). The mattress is so soft, the pillow feels like it's designed for my head. My eyes shut.... No. I have to get up. I'm more awake now. It's time. I need to get up. I ease myself out of bed so as not to hurt my head (standing up too quickly first thing in the morning gives me a headache), remove my retainers, and stagger into the bathroom. My eyes squint as I turn on the light, and I feel like covering my ears when the shower starts pounding, pounding, the water hitting the plastic curtain. It's a jarring sound that can't be blocked out. When I return to my room, warm but with soaking wet hair, I know the worst is past. Whatever happens during the day can't be as bad as forcing myself out of bed or turning on the shower.
I can really feel that early morning pain. It might be your description or the fact I know exactly how you feel because I feel that every morning. Both aspects are very important and you pull it off really well. I like your description of getting out of bed slowly because it gives you a headache. It makes me lose my eyesight for a moment. Later you talk about your eyes and the pounding of the shower. Again, I can see and feel what you are saying. You really caught this time of day, that everyone goes through, perfectly, good job.
I ate a Mounds bar today even though I don't like them. As I tore open the brown wrapper I told myself "You don't like these," but still, my fingers worked to reveal the two lumpy brown rectangles. The first one I pulled out was a bit smashed because it had been in my backpack. The chocolate had cracked and it was substantially thinner than its counter part. I bit into it, my teeth sinking easily into the cool coconut paste inside and I once again thought, "I really don't like these." I picked up the wrapper and looked at it while I chewed. In big, friendly bubble letters was the word MOUNDS and underneath DARK CHOCOLATE COCONUT FILLED. The O in mounds had been replaced with a coconut along with another sitting in the corner on a pile of palm tree branches. I took another bite of the smashed candy; it was beginning to leave a bad taste in my mouth. I don't think I'll eat Mounds bars anymore. But then again, I didn't think I would've eaten the one I had today.
The high-pitched beeping of my alarm clock immediately threw me out of my dream. My arm hit the snooze button like a hammer, a movement that required a lot of effort from my not-so-rested body. I looked onto the ceiling and saw the red numbers (my clock projects the time onto the ceiling because rolling over to look at the clock is too much to handle). 6:00. I shut my eyes for what seemed like a second. 6:03. On an ordinary morning, this would continue until 6:17 or so, but today was Wednesday. I had to leave 15 minutes earlier to ensure I got a parking spot, preferably without parallel parking, which I have not attempted in over a year. This morning was uneventful, no people who drive as slow as they feel in the crisp morning, or overweight turkeys trying to fly across the road. Just the usual 35 minute drive. I pulled into a spot without issue, and sat in my warm car, not quite ready to start the day. I sat there for 10 minutes in silence, trying to remember the dream I was yanked out of earlier that morning.
I really like this Emily. You describe the moment really well and I can definitely relate because it's what I go through every morning. I really like your description of the "people who drive as slow as they feel," because it describes those (annoying) people so well. I also think its really relatable when you say you sat in your car for ten minutes in the silence and when you say the dream that you were "yanked" from is the perfect verb to go there, I think. I think you could also add a little more description on how you feel when you finally get out of bed or as you are driving to school but overall, really good job.
It was the middle of the night and, with my bed pushed up next to Liv's, I could faintly hear her music escaping the confines of her little rubber earbuds. She slept soundly underneath the blanket of raindrops on the roof above our heads. I knew we only had four nights left, but somehow I felt like I was never going to see my family again. I fantasized about the moment I would see them waiting at the airport; I knew my grandmother and my mom would be there with food and clean clothes and big hugs that would last a little too long. I replayed it in my mind as the ropes around my stomach got tighter and tighter and a warm tear leapt out of my eye and down my cheek and was welcomed into the threads of the musty sheet below me. I hummed the Fleetwood Mac version of the song Landslide as my eyes struggled to make out shapes in the darkness. I could feel the tears washing my eyes out as I continued to torture myself with the images of home. Each time I started the fantasy over my heart rate would slow, and then, as I got closer and closer to the plane landing and seeing my family, my heart rate would increase and a new round of tears broke down the barrier of eyelashes. I drifted off into an uneasy sleep with the pictures of home still flipping rapidly past my mind's eye...only four more nights.
I really like this moment you've described here. It's something that I'm sure, anyone who has been away from home, has experienced and the way that you chose to describe it is unique and interesting. I especially love when you say, "but somehow I felt like I was never going to see my family again," because it really does feel like that! In those sad moments, time seems to move so slowly and you begin to feel like you'll never get there at all, although you only have a few days left as you've said. You're detail of the fantasy is also very compelling, I definitely thought that was the stronger part of your paragraph. I think you could give more detail on exactly where you are. Although the vagueness is nice for the most part, it is good for the reader to have a little bit more context as to understand your situation even more. Try just adding in how long you've been there at this moment and where, geographically, you are. Great job!
I lie in bed, warm underneath the covers. I have a book in my hands, holding it up in the air so I can read it clearly but, my upper arms begin to ache. So, I adjust, the bed creaking underneath me as I move around, trying to find a more comfortable position. But, the creaking suddenly turns louder. Rising in pitch and frequency until it is a blaring noise. I jump, wondering how the bed could make such a noise but as it keeps going, I realize it's coming from outside my door. I hop out of bed, into the hallway and down the stairs to realize it's our smoke detector. My mother and brother are downstairs also, but they don't seem as freaked out as I am. I run to the stove to see what's cooking, but nothing is turned on. I frown in confusion. Is the detector malfunctioning? Whatever's happening, I open the windows just incase. By the time I return to the living room, the blaring has stopped although it still rings in my ears. My brother stands in the room and he tells me it's from all the dust because they sanded the basement today. I nod slowly before going back up to my room, preparing to lie down in my warm covers and go back to the world I was in just moments earlier. But, I don't get to because the blaring picks up once again. I can't even hear my feet pound down the stairs as I rush to press the button on the detector that will quiet it once more. It takes a few moments but, after a while the infuriating, slow, beeping pattern subsides. I glare at it a few beats more for good measure, all negative thoughts radiating out towards the mean, noisy object. But, this does not do anything because it goes off frequently over the next hour. It only quiets for good hours later after we're all tired and our heads ache for the incessant noise.
The air felt still. It might have been due to the lack of noise and movement that normally filled the air, but there was a difference whatever it was due to. I sat on the porch, alone. The early Spring sun warming my skin, with the promise that warmer weather was to come. While I was warm that might have been due to the many layers I was wearing so I could sit outside in the 50 degree weather. I was warm, and for the first time in many months I felt the sun filling my body and making it hard to move. Everything was slower and I could just tip back my head and close my eyes and see the red of the sun shining through. As I felt my body filling with sun the world around me looked like the sun was filling it too. The buds looked bigger and the trees not so barren. The sun on the porch was good and warm and sleepy.
ReplyDeleteThe refrigerator hum emanates from the corner of the room, washing over my brain in dulling waves. As I sit here, quietly, my mind starts to slooooow doooowwwwn, until it crawls slowly over the words and to-do lists and ideas. I can feel the tiredness from last night up in my head today, instead of where it usually lives in my chest. It pulls at me, stroking my brain lazily, languidly, whispering lullabies, easing my brain down into its soft nest of enticing sleep. The fingers of sleep, the soft, misty tendrils, never let my brain go today. Today, I am sluggish with cobwebs, moving through the world in a constant molasses state, sleepy, yawning, quiet.
ReplyDeleteThe paper towel is yanked out from under me, and suddenly I’m moving upward into the air at an astonishing rate. My antennae twitch madly. I hurl myself off the paper towel, making a spectacular leap onto a flat wooden surface. I land hard on the edge of it. I have no time to clean myself or check for injuries. I run, faster than I've ever run before. Behind one plastic container, then another and another, each containing a single captive. No time to pause and check each one out. I run down a wooden pole that turns into a cold metallic pole. No time to see what it is. I drop onto a freezing concrete floor, my feet, moving at an incalculable speed, keeping my body mere millimeters from the surface that would surely slow me to a crawl. I see the hand moving to intercept me, and I know I’m too late. I see an inviting dark corner to my right, and in that second, my determination gets the better of me. I turn on a dime, changing direction in a split second. I pump my legs with all the speed I can muster, faster than any other animal could run under these circumstances. I am a bright tan streak as I disappear into the darkness.
ReplyDeleteThe sand flows like water in between my toes as I walk across the beach on a warm summer afternoon. I soon find a warm spot to sit, and slowly lower myself down. My feet are fully emerged now. I let my eyes droop down, and eventually shut, feeling the hot sun beat down on my face. I can almost feel the small, soft freckles forming across my cheeks. I keep my eyes closed, focusing on the sound of the waves. I let the sound wash through my ears, and it clears my head of all thoughts. This moment of peace is something I live for. This one single moment, before the waves wash back out, and my thoughts flood back in.
ReplyDeleteLauren, your description puts me right there in the moment. It makes me miss summer. Your choice of words is really strong; they're simple, yet evoke exactly the feeling you want them to. I really like that. They way you formed your sentences makes the piece feel very long, languid, like a stretch. I really like the juxtaposition of the waves drawing back out while your thoughts flood back in at the end, but it makes me wonder. What's on your mind? Why are your thoughts so troubling? I'd love to see that expanded. Overall, though, this is a wonderful piece. It really captures the moment. Well done.
DeleteThe moment when my bed feels the most comfortable is during those stolen moments when my mom thinks I've gotten up (or isn't telling me to get up, anyway). The mattress is so soft, the pillow feels like it's designed for my head. My eyes shut.... No. I have to get up. I'm more awake now. It's time. I need to get up. I ease myself out of bed so as not to hurt my head (standing up too quickly first thing in the morning gives me a headache), remove my retainers, and stagger into the bathroom. My eyes squint as I turn on the light, and I feel like covering my ears when the shower starts pounding, pounding, the water hitting the plastic curtain. It's a jarring sound that can't be blocked out. When I return to my room, warm but with soaking wet hair, I know the worst is past. Whatever happens during the day can't be as bad as forcing myself out of bed or turning on the shower.
ReplyDeleteI can really feel that early morning pain. It might be your description or the fact I know exactly how you feel because I feel that every morning. Both aspects are very important and you pull it off really well. I like your description of getting out of bed slowly because it gives you a headache. It makes me lose my eyesight for a moment. Later you talk about your eyes and the pounding of the shower. Again, I can see and feel what you are saying. You really caught this time of day, that everyone goes through, perfectly, good job.
DeleteI ate a Mounds bar today even though I don't like them. As I tore open the brown wrapper I told myself "You don't like these," but still, my fingers worked to reveal the two lumpy brown rectangles. The first one I pulled out was a bit smashed because it had been in my backpack. The chocolate had cracked and it was substantially thinner than its counter part. I bit into it, my teeth sinking easily into the cool coconut paste inside and I once again thought, "I really don't like these." I picked up the wrapper and looked at it while I chewed. In big, friendly bubble letters was the word MOUNDS and underneath DARK CHOCOLATE COCONUT FILLED. The O in mounds had been replaced with a coconut along with another sitting in the corner on a pile of palm tree branches. I took another bite of the smashed candy; it was beginning to leave a bad taste in my mouth. I don't think I'll eat Mounds bars anymore. But then again, I didn't think I would've eaten the one I had today.
ReplyDeleteThe high-pitched beeping of my alarm clock immediately threw me out of my dream. My arm hit the snooze button like a hammer, a movement that required a lot of effort from my not-so-rested body. I looked onto the ceiling and saw the red numbers (my clock projects the time onto the ceiling because rolling over to look at the clock is too much to handle). 6:00. I shut my eyes for what seemed like a second. 6:03. On an ordinary morning, this would continue until 6:17 or so, but today was Wednesday. I had to leave 15 minutes earlier to ensure I got a parking spot, preferably without parallel parking, which I have not attempted in over a year. This morning was uneventful, no people who drive as slow as they feel in the crisp morning, or overweight turkeys trying to fly across the road. Just the usual 35 minute drive. I pulled into a spot without issue, and sat in my warm car, not quite ready to start the day. I sat there for 10 minutes in silence, trying to remember the dream I was yanked out of earlier that morning.
ReplyDeleteI really like this Emily. You describe the moment really well and I can definitely relate because it's what I go through every morning. I really like your description of the "people who drive as slow as they feel," because it describes those (annoying) people so well. I also think its really relatable when you say you sat in your car for ten minutes in the silence and when you say the dream that you were "yanked" from is the perfect verb to go there, I think. I think you could also add a little more description on how you feel when you finally get out of bed or as you are driving to school but overall, really good job.
DeleteIt was the middle of the night and, with my bed pushed up next to Liv's, I could faintly hear her music escaping the confines of her little rubber earbuds. She slept soundly underneath the blanket of raindrops on the roof above our heads. I knew we only had four nights left, but somehow I felt like I was never going to see my family again. I fantasized about the moment I would see them waiting at the airport; I knew my grandmother and my mom would be there with food and clean clothes and big hugs that would last a little too long. I replayed it in my mind as the ropes around my stomach got tighter and tighter and a warm tear leapt out of my eye and down my cheek and was welcomed into the threads of the musty sheet below me. I hummed the Fleetwood Mac version of the song Landslide as my eyes struggled to make out shapes in the darkness. I could feel the tears washing my eyes out as I continued to torture myself with the images of home. Each time I started the fantasy over my heart rate would slow, and then, as I got closer and closer to the plane landing and seeing my family, my heart rate would increase and a new round of tears broke down the barrier of eyelashes. I drifted off into an uneasy sleep with the pictures of home still flipping rapidly past my mind's eye...only four more nights.
ReplyDeleteI really like this moment you've described here. It's something that I'm sure, anyone who has been away from home, has experienced and the way that you chose to describe it is unique and interesting. I especially love when you say, "but somehow I felt like I was never going to see my family again," because it really does feel like that! In those sad moments, time seems to move so slowly and you begin to feel like you'll never get there at all, although you only have a few days left as you've said. You're detail of the fantasy is also very compelling, I definitely thought that was the stronger part of your paragraph. I think you could give more detail on exactly where you are. Although the vagueness is nice for the most part, it is good for the reader to have a little bit more context as to understand your situation even more. Try just adding in how long you've been there at this moment and where, geographically, you are. Great job!
DeleteI lie in bed, warm underneath the covers. I have a book in my hands, holding it up in the air so I can read it clearly but, my upper arms begin to ache. So, I adjust, the bed creaking underneath me as I move around, trying to find a more comfortable position.
ReplyDeleteBut, the creaking suddenly turns louder. Rising in pitch and frequency until it is a blaring noise. I jump, wondering how the bed could make such a noise but as it keeps going, I realize it's coming from outside my door. I hop out of bed, into the hallway and down the stairs to realize it's our smoke detector. My mother and brother are downstairs also, but they don't seem as freaked out as I am. I run to the stove to see what's cooking, but nothing is turned on. I frown in confusion. Is the detector malfunctioning? Whatever's happening, I open the windows just incase. By the time I return to the living room, the blaring has stopped although it still rings in my ears. My brother stands in the room and he tells me it's from all the dust because they sanded the basement today. I nod slowly before going back up to my room, preparing to lie down in my warm covers and go back to the world I was in just moments earlier.
But, I don't get to because the blaring picks up once again. I can't even hear my feet pound down the stairs as I rush to press the button on the detector that will quiet it once more. It takes a few moments but, after a while the infuriating, slow, beeping pattern subsides. I glare at it a few beats more for good measure, all negative thoughts radiating out towards the mean, noisy object. But, this does not do anything because it goes off frequently over the next hour. It only quiets for good hours later after we're all tired and our heads ache for the incessant noise.