Off tasky-ish-ness

I logged in today, eager to see how many people have looked at my page. I look at the graph. And my liddle ♥ just bweaks. 2 views :(

It hurts, Internet. I'm just trying to write a book, and show some people out there that not every teenager is stuck to texting Jenna about what Jerry said to Brad about Laura who talked about Ashley and Victor's possible baby.

Anyway, I didn't get around to writing the novel today, because I actually had to do work in school today. It was one of those rare days. However, I was forced to write a personal narrative (Non-fiction. Oh God, no) about things in my past. As much as I hated the assignment, my piece didn't turn out half bad. If you would like to read that, just slap it in your comment.

Weekly LAWL:

Yeah, this made me pee a little. Not only is J.J.'s face perfectly humorous, but the god-awful joke followed by it make me LAWL. I'm just a nerd. I stumbled upon this on FunnyJunk. It's like 4Chan without the disgusting porn. I have a profile on FJ, I think I'm BlargleBoy or some silly thing. Blargle, Blah, Derp, and Doodle are my exasperation words. No, I don't know why.

I figured it was about time that I shared some music with you, since I'm more picky about my music than Donald Trump is about god-awful hair pieces. When writing, I usually listen to this little hippy-looking band called Fleet Foxes.

You may have heard of them, as their newest album was critically acclaimed. But their self-titles album is just freaking beautiful. You will listen to White Winter Hymnal a kagillion times, plus a couple other times. Just ask Brittany, my girlfriend. It may have been what drove her totally crazy, but I'm still trying to work that out. So many possibilities...

Tomorrow I shall have some word for you about the book or other projects. Also, be aware that I can't post the whole book on here. That being said, I most likely will anyway.

Before I tell you to enjoy this little short-story I'm about to post (stop telling me to take out the Trash, Mom!),  I'd like to ask for your help in promoting my Blog once again. Pretty please.

Enjoy this short story!

♥, Me

Click read more to read "Garden of Waste", an original short story!

Garden of Waste

The cacophony had stopped. Her shivering, however, continued.  Eva had not moved in the lead womb, instead, she lay stationary on the rusted bed with a mattress worn and torn. Her eyes red and irritated, not from crying, but from the effort to. She had memorized the symphony of explosions from an early age, drawing their sounds out on the barren walls. Now, tally marks covered every inch, as if they had multiplied a thousand times over in seemingly no time. Eva dared to think of keeping her promise to herself, to step outside, even if it meant death.

She could no longer remember the cause of it all, how humanity justified its’ own extermination. It did not matter to her. All she could she was the poorly covered corpses across the way. First mother. Then Adle, her brother. Finally, father. They did not bring tears to her eyes, or helplessness to her heart. Eva only shivered, lightly rocking to the scrape of springs as her weight shifted. Memories held no weight to her, sentiment and family had faded over time. The bodies in the corner were only bodies, nothing more. They had lost their respective souls when Eva had lost all her tears to them.

Eva hummed the apocalypse symphony to herself, slowly rocking…

The lead shelter had been her home since she could care to remember. Her childhood mind lay underneath the veil of tally marks, eclectically drawn over the gray canvas. The walls had transformed for Eva, from canvas to quicksand, swallowing her personality as a whole, her person. Eva was just a body. A dead woman walking. Her mind was elsewhere, somewhere, anywhere but there. It had left with her father, no longer wishing to be trapped in the solipsistic lead tomb.

Eva’s shirt was in tatters; her pants had dissolved into shorts. Her hair had clung to her neck since Adle passed. Her body had waned to a firm figure, her abdomen carved out. The only way she slept was to exhaust herself. Other than this, Eva constantly looked for outlets in vain. Eva felt the pale light of the lamp gently fall across her ghostly skin, caressing the lonely surface of her.  Words began to form on her lips, whispers. Not of hope or persistence, but of need.

Eva felt a stirring in her legs, and slowly left the rusted cradle she had sat in till it conformed to her. The bed did not lose its shape of her. Oddly, Eva felt missed. Still, her legs carried her to the Underbelly. Once a vast room of food, water, and supplies, it had now lost most of its contents to the family. Its bare structure now only held a few essentials; a few gallons of water and sparse cans of food, whose labels had crumbled to the naked shelves below. Eva lifted her shirt from her torso and placed the remaining necessities in the middle of the measly garment, tying the bundle with gaunt fingers. As she ascended from the Underbelly, Eva felt unusually liberated. The stale air invited her naked breast and stomach into the forsaken environment. Even when she passed the corpses, she did not feel shame from her exposure.

As her legs continued forward, Eva hummed the apocalypse symphony…

She did not stop, although she did question where she was headed. Past the bedraggled bathroom, forward past the decrepit bedroom; her crypt. Forward, passing the tally marked walls and faded drawings. It seemed like a demented kaleidoscope to her, almost mocking her presence there. Eva looked ahead and her destination became clear, the Door. Eva panicked, but could not stop herself from marching on.

Her bare feet shuffled along the cold floor of the shelter, ever closer to the Door. What did she have to lose, what life could she live in this confinement? A life of survival, certainly; but Eva was still human. Survival did not slake the human condition’s thirst. Too long had it been starved, and it pushed Eva to the Door. Her body drew even closer to the Door.

The apocalypse symphony ceased to flow from her as Eva felt the chilled surface of the Door…

Eva had made a decision, or rather, one had been made for her, and it was resolute in its determination. Her hand fumbled for the latch, the other clung tightly to the shirt. It began to feel heavy, and she clutched it tighter, as if expecting someone or something to steal it from her. She found the thick bar and its strong resistance to open. Still, she pushed. A hiss of air and a rumble from the once-dormant locks as they crept to life made Eva anxious. Almost dizzy from unfamiliar fear, Eva nearly collapsed onto the Door.

Eva fell out into the Wasteland, the vault Door’s prize. She felt the warm soil on her knees and breast, and the heat surprised her. Eva arose from the ground, feeling the surface of the Wasteland shift between her toes. The sun berated her sensitive green eyes, and a hand rose to protect them. Slowly, the Wasteland came into focus.

Burning high in the corner of the horizon, the Sun sent warmth down to Eva. It engulfed her as she tried to perceive this new world, this barren sight.  There wasn’t much in her sight. Everything was broken, burnt and ruined. Nothing from the Before remained now, not a remnant.  Eva tore the remainder of her measly shorts from her body and wrapped it around her head, just over her eyes to see clearer.

There she stood in the Wasteland, fully naked. Pale as a ghost and frail from confinement, yet, she felt no shame in her exposure. The wind stung and the light warmed her. Eva basked in the new freedom. She could run without boundaries, live in this newness, created from a destroyed culture. As she scanned the horizon once more, she came onto something she did not notice initially.

In the center of a ruined house lay a dormant warhead. It appeared too lazy to fulfill its purpose, or rather, too wise. Its large body penetrated both floors of the once-quaint home, its giant fins nestled on a destroyed couch.  Eva noticed all this as she walked slowly towards the giant. She walked through the doorway and noticed a large flag strapped to the warhead. Impossible to determine its origins, Eva dedicated it to the Wasteland, an escape from her solipsistic lead womb. She felt the burning of the radiation on her naked skin, but also the warmth of the  Sun and the wind in her filthy hair. The pain was worth something new and unknown, something to satisfy her human condition’s needs.

Eva sat down near the warhead and felt the warm ground once again shift beneath her. At the head of the bomb was a black skeleton, an arm extended out to a still-burning book. On the cover, Eva made out the words: “Holy Bible”. She remembered her parents speak of this book, and of the man it spoke of. Eva reached out and felt the flame’s warmth on her hand. Sacrificing limb for satisfaction, Eva thrust her hand onto the burning book and moaned in pain as she brought it closer to her body. Suddenly, the flames grew cold and turned a vibrant blue. Eva was taken aback, and held her burned hand close for healing.

She sat her supplies down and unwrapped her make-shift visor from her forehead. Eva held the soothing leather book to her breast as a new precious possession of the Before.

Once again, Eva’s lips let the apocalypse symphony flow from her lips…

With her past tomb yards away, and her future world around her, Eva stood with a small sense of triumph. This book seemed to be the wrapping to heal the schism of her head, the addled mind contained inside her. As she felt the sensation in her legs to once again move, Eva finished the apocalypse symphony for the last time.

With a burnt piece of the home, Eva scrawled something new onto the wise warhead: A single tally mark. She knew to let the Before be, lest she destroy her new beginnings.

As Eva gathered her belongings and marched on in the Wasteland, she hummed a new symphony, one titled “The Song Of Songs”.

Eva felt contented with the lead womb behind her. She felt whole with her Wasteland, as she filled it with her voice, carrying her new song…