Okay so, in my Creative Writing class we have this awesome book that we do exercises from. I sort of liked the turn out from this assignment, so I thought I'd post it. It was a collage essay, where we had to write little paragraphs or sentences from different prompts, then put the whole thing together and see what came out. It was interesting to me. Some of the stuff has nothing to do with each other, well most of it doesn't, but somehow it all came together a little. So... Yeah. Here it is.
Covered in a cherry pattern, the toe separator is stretched and slightly worn from years of use and abuse. I never liked using it, but my sisters would always force me to sit still while the acrid smell of nail polish filled my nostrils, and my toenails were separated by cherries and adorned with gaudy liquid.
I cover my eyes as the tears flow violently. The most terrible sound I could ever imagine in my little world is coming true—my father is tearing apart my swing set. Sharp creaks and loud groans are emitted from the rusty metal. I throw myself on the ground, still sobbing, my clothes becoming damp from the dewy spring grass. “Dad! Stop it!” I scream, as I shake with the flow of my emotion. I don’t care that the old swing set is much too hazardous for me to continue to play on, or that we’re getting a new one. How could dad rip my swing set to pieces and take them to the junkyard? That’s my beloved swing set! He says it’s for the best. I don’t see how that could be possible.
Dying to yourself is the only way to have new life.
How much influence does where I come from and the choices I’ve made have on who I am today?
Walking down the starlit street, attempting to calm the racing of my heart, I made conversation with my friend that didn’t make any sense. My gaze moved nervously from the stars to the streetlights to the dark silhouettes of the suburbian houses. After what seemed like a lifetime we reached the corner, and as I turned it my breath was stolen from me by the sight of my favorite person. He smiled and I began to breathe again, but just barely. Throwing myself into his arms, breathing in deep the comforting smell of sweat and sweet deodorant, I sigh, and murmur, “I missed you.” He holds me tight, and returns the sentiment. We lie down in the middle of the road beside each other and hold hands, looking up at the stars. Not much conversation is held; not much is needed. What are our friends doing? We couldn’t care less. Their existence has faded into the background of the scene. After a while we know we should go. In his arms once more, I simply breathed, and I knew this moment would be etched forever in my memory. As we were walking away, I heard the sound that tore apart my world. A vehicle, racing down the hill, engine roaring. My father’s eyes met mine through the windshield. I knew that when I got home, he would say it was for the best, and he would rip my world apart. I hated him for it. He would say it was for the best, but at the time, I didn’t see how that could be possible.
God says, “The end will justify the pain it took to get us there.”
Vanessa. ((
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