Saturday, December 12, 2009

Oh Dear - a short story about coffee

This is just an exercise but I think its okay. I had fun writing it!
Oh Dear…
I woke up, my alarm shrilling right into my ear. I groaned. “Five more minutes.” I muttered. Five minutes turned into fifteen minutes.
So when I finally got out of bed, the coffee was all gone. Between mum, dad and big brother Nick, they drink a lot of coffee. Mum, dad and me can’t function properly without a little caffeine banging around our system, but Nick only drinks the last of it to annoy me. Dad has this funny rule about coffee- we’re only allowed to make one batch per day. Of course, he drinks like half of it; Mum drinks most of the rest, leaving me only a cup if I beat Nick to the kitchen. It might not seem like a tragedy to you, but that means, I have to go buy coffee at the local 7-11, where Twitchy James works. I call him twitchy James because his ears always twitch, like some oversized vermin. I got on his bad side once, and now he is always short changing me. Don’t ask me what I did, because I just told his mum about this up-coming assembly where he’d be getting a couple of awards. I meant it as in good will, but I guess he didn’t see it this way.

“Hello Meg.” There it was, Twitchy James. It should show you that I couldn’t manage an insult, let alone a civil-yet-insulting comeback. I just got my double-latte with milk and joined the queue. It was mainly full of grade eights buying slurpees. I shuddered to think of the food colouring. If I had any brains right at that moment, I wouldn’t have spilled the coffee over my uniform. As I ducked into the bathroom, I started worrying about paying double for the spilt coffee. As it turned out, I didn’t need to worry about that. I should have been worrying about something more immensely important.
That’s because two robbers just walked into the store when I finally came out.

They had everyone on the floor, but there was no hostage. Twitchy James was also on the floor, while one of them helped themselves to the money.

I screamed.

Needless to say, they shot me in surprise. The shot still rang out after I fell, warping into the shrill sound of my alarm clock. I was awake. That was a dream.

I was tempted to stay in bed longer, but remembering the dream, I shot down to the kitchen. Nick was slurping the last of the coffee, his eyes taunting me to make an outburst. Oh dear...
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Saturday, November 28, 2009

Figments of imagination

Hello reader(s).
I was at a philiosphy marathon in cellebration of philiosophy week. It put some very "disturbing" ideas in me. For example, there was discussion about how the world we live in may or may not exixt, like this world I see is really a dream. So like, I go into this chair and start dreaming about this world. In this world I wouldn't remember anything but when I get out, I will retain all memories from this world. The discussion went on to see if this was ethnical but that's not important. The point is, while I not quite sure that this world is real, it makes you think about how insignificant while how important you are at the same time. Insignificant compared to celebrities but significant to the development of the world. And isn't it ironic how we are insignificant in the insignificant things but significant in the significant things.

I think i have fond my place in the world.

Nah, just joking. But it seems kind of true. In a way. I mean, most of us will get our 15 minutes of fame and then afterwards, think 'that wasn't as i imagined.' So i thnk it is better to be significant in the significant things then to be significant in insignificant things.

FeyFey

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Music is NOT my life


Hello Reader(s)

It seems strange, when I look back and realise that I have never learnt how to properly play an instrument, just messing around with the odd recorder and keyboard. And now, today I am starting to learn how to play a guitar, or perhaps a bass (or is is base) because on of the strings is broken. All I have is a book and the guitar and to start how to learing. Its harder than I thought, the sounds never seems to comke out right when you are in the song, just when testing out the chord. I can sort of see why people says music is their life, its kind of satisfying to just strum, and feel the vibrations. I like the guitar/bass but I have not reached the point of "enlightment in music". Its a very hot day, lazy Sunday. So I just want to make this a very short post and shout out to http://poppiesandpeaches.blogspot.com, an awesome fashion blog, please go there even if you don't like fashion.

FeyFey

Friday, November 20, 2009

Salutations Reader(s)!
Haha, I had to add that. It makes you feel very eccentric and happy. Well at least for me it does. But thats what I'm blogging about today. I want to blog about MySpace, FaceBook, Bebo and Twitter. What are they? Im not one to shy away form technology, yet I still don't see the difference between them. From what I have heard, they are all the preety much the same thing-to tell the cyber-world all about youself, which is kind of like a blog except more intimate and with more functions (games, audio clips?). Do they bring the makers of these social-networking sites any money? So can someone tell me please, just in the comments will be fine.

Second Subject: Vampires. The undead corpses that feed on human blood to survive.
And now they've come back to haunt the pages of best-sellers and the screens on TV, computers, radios blaring all about Twilight. So what is it about Stephenie Meyer that let her write a trend that the world is following. Lots of books nowadays are all about the mystical world of vampires, and their mingles with the mortal world. So what should the budding writer, well, write about? Vampires? Or break out of the trend and start a brand new thing? Please leave comments, thnx. Now I have a dentist appointment

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Clone wolf packs(or maybe Zombies)

Hello, first up, i would like to thank my friend from http://poppiesandpeaches.blogspot.com (who has an awesome blog dediacated to fashion), for following and M, you know who you are, both of you are awesome friends. Which brings me to my next issue; fear of being a "loner", or monophobis. It seems to happen a lot to people of this generations or perhaps its just teenagers. Teenagers seem to always want to be with someone, whether its just to fend off boredom of just being surrounded by friends to help keep up the image of "cool". Its actually very coomon, just today my friend asked me why do I want to catch an early bus when theres no-one and how everyone will be calling me FeyFey the loner. I replied that I wanted to start the weekend early, yet I could see that she didn't grasp why I wanted to be a loner when there is a whole group of friends that is so much more fun to hang out with. It would seem that she was playing to an invisble audience, a psycological case that is very ordinary at this age. I want to know why, why are people so afraid to stand out and be too different yet still want to be in the special spotlight in a good way. This may seem like a cliche but being yourself would help you be liked. Most people have probaly grasped this, or at least at my high school but girls literally travel in clone (wolf) packs, scowling at everyone in the way. Or maybe its zombies;beautiful and undead. Sometimes it is much more relaxing to be alone, even when there is a choice to be surrounded by friends. Don't get me wrong, sometimes its fun to play with politics within the school but its gets so tiring to discuss if the it couple is breaking up or about to get back together again.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Good Luck and the odd story.

fortune- noun - 1.chance as an arbitary force affecting human affairs>luck, especially good luck. 2. Large amount of money.

luck- noun -success or failire brought by chance>chance considered as a force causing success or failure

peripeteia- noun -as sudden reversal of fortune or change in circumstances.

I just realised how lucky i am. Compared to people living in war who have no rights, political voice or can be killed in any instance, i must have a very luxurious life. Compared to the hunger-starved children of third world country, i have everything anyone could ever wish for.

So why I am complaining about the small and petty, trivial things in life such as sore legs, orals, having to ride on a bus stuck in traffick or plain old boredom? Perhaps because now that i dont have difficult problems, i want to complain about something, just for the sake of complaining. That is why i think we should all complain but realise how lucky we all are.

This is a story i did a while ago, for and assignment, hope you like it. For once, its actually completed with it and satisfied by it. Its not true by the way, totally sad if it were.

Lost and Found

“Abby, can we go outside to play?” I asked, knowing fully well that mother would stop us on the way out.

“No, Jack, we shall have dinner in 10 minutes. You know the rules.” Abby replied. She was right. I did know that. ‘No play half an hour before and after dinner’ was one of the rules. Indeed, the only time Abby and I could play outside was after tea for only thirty minutes. Although mother hated it when we go outside and always tried to stop or delay us. She was convinced that our innocence must be protected and the outdoors would unveil horrible things for us to withstand. Sighing, I headed towards the library to read. I loved reading books seemingly transported me to another word, its inky breath still on my ear as I head to dinner room.

After dinner, there was a session where Mother would proceed to teach and criticize. This was not something I liked.

“I am dismayed by your calculus. Look at this! Boys are anticipated to be good at arithmetic like your father, but the genes seem to be wasted on Abigail! As for your tapestry of Buckingham Palace, heaven forbid you should get blood on it. The state of you two! You are dismissed early, for I have an appalling migraine.” And with that, she glided from the room, with distress written on her face. Abby had informed me that if enough mistakes were made, our session would end early. She was right. I always look up to Abby. Mother is too strict and Father is never around, always at the bank where he works. Sometimes, I imagined that Father cares more about money than his family.

Abby seemed feverish and clammy when I asked her if she was all right.

“I’m fine. Nothing to worry about, Jack, I’m just tired. I think I’ll go to bed early” she sighed, and trudged upstairs to her bedroom. I went to bed early too.

It was raining the next morning. Pounding wind threatened to blow apart the fragile windows.

“Abigail, get down here in two minutes, fully presentable, the village doctor is coming.” Mother was shouting, infuriated. The doctor was a horrible man, drunk most of the time, vexed easily and made a lot of mistakes. A rumor had the doctor was called to treat a peasant who had broken his arm and needed help. He had mistaken the fracture for a dislocation and treated the arm unseemly and resulted a dead man from an infection. But when the doctor examined Abby, as much as I wished he were wrong, he wasn’t.

“Abby had Spanish influenza.” The doctor paused. “The Spanish influenza has struck again.”

I lost Abby. There were no words to describe my pain. How could you describe the pain when death swipes a person from your life, tearing bonds like a razor blade to rice paper? Gone forever from this life, how could one be expected to move on like this was a minor bump in one’s life?

I couldn’t stand it here (petrified father, frenzied mother). Pushing away the chair, , I ran out of the house, rain hammering against my face, out of the lawn and into the forest, the wind swirling. Running away from my despair, troubles and the world. Running blindly into the forest, where the darkness soothed me, comforting the hysterics coming out of my mouth. I had lost Abby, reason and sense of direction. It might have been hours; I didn’t know or care for anything now. Resting on a fallen log, calming my racing heart, I was impractical. Mother and Father didn’t need to add me on to their list of troubles. I shut my eyes from the world, thinking this were a nightmare where I was trapped. A bright light pricked my eyelids, directing all thoughts to the unwanted light. Opening my eyes, I saw Abby. Yes, my Abby, pointing what probably was a way out of the endless maze of this forest. Abby walked on, beckoning me further with her. My legs followed her against my will, enchanted.

It was afternoon when I returned home. Abby disappeared when we reached the well-pruned lawn. Father, for once, had stayed home and was on the phone for what I assumed relating to Abby’s funeral. Mother was nowhere in sight. I trudged upstairs to bed, tired. I thought I was ailing

Abby’s funeral was to be held next week on Sunday. It seemed that Abby’s death was the key to unlocking the real meaning of life in Mother and Father. I acknowledged that, but I would give or do anything to get Abby back but it was impossible.

When mother realized I wasn’t myself two days after running away, she sent for the doctor immediately.

“The boy may survive, but he’ll be fighting hard for his life, and if you can try to keep the fever down, that’ll help.” The doctor said. So the choice was mine. Live or die? Choosing my parents or Abby, my sister?

It was a peculiar dream. I was somewhere - the place kept on flickering. Abby was there in my dream too.

“Don’t. There is a whole life awaiting you, Jackson. You don’t get a second chance. Our loved ones never leave us in spirit. For mother and father” she advised. I opened my mouth but no words came out. Then the truth slammed into me, knocking me figuratively aside. She was always right. Mother was softer now, less worried about her society status. Father reduced a few hours to stay at home now. Yes, life is still goes on. Fueled by this will, I refused to let death claim another person. There would be enough victims with this flu.

Realizing this, I had survived grief. I’m sure Abby will be happy seeing me not waste a life.

Death is depressing but I had found what mattered to me.
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I know, its a little corny and needs A LOT of polishing but hey, i tried!

Saturday, November 14, 2009

My Story

Hello, I am now going to add a little excerpt of my story. Any resemblance about anything in this story to real life is just a coincedence. I hope.

"Why? Why are you doing this to me?" the boy asked hoarsely. He was lying on the ground and covered in in blood, hair matted and face full of grime. She felt tainted at the sight of this. The trees in the grove seemed to silently agree with her, their branches swaying in the light breese, leaves swishing and recoiling. It was twilight; the sky a brilliant red and blue, speckled white with the odd cloud.
"Because I have no use for you anymore. Be banished from my sight or the world. It's your choice." Everything that left her voice seemed like a song. A sad, deadly song.

Corabelle woke up from the nightmare of which she had no recollection.
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That was just the start, and please feel free to criticise, that would be very helpful for me.
On a different note, could everyone please comment on the meaning of the word "nothing".
Its such a hot day, I think I'll leave it for now.

FeyFey

Friday, November 13, 2009

The start

Hello to anyone whos reading this!
I am a bookworm who loves reading. One of my favourite series are the maximum ride series, by James Patterson. I want to be a writer, or at least get a book published but not as a full time job. I'd probaly end up as a doctor, because I want to help people. My title is this because i kinda have a writers block right now so this is kind of exercise to get rid of it. The soundtrack of your life means that is life started with music? (Like in Narnia) Or does music describe your life. I like philosphy and psycolology though so this is whay my blog is called.
I will write more later but right now, I need to get a move on with all my assignments n stuff

FeyFey