Saturday, November 27, 2010

Everything Can Burn (Inspired by Al B Damned)

*The premise of this story is largely based off of the song Everything Can Burn by Al B Damned. You can find lyrics at

Grey and Black. Grey and black.
Grey sky, black house. Grey ash, black skeletal frame.
Grey and black.
I stare at the charred skeleton of my old house. So dark. It used to be this beautiful two story house, out in the country, surrounded by woods.
The blaze is over. Now that house is just rubble and ash.
I can imagine how it is inside...but I need to see. I need to somehow justify these actions. Clenching my fist around the pack of patches, I make my numb way forward.
The door falls open at my touch, black as my shoulder length hair. That's something all of us hair.
The floorboards groan under my weight- my underfed frame seemingly too much- punctuated with the crunch of former windowpane shards under my feet. I look up. The roof is gone. Just beams, cracked and charred. That's interesting...
I continue my morbid journey, to my sisters room. The dollhouse kind of survived. I mean, it's still there, just a much darker version. The teddy bear is a pile of ash and formerly shiny black buttons. A pair, of course, for the eyes.
So I...leave. I don't need to stare any longer at the now anorexic looking bed frame. Don't need to touch the melted plastic fibers of the synthetic carpet.
Continue the journey. Parents room next. I push open the door, which falls open at my touch, just like the front door. This door is more grey though. Maybe 'cause I started everything here.
The smokey haze drifts towards me. I wave it away, looking for an image I can engrave into my mind. Look towards the dresser. Broken perfume bottles, shards of the elaborate gilt-framed mirror. Bed's next. A glint of sparkling diamond, a flash of platinum bands. The four poster is skeletal looking as well.
No need to dwell, this is enough. My actions did this. My hand and a pack of cheap matches.
But is it justified?
I don't look at my room, I already know it's gone, ruined. But...
I look up the staircase. It isn't so bad there, the ebony banister, covered in a polished veneer, protected parts of the wall. And there's a picture of us. I come closer. Yeah, a portrait. Like the ones you get from Sears, staged with a blue background. Two parents, looking like a 50's era mom-and-pop. A little girl in a ruffled dress like a doll, 7, 8, I don't remember how old she was. Ever so cute, little pigtails, a missing front tooth; you can see it in her huge grin. And reluctantly, my eyes stray to the son. Me. 18. A freak in this normalcy of the portrait. Shoulder length black hair, pale, wearing a Misfits shirt.
The rest of them are looking at a fixed spot up and away from the camera. The son- me- looks directly at it. Challenging it, stubbornly engaging the lens in a staring contest I'm sure to win. No smile on my face either. A straight, grim line.
And how long ago was it taken before they threw me out? Turned my sister, my light, my joy, my very reason for life, against me? How long before they threw me into a wall, shoved me down the stairs, all while beating me with a belt? To convert me to Christianity, of course. How long befiore they watched me lying crumpled and broken at the foot of the stairs, shuddering and fighting back tears...and handed my sister the belt?
How long?
I can't bear to look anymore. She just looked at me, said 'You're bad,' and hit me in the face...
Am I bad?
I know this answer. Stumbling down the stairs, I hold my face, covering my eyes. Need to get outside...away from my light and joy...and my parents...
I burst out into the light, turning towards the hulking frame. "You betrayed me!" I scream. "I couldn't EVER be what you wanted, why!?" Fall to my knees, beating the dead shriveled grass. "You rejected me! I was your son!" I scream wordlessly after this defiant declaration, throwing handfuls of dirt at the house I destroyed. Me. I caused this...cremation.
I throw another handful. "But everything can burn!" I wail. "Everything can burn!"
The tears inch down my face, stinging my reddened eyes. Ash settles on me.
"You're bad."
I stand, swallowing back my wail of frustration. Swallowing back my tears, my pain. Turn back towards the trees. A stump, a hanging rope fashioned into a noose. Prepared for this moment, the moment I realize she was right.
I stumble towards ti, my feet catching and dragging on the uneven ground.
Onto the stump. "Everything can burn." I say, quietly, slipping the noose around my neck and tightening it. "Everything can burn..." I whisper...
And kick the stump away.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

America's Next Top Anorexic

Is it just me, or do almost all models look like sickly anorexic girls? This is what's hot now; a waist so small you can put your hands around it.
Gone are the days of less than 20 years ago, when models were curvy, and had hips. Remember Marilyn Monroe? Pam Anderson? In those days, these women were the epitome of sexiness. Nowadays, models look like sticks. Unless you're genetically predisposed to it, it's damn near impossible to be 5'10" and weigh 100 pounds. These women are flat. They look like boards. And everytime I watch a modeling show I feel like a fatty because I have hips, a butt and boobs. My boobs are size B. Not so big, but in the modeling industry, those are huge.

Did you know? In the modeling industry I'd be considered a 'plus size' model? I'm 119lbs, I have a slight curve, but I'd be considered plus sized.
Anyone remember that one episode? This girl, 116lbs soaking wet, was told to model. They were doing African animals. This girl, because of a tiny pooch in her stomach, was cast as an elephant. The other girls were gazelles, cheetahs, skinny lithe animals. Because of a tiny extra 2 pounds, and because she ate a bit more than other girls, this model was humiliated, and essentially called fat.

How many guys do you think are into the flat chested sickly looking girls? Not many, I'd bet. Girls are putting themselves through hell to acheive this 'perfect body', and most guys DO NOT find that attractive!

I for one, am sick of feeling fat because I have hips and a tiny stomach pooch. Enough is enough.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Drama Drama Drama

Save it for your mother, my dears.

These past two weeks have rather drama filled. Like, to the point of me taking my pills like candy. (Slight exaggeration)
It all started with a boy (don't they all?) named...Justin. We'll call him J so I don't get sued. J and I have a love hate relationship, us being exes and all that. Many days I wish that it was legal to use my INSANE fingernails to make him...hush?
So, me and the boy are already hugging eachother, yet ready to stab if threatened.
And let me JUST SAY, I had enough on my plate. My then boyfriend and I had been, let's say strained. We made plans to hang out on Halloween, this did not happen. How disastrous....ok yeah, I'm mad.
Then I refuse to speak to him. Yeah, I don't like being scorned.
It got worse on Sunday. My cat, Jason, has an eye infection. 5 different papers are due. I'm way behind on everything. Then me and J start screaming at eachother on Monday. I cannot divulge the full extent of- oh who am I kidding, he called me a bitch and cussed like a sailor. Then he threw some hot chocolate in my friends face.
That day, a friend of mine informs me that I am now single. Yippee Skippee.
I confront my now ex about this. He tells me that he was hearing things I said. Namely, from friends whom I DO NOT HANG OUT WITH.
I informed him that those same friends told me he was cheating on me.
He told me who. I went into a blind rage. Because these 'friends' were making things UP. My 'friend' Sora told Alex I was hitting on him, and I was still obsessed with J. A guy who wants to gt in my pants and a girl who wants to get into my exes pants told him I was calling him a whore. A guy who I've been fueding with ALSO told him bullshizzle.
And I was done. Sora knew NOTHING, NOTHING about how I felt about Justin. And he said I was hitting on him because I HUGGED HIM. I HUG EVERYBODY!!!!
Then, the dear friend? Who informed me I was single? She volunteered to do my ex's dirty work. She volunteered to dump me, for him.

Drama drama..