#14 Draft (An Excerpt From 'The Reasons For Happiness Series')

    It was Thursday and the forecast had lied. The sky, one thought to remain blue and clear for the day, was gray with white splotches darkening by the minutes. The cloud were slashed open, water bleeding from the wounds and dripping upon the streets. Rumbles of thunder echoed in the distance, seconds between each drum beat showing how fast the real storm was charging in.

    It was going to get messy, yet they burst out their front doors like rockets. Shirtless, shoeless, fearless: their hollers were loud enough to challenge the booming from the sky while they spun and leaped and became slick with rain. It fell into their eyes, made the trees and picket fences blurry, and they were borderline deaf with the way their laughs echoed in their heads, but the dull light and the games in the street were exciting enough to stick around and continue to holler like maniacs in the spring storm.

---

    Winter brings such harsh weather. Low temperatures can be a real drag, the breeze is dry and icy enough to cut skin, and the sun seats so early these days. What once was rain is now fluffy, frozen, and covering the earth in layers that can reach the height of cars.  It’s a slow time, and for many who enjoy energy from the sun, a miserable experience.

   Instead of hollering, they were silent as they suited up for war. Gloves, thick socks, fleece lined hats, thermal onesies and shiny, swishy, outerwear. Lips were curved in pure mischief and the empty street was soon filled with two teams that split the neighborhood. Adrenaline was building at the faceoff, chests puffing out and eyes of all shades dilating in anticipation of the mayhem they were about to cause.

    With a breath of crisp, cold air, their once still bodies broke into a mass movement of arms flailing and legs jerking and loud, exhilarating noise. Snow angels were made by fallen comrades, balls exploded like gunshots against puffy jackets, and their world was a mist of snow and cloudy puff of air and glory for the victors.

---

    Scorching heat made the sun seem like an enemy of the state. It left people holed up in their homes and their cars, sitting in front of air conditioners on high and dreading the moment they had to move for ANY reason. The heat wave caused ocular migraines (were those houses truly shaking?), the trees looked dried up, and you literally could fry an egg on the pavement.

July was a truly force to be reckoned with.

When had any season ever stopped them?

They pedaled through the trees, the heat causing sweat to slide and glisten and make everything slick from their seats to their handlebars. Their laughter and jokes echoed against wood and the man made breeze from speed was worth the ache building up in their calves. The sound of rushing water brought gasps and quick yaps of excitement, bikes squeaking as they sped up along the bank of flowing water and little fish towards the drop off the edge.

    Metal hit the ground, clothes flew off in a show of color and cotton, and the first run to the edge was lined with chants and applause. With a leap the feeling of weightless and air filled every sense and their stomachs lept into their throats with the rush of descending through the air. In those few seconds they were alive more than anyone.

    Cool water engulfed them, causing brief stasis as they sunk and simply existed, but air became necessity and their legs propelled them back to the surface. Gasps of air were followed by sighs and splashing and giggling. The rays of the sun cut through trees and decorated the water’s surface with patches of light. They laid on wide rocks like seals, shook water out of their faces like dogs, and seeked more adrenalin climbed up the rocks to run and re-leap off the edge of the waterfall in a display of flips and dives olympic worthy.

#14.

     Whether you’re as adventurous as the group here or more low-key, the weather is something to be grateful for. It means that the world is alive, the powers of nature are still in effect and they can be the perfect back-drop to memorable moments and ideas of pure fun.  

Enjoy the moments in weather you can participate in.

Desires (An Excerpt from the Rise and Fall of Chase & Eri)

{Retrieved from July 2011}

You shine brighter than any streetlight I can stand under
And your aura makes time around me seem nonexistent.
Just one look at you and I sometimes forget to breathe...
My fingers itch at the sight of your skin from inside that jacket.

All I want to do is touch you.
To collapse in a nest of the softest pillows around
And watch my fingertips create masterpieces along your spine...
Picasso will be jealous of all the new colors we create on this canvas.

Combust with me.
Let our bodies create a friction, igniting a flame so hot
That even God has to flinch at the scalding on his fingertips
And kick us off the clouds.

See, you may not know this or understand just yet,
But I love you more than Paris loved Helena,
Stronger than any arrow Cupid may fire--
Yeah, Romeo & Juliet ain't got shit on us
Because I'd dash you away before you even TOUCH the sleeping elixir
And we're not made for heaven because the angels will sin the skies with jealousy!--

So right now, on this corner, kiss me under the streetlights of the city.
Hold me close enough so we mold into each other
And as our lips touch with the world spinning around us,
We create a passion so powerful that even Aphrodite will stand back in awe and envy.

If I could, I would change the Milky-Way so that it spells every letter in your name.

-Chase ♥

Author's Note: Tumblr!

Hello, everyone!

To accompany this blog, I have recently started a Tumblr account that will be filled with pictures, music, and even MORE writing that I don't submit to this page. It gives a little bit more insight into who I am and what drives me to write as much as I do. It's definitely worth checking out!

http://zuzumahjuzu.tumblr.com/

-ZM

Glow (Draft)

I watched a firefly die last night. On a night where the heat really lingered in the parting of the sun, a glowing ball swirled into the ground, shooting past my eye and startling me out my usual summer daze. I looked down at the sidewalk across from me and was captivated by the summer darling unusually sitting on the ground and blinking. Slowly, as if not to startle, I laid my cheek against the warm cement and held my arms close to my ribs. Small pebbles pressed uncomfortably into my thigh, but fascination took over and pinned me to my spot. It was then that it began. 

Wings that flicker as fast as strobe lights were now just languid flutters in the final attempts to stay in the present. Flight was impossible and it slowly moved into short blades of grass, almost seeming modest and urgent to hide its physical ending from its fellow kin. The stars were clear, covering the sky in an array of small, distant suns, but even outer space was dull in comparison. I felt like an intruder witnessing something sacred, but as sad as this moment was I knew I’d never see something like this again. The seconds passed like minutes, but I remained lying down, only moving my eyes, absorbing every movement I could register as my heart fluttered in my chest.  

The most captivating part was the glow growing on its tiny back. It was a beacon, fading and then brightening with every passing moment, illuminating a small piece of the grass in neon yellow, shaking with each step closer to it’s last pulse in the living. Cicadas chirped quieter, fellow lightning bugs blinked rapidly as if saying farewell to an elder, and I was afraid to breathe. It wasn’t the biggest firefly I’d ever seen, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last I’d see before the end of summer, but this little bug of light caused a pang within that I couldn’t understand. 

I wanted mother nature to explain why I was drawn to this parting of the physical realm, why I was so moved by it when others would deem it depressing. Did the spirit of the light flow into the others? Was that why they were blinking so rapidly? Did they even have spirits like the rest of the kingdom since their lives were such short specks in the sea of time, barely leaving an impression? I felt awful wanting to prolong it’s death just so I could get some kind of sign, but it’s wings jerked upward so suddenly that my heart leapt in my throat at the twitch, and its light illuminated brightly and strongly across my eyes for the last time, shrinking into nothingness as quick as it came. Nature resumed, the sounds came back into my ears, and the fireflies drifted lazily across the sky above me as I laid on my back and ignored the feeling of a worm sliding across my bare feet.

I wonder if all lightning bugs die by giving one final showcase.

The Samurai and The Sitar (Jan. 2013 Writing Assignment)

Four AM has a quiet cloaked over the park, and He is the only one that seemed
to be awake, walking through the park with an emotionless look on his face.
A modern day samurai, a katana on his hip was hidden by a black trench
and dried blood under his fingernails from his recent assignment. He strolled
past a small lake and in the distance, he heard music coming from a bench.
A lady, donned in flowing pants and a royal blue top sits on the bench. Nimble
fingers strummed a sitar and filled the morning air with relaxing, exotic sound.

The samurai was quickly intrigued, but was prepared to pass her without colloquy.
She raised her head and observed him walking towards her before she dropped
her head with a soft smile. “Are you proud of the bodies that fall by your blade?”
His footsteps froze, his eyes narrowed, and his head tilted in her direction.
“What do you mean?” he asked. He watched her fingers pluck the strings softer,
eyes full of knowledge meeting his. “Are you not a samurai? I know your kind.”
“And what do you know of us?” he challenged.

“You’re naive to what this world needs for change. You spill blood for the evil.”
His hand tightened in his pocket, a small surge of rage built within his core.
“You know nothing of me. I fight to better the system in place. For my mother,
slain with no justice and for my kin separated from me. I want to alter the law,
have people in place to fix the wrong-doings, and finally gain peace for all.”
The sitar player only smiled softly and stopped playing the sitar completely.
Her small fingers released the strings and she raised it for him to take, calmly
waiting for him to come close. “Take my hand,” she said with laughter
on the edge of her lips. He stared at it dubiously. “Come now, one moment
of your time. I don’t bite.” Curiosity got the better of this morning samurai
and he took a step forward, removing his stained hand from his pocket
and slowly placing his hand in hers.

A surge of heat shot through his hand and he felt as if he soul was sucked
from his body. Visions of his present, his past, his future flashed before him.
Colors burst before his eyes at what would happen if he kept fighting for beliefs
and a leader that he thought true. He could hear the screams, the battle cries,
see the flames and the betrayal, smell the smoke and the burning homes.
With a gasp, everything went into rewind and he yanked his hand from hers.

“Do you understand?” she asked, but it fell upon deaf ears as he stumbled
backwards and fought to catch his breath. “Go,” she breathed, “Your bed
awaits you.” The samurai stared at her in disbelief as he started to walk
down the path again, but he turned back and said, “I don’t know what you’ve
done to me... but I will make sure that never happens.” The sitar player already
had begun to strum again as he held his hand close to himself and continued
on his way home.

Even in sleep the colors continued to rush before his eyes, his skin burning with
heat and his body thrashing the nightmares that plagued from his encounter that
occurred days ago. Cold sweats surrounded him even in small naps and the
samurai lost the drive he once held to kill everyone and everything that stood
in the way of a better future for where he lived. “What have you done to me,”
he seethed as he found the sitar player sitting on the same bench where they
met before. “I simply opened your eyes to the truth,” was her quiet reply, eyes
closed as she strummed a tune to welcome in the reds and oranges that came
with the sunrise that morning. “You’ve ruined me,” he whispered violently. His
feet moved him to pace back and forth, arms held close to himself as he attempted
to harm her with the deadliest glare he could muster up from within.“I can’t even
sleep without feeling like something is melting my skin.”

“So, fix it.” their eyes met, clashing as his narrowed viciously. The samurai was
furious and the desire to end her life was strong, but the sitar player could only
watch as he rubbed his palm into his eyes and stormed off down the path. Music
followed his footsteps as he clenched his fists and returned to another night full
of nightmares. Like a map laid out, the samurai watched as the visions he was
plagued with came to life. Houses began to burn, lives were wrongly taken, and
the screams that plagued his mind were now a reality as he fought within himself
to not leave the town behind. The mornings were like infernos and greys fell from
the sky as ash from the buildings littered the streets. The samurai realized that
the leader he was once working with was not who he thought he was at all. Even
the self-notion that he had been brainwashed this whole time made him feel lost.

‘Fix it.’ the samurai’s head rang with these words and he pulled his blade from its

sheath, eyes of resolve and remorse reflecting back at him. That morning, he held

his doorknob in his palm for what he felt might be the last time in a while. He slammed the door shut and he walked through the sitar player’s path in the park, registering her absence from her bench. His blade went into overdrive and the fire blazed under his veins as he threw himself into war and tried as best as he could to keep the bodies to a minimum under his blade.

Weeks later, the sitar player hummed softly and strummed her sitar with a touch that was as soft as a feather. The tune barely rose to be heard along the path and the sound of boots against the pavement brought her eyes up to see the samurai that she thought dead on the path. Their eyes met briefly and he walked past her, acting as if he didn’t register who she was. “The flames are gone,” he replied, her eyes rising and looking at his back. “I took your advice and now I can sleep.” Her lips curved into the faintest of smiles and she shook her head softly before she prepared her fingers to play once more. The samurai continued on his path home and unfortunately would never cross paths with the sitar player again, her memory and her music forever lingering in the back of his mind.