Hello! This is my World...Here is where I will post my thoughts and stuff like that!!! If anything is labled a "Rant" thats what it is me going on and on about somthing I love or hate!!!!

News and a Story!

Ok!
Some interesting little news followed by a random story!
(The story is random because I am about to write it now from the top of my head… soooooo, yeah…)

News:
I wrote a script for my film class about a month ago. The class liked my idea so me and 5 other scripts were chosen to actually be filmed. I then became the writer/producer/director of the project. O.o
Needless to say I’ve been working really hard on this project!
The news is that once editing is done (I started today) I am going to try to put it on YouTube and you can all watch my story in the near future!!! ^-^ (and since it’s me you KNOW it’s going to be weird! Lol)

Now it is random story time!

The sun beams down beneath the blinds. Sneaking through the cracks in it’s shelter. Nothing is completely dark and nothing can keep out that bright, bright light.
It annoys me.
Sometimes I feel as though the sun is teasing me. Saying “You can’t come here! You’re a disgrace, a beast, and I will beat you.”
I want to get away from here.
This old abandoned dormitory no longer holds any secretor mystery. Except, perhaps, for me being inside of it.
I crawl father into my dark corner and try to sleep.
The sun is far too bright.
I end up starring at it until it sets.
Night is my domain, and nobody can stop me.
I run down dark deserted streets fog hovering just above the ground. I bet to an outsider it’d look like I was flying. I wish that I really could fly… but stories of flying are just myths. The closest I’ve gotten is a cramped airplane, and that was a very long time ago.
Eventually I get to my chosen venue in this area. A little park, three streetlights and a bench. Nice and quiet; it’s perfect.
I set down on the bench beneath one of the yellow lights. A little puddle of safety to humans from the big bad dark.
I wait.
Right on cue, there he is.
My meal ticket.
“You actually came!” he says it a little bit surprised.
I understand why. Not many women would agree to meet a stranger for a date in a dark park, but not many women are like me.
“Yes.” I reply smiling.
His idea of a date apparently involves trying to eat my ear after a cheap dinner at a small dirty diner. It is a hour after we met and we have already made it full circle back to the park. Its gross and tickles, but I let him in order to pump his confidence enough lure him into the shadows.
It works he gives me a silent signal and we’re backing out from under the lamp onto the wet grass and the dark.
He lays me down and tries to make his move.
I have him now.
I twist him down so that I am on top and reach down to kiss his neck with my teeth.
His blood oozes out of the wound. The man feels that something is amiss and attempts to wriggle free. I have him though.
My fangs have sent a chemical for paralysis into his blood and I am now receiving the real meal.
The warm blood fills me up as I embrace his cooling body.
His warmth enters me and I can taste life in the air.
Once he is gone I drop the body onto the ground and walk away.
There is no need to do anything else.
I really don’t want to go back to my current residence. It’s abundance of cracks which let in light irk me to no end. I decide to find a new home base. I look up at the sky; there’s plenty of night left.

I hope you all enjoyed that piece!
Feel free to comment!

~Tsu

My Music Box

This is a real life moment told as a story. Please comment and enjoy!!! (I wish I could include a picture of the box but I can't find the wire to my camera...)

My Music Box

I was very young when my music box found me.
I was an odd kid; I loved garage sales. All sorts, both big and small. They have always seemed to have a magical feeling about them to me. I once found a metal box with money hidden in the cloth lining… to me a treasure. Anyways I was at such a sale when I saw the small plain wooden box the painting of men herding animals while laughing and talking on the lid. I was enchanted by the box and opened it.
It was the perfect size to fit little secretes inside.
The old lady who was selling her old memories that had long lost their glamour caught me gazing at the box. She picked it up smiled and told me it used to be a music box. Then she proceeded to tell me that it no longer worked and hadn’t for some time.
She looked so very sad as she held the broken music and as she said she couldn’t even remember what song it played… She had never been able to work up the courage to break open the wooden block that protected the mechanics to fix it. She just couldn’t bare the thought of seeing it in pieces… She obviously loved that box.
She smiled, handed it to me and told me I could have it for free.
I looked up at her with awe, and despite the fact I was only seven years old I understood how hard it was for her and my responsibility to take very very good care of that box.
And I did. For years it kept my little trinkets and doohickeys. I would stare at the wooden shield preventing the song from playing… “What song would it play if it could?” I would ask myself, “Would it be happy or sad?” The box held a mystery, a magic. What was inside the box? It held something inside I had no way of grasping, sensing or imagining. The gift of music was promised to me if I could repair it’s broken heart.
Thus I hunted avidly for someone, anyone, who could fix my music box.
I tried watch shops, music shops, music box shops, but when asked if they would fix it they all replied in a stiff manor “We don’t do that here!”
“But then where?” asked I.
There was never a reply.
More years passed and I continued to ask “Oh my music box what secretes do you hide?” Sometimes I would consider tearing the protective wooden piece out and thus expose the inner working and innards of box, but I would always think of the old women’s tired face and lose conviction. It felt as if I would rip apart her heart if I did and I would quickly put the box away.
So there it sat on my shelf. A sad and lonely object in my closet.
One day I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to know. It was years later and I was now a young woman.
I took the box in my arms and braced myself.
I tore off the wooden divider.
What had plagued me, dared me, taunted me, made me dream, what I had hated loved and wondered about for years and years of my life was gone in a flash. The wood piece was barely glued in, made by a loving hand in Switzerland.
I awed at the array of shiny metal mechanics that would work the music. It had been stopped forever mid song like a watch stopped in time. I could just imagine the woman’s face when she opened it that tragic time, and found that the music had died.
I sat there on my bed staring at it for a long while.
It smelt like old wood.
New energy filled me along with a new purpose. I was determined! I would fix it! Not only for me but for the old women long gone and to show all the people who said they couldn’t that I could.
I went to work.
I fiddled, I prodded, and there were no clues on how to fix it to be found. I searched for a screwdriver. I was ready to pull out all the pieces and completely decimate it, when I noticed something.
A tiny wooden button.
It was as small as a pin head and I had never noticed it before. It seemed painfully obvious now. It was the trigger that in better years would have started the machine to run and play the song. I looked at it. I wondered how many times it had played before it stopped. Ten times? Ten thousand? Million? Once again I was lost in my imaginings of when it worked, the people that made it, the person that bought it, and finally me who’s cared for it all these years even though it was crippled and old. I began to play with the trigger turning it back and forth…
Then a miracle.
The box began to play the long lost song…
I was surprised. It was beautiful. The pieces whirred and clicked to life. A discordant sweet sound came floating out of it and into my soul.
I was so happy. And a little sad.
After all this time my goal was over. It worked now. I must admit I was very emotional and teared up a bit. And as the mist pasted over my eyes I remembered all that I’d been through and the women before me and the creator before her.
My music box played on.

Memory of an Interview

THIS SHORT STORY IS NOT BASED ON A REAL INTERVIEW!!!
Just a short (and hopefully humorous) story... Please tell me what you think!

I don’t know what set it off. I have no idea why I am remembering this now. It is a pointless memory and has nothing to do with anything. But all of the sudden I am struck with nostalgia. An old interview floats back into my mind…

“Name?” The interviewer.
“Joel Lusk.” Me.
“A pleasure to meet you Joel.”
We shake hands.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you too sir.”
“Take a seat.” He indicates a chair.
I sit. “Thanks.”
The interviewer, “Just call me ‘Larry’,” sits as well.
“So,” says Larry as he looks at my resume, “I see you like working with people.”
“Yep. I’m a people person”
“Good, good.”
“Yee-up, a people person.”
This interview was not getting off to a good start. Larry knew this was my first interview, and I could tell this was his first time interviewing. It was not going to be pretty.
“So Joel…”
A pause as he glances at a paper entitled “Questions to ask during an interview.”
Uh-oh. That’s not a good sign. This interview is not going to get anywhere soon.
“What are three words that would describe you?”
“I am hard working, patient, and…”
Shit! The next thing on my pre rehearsed list was being a people person and I can’t use that now because we already killed that subject, I can even see it laying dead on the ground and smell its flesh as it sits rotting on the floor of Larry’s posh office, and now I can’t say “good speaker” either because of this ridiculously long ass pause… Think! Think!!! I need the money! Think!!!
“And nice.”
Ta-Daaaah!!!!
An incredibly lame finish.
“Ah, nice.”
“Very”
An awkward silence pursues.
We both look at the desk and I am sure we’re thinking the same thing…
I am an idiot.
He’s an idiot.
Neither of us should be here, because we are idiots.
“Any hobbies?” asks Larry trying to cover up his shame.
“I enjoy reading, helping my friend with her music, and swimming.” I reply trying to cover up mine.
“Could you tell me more about what type of books you like?”
What an odd question. We are off the normal interview script now! Onward into the abyss! Onward into the dark unknown! We shall laugh in the face of danger and conquer the shadows of the world until all is in the light!
“I read books like iRobot, 1984, The Invisible Man, Dracula … Books like that. I am a sucker for the ‘classics.’”
“Cool.”
I sigh. I bet he only recognized one title on my list.
“So Joel, why do you want to work here?”
I need the money, I think, but answer, “I believe it will be a great opportunity to help the community by using my people skills.” And earn some much needed cash.
I flash Larry a smile.
He flashes one back.
We share a moment of uselessness.
The silence catches us.
“So…” says Larry.
“Yes..?” I reply hopefully.
Will the quiet end here? Will this be an end to awkwardness beyond measure?
I hope so.
Larry clears his throat.
I lean forward in my chair.
Waiting, waiting.
He grins.
NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
It’s NEVER a good thing when the interviewer “grins”! Smiling is fine, but grinning! Especially an evil grin like that! Means bad things. It means the interviewer feels threatened by you. It means you’re not good enough. It means they think you’re pathetic scum. It also means I won’t be getting any of that much needed cash from this particular workplace.
I settle back down in my chair disappointed.
“Why should I choose you to fill this position?”
He put a nasty stress on the “you”. I can actually feel his evil thoughts blasting towards my face. It’s like a strong wind carrying a very distasteful odor.
My position is hopeless but I carry on.
I can still try.
Even though the decision has been made and I know I’ll lose. I wonder if this is what it’s like to be ruled by fate…
“I feel that I have the qualifications and drive to do a really good job here,” I say through my teeth as I grin tersely, “and that I will be able to thrive in this work environment. I also hope to add my own abilities to the companies so we can all reach for higher goals.”
Now that’s what I call over embellishing!
Larry pauses not seeming to know how to respond.
Ha! Take that you irksome interviewer!
“I see…” He finally replies.
“So what does this business have to offer me?” I inquire sweetly.
Larry makes a lovely shocked statue. How I want to take this marble carving home! I’d proudly display it and tell everyone “Twas the day I slough the beast that I won this mighty trophy!”
“Um, well…”
Ohhhh!
I’ve done it now! I’ve put Larry on his guard!
And so the interviewee becomes the interviewer!
“We offer good health care plans to full time workers. And dental.”
“Ah I see.”
“I see.”
“I saw it first.”
Now Larry’s really angry.
Have I been mocking him? Parish the thought!
I smile.
He just doesn’t know what to make of that.
“Ummmm…”
“Yeeeeesss...?”
Now I am just being a bit of a jerk…
“Uh I think that is about it…”
He’s actually blushing now.
Oh a tiny pang of guilt.
Larry grins that evil grin of his, all embarrassment gone away.
My guilt too disappears in a rush.
“You can leave now.” The interviewer.
You can droop dead I think but say, “You too!”
We sit there silently evaluating each other for a time.
We grin.
“Goodbye Mr. Lusk.”
“Farewell Mr. Just-call-me-Larry!”
And so ended a very uneventful interview, and my people skills were put to shameful waste…

Where did that come from? What a random memory! I haven’t thought about Larry in forever! Then I remember.
That’s right I saw him shopping just the other day!
He had grown fat and lazy. I felt a shame at seeing his disarray. So disarmed he was in his casual weekend wear. I felt like I was intruding on his private moment as he inspected broccoli in the grocery store. Yet at the same time I knew he would have taken a sick pleasure out of invading my moment over by the other noble vegetables. I turned my back on him and hurried off to make my purchase of milk, bread and a rather nice bag of carrots.

Miss Ratched's Love Story

Hey everybody! Its been awhile since I posted on TheO!!! Below is a story I wrote for my English class last year. Its a prequel to One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, but you don't need to have read that to understand this! Please comment and tell me what you think!!!

I remember long ago. It seems so very long ago. He's still alive in my memory and I love him even more then I ever did back then. I remember it all so well even now. When he told me he loved me for the first time. When he finally decided to propose to me and I said yes. When he was drafted and told me he was leaving. Our wedding was called off. He was shipped so very far away. I wanted so bad to help. I became an army nurse in hopes to help the cause and to bring him home sooner. I saw so much blood and pain. So many went insane from what they had seen, it made me even more frightened for him.
Every time a soldier came into the hospital I thought it would be him. Every man wheeled out to the morgue had his face. Every pained wife, sister, and mother mourning for the one gone away ripped at my heart. Their tears seemed to whisper, “This could be you next. It could be you.” I cried myself to sleep each night, trying to gain control over my life. The fear just about killed me. Every day was hell; I struggled to keep a hold and to do my job, and to help my patients. Every night I died of fear and every mourning hope brought me back again. I missed him.
I wrote him every day about my work, and day to day life. He wrote back with his feelings for me, and we discussed our future wedding plans and how everything would be better when we saw each other again. Our love grew stronger by the day; the fear pushed us so close. “To my dear fiancée and love,” was always how he began his letters to me. They were filled with his love and I treasure every single one. I would day dream of our perfect wedding. All my friends and family were there in my vision. Oh, how sweet our honeymoon was going to be; taking dips in the ocean next to the wide sandy beach. The sky would stretch on forever. Together we would laugh at how silly it had been to think that we would never see each other again.
Then the dream took an unpleasant turn. I had finished up at work and was walking home alone, so lonely. When I could see my home from the end of the street, I saw them too. The army officers waiting, staring, killing me with their guilty eyes. “They can’t be for me!” I remember thinking, wishing, knowing. They stopped me at the door and handed me an envelope. “I won’t open it,” I thought, “I refuse! This isn’t real.” My eyes and hands cruelly disobeyed my brain. It was opened. It was read. It all ended there.
How could he be gone? I cried for what seemed like forever. As the tears fell down my face, so too did my emotions fall away. All that was left was an empty shell. I felt I had lost all control. I was drowning, being swept along a fast current. It felt like it would never stop.
The war ended, along with my job. The money stopped coming, so did my hope. That’s when I found the ward. An old friend of mine knew of my plight; no money and no husband to be. She was high up at the ward and offered me the job. I had no money so I accepted her offer.
At first I didn’t like it, taking care of all the crazy people. It reminded me too much of my old job and life. All the army veterans made me think of him, my love. But day after day I felt like this job was giving me back a little bit of what I had lost. Control. I may have lost control over my life outside, but inside the ward I have control over them all. It makes me feel good to be able to help the hurt people from after the war. To help the left overs, like myself, heal and become whole again. I still work there today, working to help the psychologically impaired collect themselves and go on with their lives. Something I myself want one day to accomplish.