Secrets

A shadow came. He was tracking something, and came across footprints that led into an active volcano. Following them carefully down the inside of the volcano, he was never noticed, never burned. He found a pile of huge rocks. He studied them for awhile, realized one push of a soft spot would make them all come crashing down. He was being noticed now, and he had to hurry before he was overcome by the hot lava. The journey into the volcano and the riddle of the rocks had educated him enough that it only took three tries to open the vault under the rocks. He rushed in, closed the door. Everything was pitch black; another defense mechanism. He found a small lock box. The key had to be hidden around here. He searched and searched. Meanwhile he could hear the lava surrounding the vault and drowning it in hot liquid fire. It began to be hot and he fell to his knees and cried. He was never going to open the lock box and bring back his love what she needed most. His tears fell onto the box and ran into the lock. He heard a click as his tears unlocked the box. He slowly lifted the lid. Everything cooled. The lock box, the vault, the huge rocks and the volcano all disappeared. He was standing in the middle of a clearing with a map. A giant red X was upon a picture of a heart. He never let go of that map, and he protected it until it died.

Moon Clock

I had been given a gift a long time ago, and I was just now opening it. It was a clock, with the different phases of the moon on it instead of numbers. Not twelve moons though, no, there were many more. You could spin it like a top and see the moon wane and wax like a film cuz there were so many. I had never opened it.

I was 18, moved into my new apartment with my husband and I was unhappy. Arranged marriages were never the best. I was reminiscing with my box of old things that I had been forced to keep in the attic because he, Trace, thought they were childish. I pulled the weird clock out of its box and set it to the full moon, and that’s when I saw a place to set the clock to a four-digit number. I assumed it was for the year. I set it to 1999. That was my last year of freedom before I was married off to this man.

I was pulled back to memories of when I was 8, and my sister and I were running around chasing frogs with our brother and swimming in backyards. That’s when my parents walked up to me with him. “Dear daughter, you are going to marry this boy. His name is Trace.” They were so happy. I looked at the boy and wanted to cry. He was dirty, overweight, and wore glasses and braces. I was pretty, and I knew it. Four years later I was stronger, and when he realized I was his and he could do anything he wanted to me and wouldn’t get in trouble, he came onto me. Groping, stripping, kissing. I knew I shouldn’t fight back. I saw a vision of me letting him rape me, and I knew I had to fight back. I punched him in the nose and ran away. I was whipped later for it. He tried four more times and each time I hurt him badly. Kicked him, scratched him, punched him, and finally stabbed him. He died. My parents sentenced me to death for killing my fiancée.

My last night to be alive, I found a gift I had been given a long time ago, and I was just now opening it. It was a clock, with the different phases of the moon on it instead of numbers. Not twelve moons though, no, there were many more. You could spin it like a top and see the moon wane and wax like a film cuz there were so many. I was 12, sentenced to death for killing my fiancée, and I was never going to live again.

I pulled the moon clock out of its box and set it to the half moon, and that’s when I saw a place to set the clock to a four-digit number. I assumed it was for the year. I set it to 1999, the year I met my now-dead fiancée. I was pulled back to memories of when I was 8, and my sister and I were eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with our brother on a colorful play table in our front yard. My parents came up to us and told us they had decided we were moving away. Moving to Australia. So, we moved, unable to stay in America like we wanted to. We were raised there, and once I was in college I met a man. He was from America, the very city I was born. He introduced himself as Trace and I knew he was the one for me. We were married in Italy and I moved back to America with him.

I was going through my childhood possessions during the move, and I found a gift I had been given a long time ago, and I was just now opening it. It was a clock, with the different phases of the moon on it instead of numbers. Not twelve moons though, no, there were many more. You could spin it like a top and see the moon wane and wax like a film cuz there were so many. I was 23, married to the love of my life and never to be in anguish again because I had the arms of my man to go to. Why mess with history? I threw it in the trash.

The so-called mental illness

Everybody has a mental 'illness' that needs to be 'fixed.' Medication, Psychologists, anyway possible. What people like doctors and Capricorns (not naming names here) don't understand is that people survived when we didn't call these illnesses. They were a part of life and that's how people are mentally comfortable with themselves. They can cope with it and be happy. Just because you aren't mentally perfect doesn't mean you can't be happy!

"The one" for you?

Everybody asks if there really is that one special person for you. I don't believe there is just ONE person in the world for just ONE other person. Yes, everyone's individual and most people will find one to live their lives with happily. But the other person is never perfect. They're close in your eyes, but not perfect. There will always be someone out there that could be exactly like the person you love but he/she may not have that one pet peeve that your love may have. But you know what's more special about the person you love? You love them. Love cancels out everything that may not be perfect in the person you love. Nobody can ever know if someone is the one for them until after life. Even if, at the beginning of the relationship, you think and trust with your whole heart that they are the one, you will never know for sure until after they've been through everything together and stuck to their beliefs and each other.

Diary of the President

This letter was written in response to “Dear Mr President” written by the musical group Pink.

Dear Pink

You wanted me to take a walk with you, to ‘pretend we’re just two people and you’re no better than me.’ But when you talked to me, you treated me abnormal. You asked what I felt when I saw all the homeless on the streets. I must say, I feel the same way most people, most likely including you, do. I feel bad for them and resolve to attempt to do something about it, then get distracted and don’t worry about it until the subject comes up again. You asked me who I pray for at night, and my answer is me. I pray that I have the courage to keep our country going, through good and bad. You asked if I was proud when I looked in the mirror. I am proud of myself, yes. And I’m proud to be proud of myself. One needs to have pride to continue doing what they are capable of. I’m not so prideful I become corrupt.  I am proud to be leading such an awesome country. You ask why I sleep when the rest of you cry, why I dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye, how I can walk with my head held high. I can look you in the eye and ask you the exact same thing. Unless you are in that position, you do not have the right to judge me. Those who are in the position and act reasonable in spite of the situation are those who realize this has happened from the beginning of the earth and it will continue to the end of the earth. It’s part of the balance of nature.

            The only reason I would take my own daughter’s rights away is if I thought it was necessary for protection of her. And believe me; my child is in danger on a daily basis. A father would never truly hate his own daughter simply because she was gay. He would be disappointed and hurt, shunning her out but I know as much as any father that even though I want my daughter to be happy, being gay will not make her happy in the end. As for working at minimum wage with a baby, and rebuilding your house after it was destroyed, where do you think I started? I wasn’t rich my whole life, I had to start somewhere as does everyone. Sure, as a guy there’s no way I was pregnant and working but I had other things too. I had to pay for college to work my way to the place I’m at now. I worked my ass off to get where I am. Now my goal is to help the rest of the people in my country the best I can. But I can't give anyone motivation. Some things can't be helped unless its a group effort. 

               Mr. President.