Dance and Death
Ty is a five foot 11 inch eighteen-year-old kid. Every morning he takes a picture of himself nude with his camera phone and insults himself.
Small dancer’s feet lift off
Ty, despite his belief, is very attractive and athletically built. Confidence is something that he used to have a lot of but that was before last week. The fact that he feels this way now makes his family a little sad since he resembles his grandfather so closely. That’s the whole reason why he feels so insecure, his grandpa was the source of his confidence. Ty had the privilege to be like the best person in his life. If he had known what his grandpa was going to do, he would have tried to stop him.
They land with a silent thud
Take off again with the power of a gazelle
Ty’s confidence always came from his grandpa because he went to him for everything. In his opinion, his grandpa was a great man. Ty always took his advice, it seemed to make sense. He was the reason why Ty took the chance and talked to Ann. To him, Ty’s grandpa had smelled so much of self-assurance and faith in life that he couldn’t believe his grandpa had actually done that.
Her body molds with each position
Each movement breaking the rules of time
Arms swaying and wrapping including all
Ann has the natural beauty and elegance of a dancer. All of her moved in time of some unknown dance. Ty first met her at one of the performances she had at his college. He could hear the strange song that her body seemed to radiate. That’s what brought him to her, once his grandpa told him to take a chance and talk to her. The first person Ty introduced Ann to was his grandpa and she saw the resemblance too. Time only brought them closer, but now she spent her time at the studio. She isn’t attempting to stay away from him, she invites him to come everyday, and instead now he spends his time quietly abusing himself.
They are always spinning never slowing down
Her hair is loose and moving of its own accord
Rising and falling to its own rhythm and time
The beat within the song
She knew he was upset when Ty’s grandpa died. Their conversations began to dwindle, her inner dance became more erratic, and time only moved slower. Ann isn’t aware that Ty uses his time as a benefit, but only to carry himself to the end.
Her head, the slowest moving part
Rocking from side to side
And every part of her face is closed
Any air that could escape her could ruin it
Her focus is strictly on each position
Ann does this dance everyday before practice, it’s what she feels her body exudes day to day. The movement of each step seemed to become clearer just a week ago. Death may bring sadness, but she is changing the view into something more beautiful. Each step she performs acknowledges death, even if it is self-inflicted, and then revises it into the allure of nature. That’s her reason for calling Ty down everyday, she wants him to realize this, but she is unaware how differently he feels and how similar he is to his grandfather.
Acid
We’ve been friends for about a week, but the rules of friendship were already beginning to develop. Vanessa took it upon herself to draw up a contract too. She’s like that: confident, happy, and super pushy when it comes to scary movies. In the contract that she’d made me sign, she set aside Fridays after class to watch all her favorites. I went along with this because its like she’s the master of reality. She would twist life around just to make it interesting.
The movie this Friday was Acid. According to the summary, Acid is about a couple staying in a house on the outskirts of a small Californian town, who find themselves walking through the forest and stumble upon deformed cannibals that they must fight in order to survive. I could tell by the screenshots on the back of the case, that I would laugh because of the obvious fake blood, unoriginal plot, and visible wires. The film began with the couple watching a movie together in the isolated house. It made me feel a little awkward sitting here in my room with her.
But she’s my friend; I was obligated to sit through it no matter what. So I scanned the corners of my room to make it through the beginning. She didn’t seem to notice my diverted attention. She had eyes only for Acid. When it felt safe to look again, I started to pay more attention and nothing could have stopped me from laughing at the bloody end credits. She looked me straight in the eye and I knew I must have offended her. Before I could say anything, she responded with a hard punch on the shoulder. She laughed. Then we said goodbye, and she told me the next movie would be a lot scarier.
She left the movie in my room by accident. For some odd reason I was staring at the case when something almost black and silky caused me to grab it and watch it for a second time. I still repeat the same things I did the first time. I started paying more attention when I got to the part where bubbly milky green people peeled each other apart like ripe oranges. Instead of the initial laughter, fear was gliding up my spine and tingling in my center, becoming an itch and wrapping all over, shoving into my ribs. Dark brown hair and the ghost of a face appeared before me. I quickly turned the movie off and pause. What just happened? Was that? We’re just friends. I’m almost certain of it.
Visions and ideas are rushing at me from all sides. The only thing I can do, it seems is to fall back and let them tumble over me. Without thinking, I grab a pen and paper. I furiously fight the ideas and visions off as my hand started writing:
Dear Vanessa,
No scratch that, what am I doing? Dear is giving away way too much. I’m not even completely sure of how I feel. But what’s a good word that lets her know I know we’re friends? Maybe I want to be more than that. My friend? Or maybe, Hey. Hey would let her know something was up and then I could use her nickname, that way she wouldn’t know I’m beginning to like her.
Hey Nessa,
I’m writing you a letter instead of calling because I think this will express my feelings more. Not to sure how to go about this. I discovered something about myself after your visit.
Stupid. I’ll start in the middle, get straight to the point.
I watched Acid again since you left it here. I don’t know why I did. The first time seemed like enough, but even after the second time it was ridiculous. You could clearly see that the blood wasn’t real. You’re probably giggling right now at the memory. It was at some point in the middle of the movie when something strange happened to me. It was like I died but in a good way.
No, that’s too straight to the point; it’ll make the both of us feel uncomfortable. I could go ask mom. I can only guess what she would say, probably that I should write a poem about her. “It’ll be sweet,” she’d say. But poems are so cheesy and it never works anyway. Vanessa would laugh straight in my face I bet, as I would stand there looking like an idiot. I’m not so sure she’s that kind of a person though. That’s probably why this letter is so difficult to write. I’m not sure how she will react to this. Maybe if I tell her how confused I was to start with, she won’t feel so awkward.
I turned the movie off when that strange feeling stopped and I felt silence. My head was working over time trying to figure out what just happened to me. The images that jumped into my mind, the fear crawling up my back, it all happened when I thought about bubbly and dark brown and finally it all made sense.
Ugh! Why am I doing this to myself? Maybe it’ll be easier to just mail this thing, that way I don’t have to stand there and wait for her answer. If she doesn’t feel the same, it might be easier to take in a letter. Plus I would always have fake blood, wires, and a cheesy plot.
So I’m sending you this to find out what you think. Do you feel the same? Will we still be friends? Please write back. Your possible rejection would be easier to handle in words than hearing it.
Yours Truly
Structure Exercise
His eyes were closed the entire time. No one could tell that he had passed minutes ago. I’d been drawing in my sketchbook while we sat in his room. I couldn’t figure out how a hole appeared in the middle of the page. The paper was warped and my drawing was becoming a little blurry. The last time my paper ripped in the middle was during my first time going to the ocean.
It was summer and I couldn’t wait to get there. When we stepped onto the beach large fish were jumping out of the water on the horizon. So I had taken the opportunity to sketch them. I hadn’t noticed kids shoving water at each other until a huge fist full of water covered my paper. I went to go dry it off and hadn’t noticed that the sand was cementing to my toes. I tried to pull it out and it hurt so much, it was like when I tried to take the pimples off my face.
Being thirteen was horrible. I tried so hard everyday not to look in the mirror. I was hideous and just one look would set me off. I would be in the bathroom for hours pulling my face apart. Then I would end up walking to school and that would make me late for class.
I would show up to class with tissues all over my face to cover the sores. Quiet snickering would start as soon as I opened the door. As if he expected me, the teacher would hand me a detention slip and then point to my seat without looking at me. While I walked down the aisle to my seat amidst laughter, I would focus on the wall. As soon as I got to my desk, I would quickly pull out my sketchbook. The rain had warped the pages and in some places holes were starting. Nevertheless, I dragged my pencil across the page and split the rest of the page in half.
So now I’m sitting here in his room with a ruined sketch. He would be so upset with me; I’m supposed to be the strong one. But I’m not stable enough to see or care about anything anyway. Who knew that everything would turn out to be like a sketchbook.
Unusual Sound Exercise
“Dear Taxpayer…” she read to herself for the second time as she was waiting for the peanut butter cookies to finish baking. She couldn’t bear to read past those two words. She knew she wouldn’t have been able to get away with what she did, so why should this letter surprise her?
Sitting in the living room chair, with the letter in her trembling fingers, she could spot the growing pile of dirty dishes in the sink. She rose out of her chair, leaving the letter there. She started running the water and began adding the dish soap. As she was washing the dishes, she could smell that the cookies would be done soon.
The dishes were soon clean, glistening in the bright light of the kitchen. Her reflection caught her eye and she dropped the plate, in fear of what she saw. The cookies were clearly finished, the smell mouthwatering, but she ignored the smell and the broken plate and started digging through shelves, grabbing all the dishes insisting they were dirty. The smell quickly turned from sweet and delicious to a choking burn. She could imagine her financial crisis on each of the dishes as she tried futilely to scrub them away.
The smell finally reached her nose sending alarming signals to her brain to remove the cookies from the oven. She placed them on the top of the stove to wait for them to cool so she could throw them away. She returned to her dishes and as she began grabbing more dishes, a loud knocking sounded at the door. “Miss Wess, this is the IRS we need to discuss some things with you.”
She fell to her knees on the kitchen floor in tears looking left and right frantically, but knew there was no way out.
