I Want To Look At The Truth (best blog post this six weeks)

"You can't tell her that." Someone growled under their breath, it was someone I recognized, but I'm not sure who they were. It was a deep voice, I know I should know who the person was. I wracked my brain, but I didn't remember. I was only four. I was suppose to have a good memory, I remembered most things well enough; but I couldn't remember what I had for breakfast yesterday morning; and I don't remember what I ate for dinner that night. (italics and bold mean it is her memory)What I do remember is my friend Kayla got a phone call and looked very white, and then told me we could watch a movie before bed. We watched my favorite movie of all time, and then she told me to go to sleep, but I stayed up, and she didn't leave as soon as she thought I was asleep like usual. Which was weird, because that never happened.
I don't remember falling asleep, but I do remember that Kayla was still there, which would be fun but strange. So when I woke up I asked her "Kayla, why aren't my mom and daddy home from their date?" They said they were going to something that started with a c, but I forgot, so I just called it a date.
She sighed and then said "They haven't gotten home yet." She made it sound like they would never get home, but, they said they would never leave me, that if I waited for them they would find me, so I knew that they would come home. If Kayla was staying then it would be okay, because we always did something fun. But when we were sitting, and playing...I forget what game it was, but when I heard loud sirens go off outside I knocked over all the pieces, and Kayla only got up, and told me to stay by her. There were lots of police cars, I know they're police cars because Kayla told me once, and another car, it was a really pretty silvery color, and was much bigger than the police cars, although it wasn't a truck. I didn't remember the car, but I knew I should remember the man who walked out. He was someone important, someone my parents both knew, he always came over, why couldn't I remember his name?
I was interrupted from remembering when I heard another shout "You won't tell her lies!" It was the man whose name I couldn't remember. There was an answering shout, but I didn't hear it, I was back in my memories.
Police men got out, and everybody went into the kitchen. That's where I was now, standing outside the kitchen, listening, while Kayla let me. Which was odd, and the man who I couldn't see. I couldn't hear though, not in the clear way.
I tried to remember who the man was, but my  memory was hazy, his name was something like...Miri, Manr, Mysten, that sounded odd and wrong, but I think that's what it was. That's what it was, I think.
He was a friend of my parent's, but he was something to me too, my parents told me once, but it was when I was little, I don't remember. I remember what he looked like, he had longer than my dad's brown hair, and yellow eyes, and he lived in a community, a tight community my mother always said something along those lines. Kayla was part of it too, but my parents were not.
Something, something that my mother always felt bad about, and my father never lingered on. At least that's what I understood.
I heard another shout "There's only half a chance!"
"So what would you have me do?! Abandon my responsibility?! It was so important to them!" Mysten, I think that's his name, I'm almost sure, shouted back.
Only half a chance of what?
I heard loud stomps, and finally entered the room, Kayla was standing there, red in the face, with an anger I had never quite seen, and the man was there, he had slightly long brown hair, with green eyes, and he was pacing.
Kayla turned to me, and looked at him, it seemed as if there was something going on, something I couldn't catch, something I could see, but couldn't hear.
She put me up on one of the chairs and asked "Sorry we've been ignoring you. Things are a little crazy. I could tell you the story, or I could answer your questions. What do you want to know?"
I already knew, I wanted what everybody wanted, what people search for the entire lives, but never get, but I didn't know that then. So I asked the only thing I knew how to ask for "Tell me the truth."

Sweet Simplicity

Dear Diary,

What do most people write about in a diary? Ever since I got this empty clean paged beautiful book I have been dying to write in it, but what do I write?

I could tell you about my day, I could tell you about how it was Briaa's lucky number day. She's so superstitious! She's an amazing person, but she has a lucky number, and is a reader of every card, always gets her fortune told, and has today's horoscopes constantly with her. Some people think it’s funny, how she tells everyone everything, but some people admire her speaking her mind.

I couldn't tell you what we learned in LA today though; I find that a horrid subject, my teacher told me "Just write what you think about the subject." Why would I want to think about something so meaningless? I suppose writing isn't all that bad, but what is it with this pointless thinking? I could summarize my thoughts in a perfect short summary and yet my teacher doesn't seem to think that's enough. We wrote one paragraph, my teacher said it should be easy, yet the topic was so hard 'Write about your opinion on a children's story that you were told as a child.' All children's stories are dumb.

I don't really like science either; it's like an impractical and finicky version of math.

I could tell you all about my History class, and my math class, and lunch. I don't think that it is very interesting though.

Oh well.
I'll try and write more tomorrow, this is much better than LA, even though it is writing. 

-C Ya, 

Lilly

Dear Lilly,

I loved hearing about your day today, hopefully I will be hearing more from you. It has been so tiresome feeling my empty pages, and I hope that you fill them up. Even if I can't see your world, hearing you write and talk about it is refreshing. I think though that there are some stories I could tell you that you would find interesting, and I must disagree, Science is very precise, and LA does have meaning. Maybe we can discuss this more later.

Sincerely,

                  Diary

A flower is a flower, no matter how many petals it has. To live life as a flower though, I believe would be rather dull. Don't you?

The Wound That Never Heals

Scars. Scars. Scars are what make us or break us, scars are reminder of past faults, faults of ourselves or faults of others, but either way...you can never truly forget. Some people try and cover up their scars, they try to forget about them, but, some of us can't. I have a scar across my eye, it was given to me by Maeve, the Queen of our realm. The realm of the fae.
I smirked and gave a morbid laugh, life here was not the safe haven as some imagined it. Persecuted in other kingdoms for their heritage, and then forced into little better than slavery here, unless you are lucky, unless you are born here, and born as free as you will get in this contorted world. I want to laugh again, but why would I push it? Most are not allowed to breath without our Queen's permission.
We are a race greater than any other, our powers outstrip them, and our rule is fierceness to behold, the way we cut each others throats while holding daggers to their back. I barely bothered to engage in such politics, nor did I try to win the Queen's favor. Opening trouble is to walk beside death, and I had done that enough.
Now all this could change though, I have a chance, maybe it will be another form of slavery, but at least these bonds will be visible to only few. Loyalty by choice, how very interesting. All the same, and army was rising, for the court of ice and stone that Maeve held. Mab, her younger sister, bestowed by the same power of biting cold, and slightly less powerful dared raise a hand against her sister, and she was probably doomed down the same path.
They are both fools, but right now the world must move on, and it will, because that is how the world is, it one of the few things we share with humans. I snicker, humans, in the land beside ours, calling themselves conquerors for killing a few fae with so little power, fae who help plants grow, and try to coax rain into falling.
Scars, scars from them as well. I sigh, will the list of those who gave me scars go on?
One from Maeve who fears my power, and forced me to obey her will.
Five from the humans who thought they could enslave me.
Two from my friends who tried to kill me on the battlefield courtesy of Maeve.
One from my father who feared the humans who would burn him and me alike.
Three from the one who was suppose to love me.
The list goes on and on, and they are still there. Some of them got infected at first, but most simply scar. I sigh, now a chance, I want them gone, but I want them there. I want to remember, but I want a clean slate.
We rarely get what we want though.
I sigh, they are all so ugly. Some on my back, A few on my face. A couple on my arms. Maybe one or two on my chest.
Mab, she goes by the title Queen of Ice, a title still belonging to her living sister. Though she promises a land built on kinship, I sigh, how can we be family, for Maeve has created something different, friendship after loyalty. Whereas Mab wouldn't allow that friendship, saying it makes us weak, blood is thicker than water I believe the phrase is. Both are right, and both bear scars.
Where I fall is important to them, but not important to me.
Either way I will get more scars.

The Beauty of a Wall

I grinned at my friend, the joke was okay, but I thought that he was a little more mature than that. He wrapped his arm around me in a friendly manner, gushing loudly "Awww come on Tessa that was funny, don't I get a laugh?"
Rance is always making something out of nothing, he's a great artist, but sometimes I worry that he's going to explode with all of that inside him. I roll my eyes at him saying sarcastically "No you don't."
He sighs before pointing a finger at me "Someday Tessa Laena Renolf, I will make you laugh so hard that you won't be able to retaliate when I say I told you so."
I shake my head, like that day would ever come "Now Robert that is a truly laughable thought."
He gave me a dirty look when I said his real name. It's not a bad name, but I guess he likes Rance better, and he makes sure everybody knows it. That is like a Rance Rule and it's on the top on the list, has been since preschool. I asked him why once and he evaded the question, I let it drop, everyone has secrets that they don't tell anyone. Some

might call me a horrible friend for not caring, but I know that it wouldn't make me any less of a friend if I respected his choice.

We headed to Art 2 class, Rance prefers to work with pastels, oils, and ink, but personally I like to sketch with pencils and maybe color in with colored pencils if   I think the drawing is good enough. Our Art teacher is more lenient than some people like, every unit we learn about either a period of art, a style of art, or a piece of art. Then at the end of that unit we turn in a piece that either would be created in that time period, or is that style of art, or uses the style time period or focus of that piece of art. This being said and it being the third week in our three week unit all of us were finished (usually finished by end of first week) everybody practiced their own art or chatted with their friends. I put up a thick sheet of paper and secured it to my easle, Rance pulled up a drawing vibrant with hues of blue, yellow, and green. He glanced at my blank sheet before asking " What are you going to draw?"

I hesitated I have an idea, so I simply answer " I'm not sure yet." I debate for a short period of time between a alternate depiction of a Robert Frost poem or a book that had writing that couldn't be read. 

I began the sketch, outlining a line, then making it rough, but strong, and only the tops of trees peeped over the top, those were at the top of the paper. At the bottom I finished sketching the base before drawing grass all around with nothing else. Then I added detail.

The finish of the pencil work was plain to see, and the bell almost rung, everyone began cleaning up, and I stowed away the sketch into my portfolio to finish coloring later. Rance was almost finished, his ocean coming out with a simple elegance and beauty splotched in bright color. 

He snuck a peek at what I had drawn before questioning " Why did you choose to draw that?"

I only shrugged.