Having a dream

My friends always want me to jump, but I can`t…I`m too afraid. We just moved from Boston to California, since my dad accepted a job offer of a big insurance company. I directly liked California, the beach, my new school and 24 hours of sunshine. Already on my first day of school I met new friends and everything was perfect, but now, a few days later, my new friends start acting so weird. They told me I would have to prove my courage to become a real part of their group. From that moment on I have not spoken a word to them anymore. I don`t need those friends who want me do things I am afraid of. I am sure I will find true friends soon.
I hate my boss and her demanding character. Just recently I supposed a more effective working program to her but she thoughtlessly made fun of it. It is her company, she told me, so we would have to do whatever she wants us to do. In addition, we now have to call her “Boss” and not “Mrs. Johnson” any longer. I don`t like it but I better get used to it soon, because I like my job and don`t want to lose it only for being disrespectful to my boss.
I can`t see any hope, I`m surrounded by darkness. I grew up in a world where people always told me what to do, what to think and how to behave; I never could fulfill my own dreams. I saw the other kids of my neighborhood playing with their friends on the street, laughing and joking around; I wish I could have been one of them. Now that I am an adult I am wondering how it is to be normal, to be a person with own feelings and thoughts. The first time I started fighting for a dream I had ended up in a personal tragedy, I just couldn`t say “No” any longer after a while; this tore me down and I hide myself in my room for several weeks. Last night I saw a beautiful woman, I directly fell in love with the way she looked at me. People, however, told me she would never date a guy like me, a loser! I want to see her again, but maybe they are right and I AM a loser. What shall I do?
Everybody has a dark side, even the calmest. Nobody could ever deny that he/she has been angry in his life before and was thinking about doing something that is against one`s morality and social norms. Life is too short and of too much value to waste it by having bad and violent thoughts; everything is just too real. Dreams, however, are led by your imagination. Nobody can remember the beginning of a dream, one is always directly in the middle of a dream. When dreaming everything seems so real, only when waking up one realizes that it was just a dream, still beautiful, but just a dream.
Having an older sister is great, they are loving and caring. As to them younger sisters learn easily how it is to treat somebody with respect and also have somebody to rely on in bad times. But even older sister cannot live your life for you and fulfill your dreams. They can help you, but in the end you still have to take care of your own business and that things go the right way. This is why being self-confident and self-responsible is as important as being respectful to your friends as well as to the people around you.
A hand under my bed…something is wrong! This sentence already creates tension. This is what makes language and writing beautiful, one does not need a picture to express feelings, whether those feelings are good or bad ones. You buy a book and the first thing you pay attention to is the language being used. In many cases you stop reading a book because you didn`t like the way the story was written it. Writing: The other way of telling a good story without using pictures or short movie scenes.

The Big Leap

Yes, I was cold. But I didn’t notice at the time. All I could think about was if I should jump or not. It was a cool August day and I would start my freshman year of high school next week. As a kind of last “hoorah” for the end of the summer, my “friends” and I took a hike up to the Snake River in the mountains. We had been there many times before and observed as the older kids faced their fears and jumped of the tall, old, rusting bridge into the raging water. We would watch them crash into the river and hold our breaths along with them until we saw their heads pop up. Many jumped more than once. Now my friends wanted me to do it as well. I had always sworn I would never do it. Although my heart was beating out of my chest, I knew that I had it in me to jump. But would I actually do it?

It was the only way I could find out who I really was. If I had the courage to do this, I could finally let go of my past and start a new beginning. I had always been so shy and stuck in my shell. I was starting high school in a week. Is it possible to be someone different from who you were while still maintaining somewhat of an identity? I looked over to my best friend Becca in hope of some assurance. She knew me better than anyone else and had kept quiet as the group was urging me to “just jump.”

I could tell by the look in her eyes that she was scared as well. She had decided upon our arrival that she would not jump. In fact, the whole group decided they wouldn’t go through. Yet for some reason, they wanted me too. Maybe they wanted to live through me. Maybe they could see the part of me that wanted to change. But for whatever reason, they were extremely convincing. Despite my extreme internal dilemma, I decided to get it over with. Without warning I closed my eyes and I let go.

The last thing I remember was hitting the water, I felt a rough sharp pain and when I finally opened my eyes I was in the hospital. Did this really happen? I had finally decided to change and change I would, but not in the way I had wanted. The doctors told me I was lucky to be alive. All I could feel was pain. Pain had taken over my body in place of my indecisiveness and my subsequent rash decision. I could not talk with the tube in my throat. I was lacking any way of communicating, as I could not even move my arms to write for the pain was too much. The nurse came in, did something to my IV, and I quickly altered into a deep narcotic daze.

I fell into the sweet escape of my own dreams. I was playing outside with my little sister. I could run and the massive and painful gash in my head did not exist. Dreams were the only way I could escape my harsh reality. It felt so real; I wanted to stay in this perfect world forever.

I was given a task. A task that was not easy. Although I had a choice, felt I had to deal with what I was given before I could make my own path. It turns out that my young mind had made the wrong decision. I know that I should not have jumped, but I did. I would do anything to take it back. I had seen numerous people over the years jump into that river and come out happy and unscathed. I think that false assurance is what made me follow through with the task. It was that and my undying need to be someone different, to face my fears.

Was it my fault? Somewhat. Was it their fault? No. Accidents happen. I made my own decision. As I woke up from yet another dream three weeks later, I finally came to terms with what had happened. I dreamt that I chose not to jump. The most bizarre thing about the dream is that everything was fine. My friends still liked me and I went on my life as normal. The only problem was that I didn’t like me. Even in my dream, where I subconsciously knew what would happen if I were to jump, I would have rather risked the injury. Although it will be a long road to recovery, I believe that everything happens for a reason. This experience will make me stronger and I will live on. I do not know what is to come but all I know is I definitely have changed, which was my goal in the first place, right?

The Thinner Line

December 21, 2010:

My name is Rod Earl Meara, and some strange things have been happening to me lately. Maybe all the drinking I did in college has finally hit my memory, but wouldn’t I not be able to tell if it was? In any case, today I was going about my daily routine – a grande, sugar-free vanilla latte from Cindy at the local anti-Starbucks, when the letters on my New York Times “jumped” off the page and ran out the door. I was so startled by this, that I squeezed my scalding hot latte, and winced at the pain. I opened my eyes, and there wasn’t any stain, or pain for that matter. I am sitting now at The Insomniax Café, writing this all down, before I forget it.

December 22, 2010:

Today at work I stopped typing amidst a disturbing thought. It struck me that the entire morning had gone by, and not one of my colleagues had come into my office. Weirder still, when I walked past Barb’s desk (my receptionist,) her blue New York Giants umbrella rolled off the desk and after me. It was like a movie where the person being followed turns around and the follower stops moving, but is somehow closer than it was before. I screamed out for somebody to come quick, but music came out of my mouth, “Death of a Martian” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. After that time kind of slowed down, every step I took towards the door to my building seemed to take a year. Finally before I could get to the door, my foot caught in a pothole, and I passed out from the pain.

December 23, 2010:

I am spent the night at work; everyone else is gone for Christmas and my penthouse felt cold despite the thermostat setting of 70º. Instead of driving, I decided to fly back in. I mean why waste my money on gas anymore if I could just spread my arms apart and fly like Superman? Plus cars are dangerous. I am thinking about flying to a beach somewhere, it would nice to be warm for Christmas, and also cool to show off my new method of getting around.

December 24, 2010:

Flying south was interesting, believe it or not I saw Santa Claus, he said I shouldn’t bet on the Giants making the Super Bowl this year. The guy was friggin’ skinny! Mrs. Claus must have him on a no-carb diet or he got a stomach-staple. I can’t remember what he said when I asked. Costa Rica is warm, but I didn’t know they spoke Chinese here. Well it sounds like Chinese, I’m not sure. They all look the same too, how can you meet any new friends when there are no surface details to set them apart and make them approachable?

December 25, 2010:

The Christmas trees on the beach are all lit up, and the snow is falling steadily. I spent just last few minutes staring at the ocean. I have decided to push this flight thing to the limit and see if I can find some people elsewhere. Maybe a different planet? Or maybe I’ll just keep flying until there’s nowhere else to go. I took a last good look at the snow-capped mountain that rose from the waves, our planet was so cool but there could be cooler ones out there. I’ll write again once I get to Pluto.

The Montclair Times Reported on December 26, 2010:

Montclair Native, Wall St. Executive, Rod Earl Meara Dies After 5-day Coma

After sustaining serious injuries in a car accident on December 21, 2010, Mr. Meara slipped into a coma that night. Mr. Meara apparently was attempting to complete the New York Times crossword puzzle in his vehicle, when, onlookers say, he swerved to avoid a large pothole. Mr. Meara lost control of the car and he struck a pedestrian (Ms. Margaret Chu) before crashing into Downtown Music and Variety. Ms. Chu is in critical condition, but doctor’s predict that she will pull through. Mr. Meara was unmarried, and died at the age of 42.

December 28, 2010:

WOW! What a flight!

Annika's First Assignment

Creative Writing

Annika Hilbrich

09/26/10

“She ran through the factory, completely aware of the person very close behind her.”

What do you do when you are told you should not or cannot? (shot)

If she was told that she could not continue to run away from what is chasing her, she would evidently fail her mission, which is to escape her own fears. Whether or not the person behind her is real or just a figure of her imagination, she must continue to run in order to reach her final destination, her freedom.

What is feminine writing supposed to be as opposed to masculine writing? (cut)

Feminine writing is more of a delicate taste rather than masculine writing, which may be rougher and into gory detail. Though the differences between the two are not obvious, when writing about two characters of the opposite sex, it is necessary for everything they do to be explained very diversely in order to describe them successfully.

What's the difference between dreams and reality? (shot)

Dreams are what she imagines within her own body, soul and mind that may or may not relate to reality, which is what is actually physically happening in her world.

Who is responsible? (cut)

She is responsible for her own freedom. In order to complete this, she needs to over come her fear and reach her destination.

How long is fantasy necessary or useful? When do you no longer need fantasy? How does fantasy help you survive? (shot)

She needs fantasy in a way that there may or may not be someone chasing her or following her, though she truly believes that there is, and she is trying intensely to escape it. Although what she is really trying to escape is her fear and she will no longer need fantasy when she comes to realize this and face it head on.

What is useful? vs. What is useless? & How does feeling 'useful' make you happy? (cut)

Obviously feeling like you are useful is a wonderful feeling and she can of course relate to that. If you feel that you are unwanted and useless, you will feel as though you have no point in your life and that everything you’ve ever wanted is nothing at all. She can feel this, as she is trying to find her freedom, and take the journey to get there.

Jasmine and the Sea

Jasmine stood motionless at the top of a great boulder wondering when the next salty breeze would pass by. She was confident that the sea would bring her another warm gust; she knew her hair would wave like a golden flag in the summer air once again. All she had to do was wait. The sea had always been good to Jasmine. It never loved her, but never hated her. It never came to her, but it never left her either. And for these reasons, Jasmine considered the sea to be her best friend. It saved her from her loneliness; the spirit of the sea splashed in the basin of her soul.

Sometimes Jasmine would sit on the sandy beach and listen to the roars of the crashing waves, the whispers of the rolling tide, and the gentle waters tap her bare feet. By simply listening, Jasmine felt the emotions of the sea. She felt the anger of the battling waves, the happy splashes of the rolling tide, and the sadness of a gentle, tapping tide. The sea knew that Jasmine loved it just by the way she sat on its sandy beach. Words never needed to be spoken. The hugs of rolling tides, the kisses of salty breezes, and the chatter of restless tides were always enough for Jasmine.

One day when Jasmine was walking to the beach, she noticed something odd. She couldn’t here any roaring waves or gentle tides. She couldn’t smell its salty breeze or feel the occasional warm gusts. Jasmine ran down to the beach only to find her friend murdered. A thick, black sludge floated on top of the sea like a giant scab. Jasmine started to cry for her friend, for the animals, for herself, for humanity. People can be so cruel, so mindless. The only person Jasmine could blame was herself; only humans could be so heartless, so irresponsible.

Jasmine was like a balloon inflating with hot rage. She stood on her friend’s grave with her fists squeezed, jaw clenched, body shaking, eyes watering, and heart broken. A sadistic light bulb turned on in Jasmine’s head. She would destroy all of humanity limb by limb, and brick by brick. She would reinforce her dad’s Jeep Grand Cherokee with seven inches of steel and bullet proof glass, attach a turret and a manhole to the top, and mow down every last sea murdering human being on the planet. Jasmine jolted home with a cruel grin on her teenage face. It wasn’t until she tore the hood off of her father’s car that Jasmine realized that she had no clue what she was doing. She entered a state of endless depression.

Jasmine remained inside her house for seven months. She said nothing. She felt nothing. She ate only enough food to keep the sad existence of herself alive. One day while staring at her white bedroom wall, Jasmine smelled something unusual; it reminded her of something strangely familiar. Her nostrils flared and tingled. She closed her eyes and followed. Eventually, Jasmine found herself standing at the feet of an old friend. The sea greeted her with an affectionate, salty breeze and a cool tide that ran over her feet. The sludge was gone, and Jasmine’s anger and depression lifted like a weight off her shoulders. She lay in the shallow water and talked to her long lost friend all night long.

The years passed on, and Jasmine moved away from her old friend. The hustle and bustle of the “real world” caught up with her, and she forgot about the peace and joy that the sea once gave her. Wet, manly kisses replaced warm, salty ones. A deep and raspy voice substituted the crashes of rolling tides. She married. She grew older. She decided to visit the house she grew up in, the house near the sea. When she arrived at the old memory of a house, she smelled a salty wisp. She followed it to her old friend. Jasmine was thirteen again. She was lying in a warm bed of sand. The sea was whispering to her and tickling her wrinkled feet. She laughed, she cried, she reminisced more. The world never felt more real and more like a dream when Jasmine was with the sea that day. Whether it was reality or fantasy, Jasmine knew she loved the sea, and it loved her back.

All Alone in the Mountains

They told me that it was going to be a big change, but isn’t change all around us? I, personally cannot live without change. In fact, the only thing constant in life might be change.

I spent years in isolation searching for truth, years going up and down those mountains. Without other human beings for days, I had plenty of time for reflection and realization. Will I ever find truth? They say that it’s about the journey, not the destination.

I was given no direct guidelines for his quest. The ambiguity made it very difficult to do it correctly, but it also made it difficult to do it wrong.

Absence is nothing, yet it can mean everything. Absence can make you appreciate what you take for granted, or make you realize what you don’t need.

Time is a very powerful idea, but I realized that it was just that: an idea. Being up in the mountains for so long, I had lost track of time. There was no use for it. If I wasn’t keeping track of time, then who was? There was no one around for days. And if no one was keeping track of time, then did it cease to exist?

They say that only about twenty or thirty percent of what you communicate is verbal. Perhaps the tone of your voice? But what about before language was invented? How did humans communicate? They say that animals can sense when we’re happy, sad, angry, that horses can feel when we’re tense and uncertain. So are we then somehow communicating with them? Was I somehow communicating with this mountain and its creatures?

First Assignment

Post first assignment here.