In a flea market I found fleas,
Oh please, don't read this, oh please,
'Cause you might not like this hairy stuff,
Unless you are very tough.
I started walking around to see what they had,
They had lots of food that smelled bad,
Then I looked around for clothes,
But I found a flea holding a rose.
I also found a flea statue,
It was dusty, so, achoo!
I now want to leave this market,
I then noticed it was a dream,
So I woke up without a threat,
But it felt like a real scene.
Because it was!
It was all real,
I just daydreamed a little,
I also found a wheel,
So I ran.
I ran so far not to see,
That I am a flea,
I'm just scared of everything,
and they call me, 'Chicken Without a Wing.'
But apparently, it was a dream.
Sometime I remember to breathe.
Sometimes I don't.
Our bodies do it for us.
From the day you are born and wail to the day that your last breath disappates,
there will always be air in your lungs.
But what does it really mean to breathe?
Is it just the passage of air through your respitory system?
An act that keeps one alive through day to countless day.
Or is it something deeper?
A calmness, a whisper, a break
Sometimes I remember to breathe.
Sometimes I don't.
Everyone has good qualities and bad qualities, some with more bad, and some with more good. Marionette of Islia was taught that just the same as the rest of us, that she had good as well as bad. However, it seems her parents were not very convincing in telling her that she was good, or perhaps she simply didn’t listen.
Marionette was born in grandiose Tuaville, an opulent town bordered by the gentle Sique mountains. Her mother was a seamstress, and her father crafted beautiful works of wood. She was the third child her parents had had, but the only one to survive. As such, her parents fawned over her, spoiling her with everything good and beautiful that the world has to offer. There was never a moment that she was not under their supervisory gaze, not near enough for their interference and safety should any dangers arise.
It would seem such a loved and well treated child could only grow up to be an incredibly kind-hearted person, or at the very worst, spoiled and immature. However, this was not the case with Marionette. From near infancy, she adored catching any small creature she could and making it “dance,” which included setting it afire or throwing rocks at it. Her soft-hearted parents were shocked and discouraged her actions, but when they were both busy or looking in the wrong direction, she would find a way to do it.
At four years old, Marionette’s mother, Sebastia, began teaching Marionette sewing in an effort to deter her from her unusually cruel play habits. However, teaching Marionette what “sharp” was turned out to be a bigger mistake than leaving her throwing rocks and playing with matches. She learned quickly, developing speed and accuracy in her stitching at an impressive rate. At the same time, there was an increase in the number of downed crows about town. Many were found with their wings mysteriously stuck to their bodies by what seemed to be black string.
Years later, after Marionette had turned ten, the townspeople banded together and set her parents’ mansion aflame. Over those years, pets had gone missing, only to turn up dead on their doorstep with patches over their eyes, and strings on their limbs. Children out for a walk at dusk had been set upon by wolves, who had been tackled and strangled to death by nearby parents before any real harm could be done to the youths. The wolves had the same patches and strings. It seemed witchcraft, and the odd, dark child of the Evandalis house seemed the likely suspect, for all her quick movements, cruel smiles, and her ability to seemingly vanish before your eyes.
For her suspected crimes, her parents burned in their bed, and her mansion burned to the ground, as she watched from the street with her young eyes. All while the arsonists went about their business, never turning back to see the girl standing there, she watched. Women and children frightened in their homes reported having seen a smile grow on Marionette’s face as the fire grew, and that when her attackers turned to find her behind them, that smile bewitched them to walk backwards into the roaring flames, even as their flesh crackled and burned.
After the murder of her parents and most of the men in her village, Marionette vanished from Tuaville. Nearby towns reported disturbing, mystical events occurring soon afterwards, then ceasing as soon as they had been realized. Young women and men began disappearing in the night, seen later in crazed, manic states. And as the years progressed, Marionette’s army grew to what it is today- A force more erratically and wildly violent than any before seen in Arveth. And despite Marionette, we still lie to our children about the good in everyone.
I just knew that if I went through the 24 karat gold door I’d be somewhere magical, but I didn’t know where I’d be. Would I be in Olympus? Would I be in the underworld? Or would I be in the labyrinth? I’d never find out, if I didn't go through the 24 karat gold door.
An echo of a mother’s laugh
Serene and beautiful yet empty.
So so empty.
Empty like a ship at the bottom of the sea,
Empty like the wind between the reef.
It’s allure is powerful and gentle, it tugs at your soul, your inner desires.
Not demanding but calling, like a mother’s lullaby to a drowsy child.
Lullaby, love, lullaby, love.
A tug at the strings that produce the song of the sea that lies within us all.
beckoning towards the tiny bit of ocean that is trapped inside.
Promises to deliver it back home.
So it will be safe.
Safe below. Safe in the deep, deep sea.
Deep. Below. Time. Has. Stopped.
Up above it is woven amongst the chaos of earth.
Beauty is a fragment when you are half dead.
So it calls.
A sweet reminder of home. Reclaiming you at last.
That One Pickle
Once upon a time there was a poor man that could only afford a small pickle jar he had been saving his money almost the entire month!So he walked down to the market and said one pickle jar please the manager then said”that's the last jar”thanks a lot said the poor man he walked out of the market and went back to his home under the town's bridge he then opened up the tightly closed pickle jar and found what he had never seen not even in his dreams what he saw was a glittering gold pickle that looked so delicious that he could devour it whole!so the old man took a small bite out of the golden pickle and his old rags turned into a gold cape and a glittering crown and his bridge turned into a big castle and a huge barrel that was filled of gold and you might as well say he was a king the old man couldn't just stay there he had to tell everyone the miracle he first ran to the old fruit stand right across the street from his old house under the town’s bridge he said to the woman who was running the stand I’m the richest of them all I'm the most awesome of them all and I’m the most handsome of them all you are you are the woman said the king then ran to the blacksmith shop and said to the crafter I’m the richest of them all I’m the awesomest of them all and I’m the most handsome of them all you are you are the crafter said the king then ran to the magic shop there was a old woman that almost looked like a with the king said to the witch I’m the richest of them all I’m the awesomest of them and I’m the most handsome of them all the witch then said in a hideous voice you're to greedy so i will cast a spell on you that will make it so you will never be any of those again the old witch cast a spell on the king that turned him into a snail forever!the king was never heard of again
Moral of the story: Don't ever be too greedy :)
Short short long
It is the heartbeat that could save a heart
The siren that rings terror of some and hope for others.
Is it death? Or is it another chance of life?
I cannot speak for those who feel the terror, for I only feel the privilege of my pigment.
For those who are invoked by terror, I can only feel sorrow. I feel division.
Am I the lucky one?
Am I the one forced to look upon death as it arrives untimely?
Or am I the one who could make the change?
Am I the one who could save a life and doesn't?
Am I the one so surrounded with privilege that a sacrifice for others is unimaginable?
I am angry for I may be all of these.
I am angry.
I am sad.
What I am they know.
What I am I know.
My parents know.
I was taking a casual stroll in the park when suddenly, I came across a portal in a tree stump. I was going to avoid it, and forget about it, but I could not get it outr of my mind. It was about 12:00am, and I ran all the way to the same park. I got to the portal and crawled in. For about ten seconds, my body was flailing around at high speeds, and I was being stretched out. I flopped onto the ground and opened my eyes. I saw a world of bright colors. i got up and looked around. I noticed a large castle, made of bagels, it appeared. But poorly, and callously made. Probably halfway cooked, too. I walked in and greeted an oversized hamster who led me to a pickle wizard. For some reason, he was unhappy to see me because he casted a spell on me that would permanantly turn me into a firefighter who says nothing but the word snails. I yelled out "SNAAAAAAAAIL!" and fell onto my knees begging for the spell to be removed. "Snail snail snaaaail snail snail?" Surprisingly, the wizard understood, and removed the spell. He led me back to the portal and I ran all the way back home. I grabbed some pizza from the fridge, and went to bed. Thank god this wasn't a dream. This would be a crazy story to tell my friends.
"Honey, wake up. It's time for school."
Yes, sometimes I do feel like throwing my phone as far as I can. There's so many negative things online. Studies have shown that socail media makes people depressed. Does that make me throw my phone? Does that make me delete those apps? No, it doesn't. I'm so sucked into socail media and what people think of me. Every time I post something on instagram, I always check the caption, to make sure people think I'm funny or cool or just a good person. I ask my friends if they think the caption is good. But this doesn't make me happy. I shouldn't care how many likes I get, if my caption is good, if the picture is good. But I do care, and thats the problem. I wish I could delete those apps, I truely do. But something doesn't let me. I wish I could do something about it. If only I let myself throw my phone as far as I can...life would probably be easier.
The old iron bell jangled as I stepped into the familiar shop. I waved to the employee, who smiled at me.
I began to make my way through a maze of old bookshelves, chairs, paintings, vases and other miscellaneous objects. I knew almost all of it by memory, and could tell when the store had sold something.
I finally reached a dead end of the store. It was a cozy little corner with a blue velvet chair and a box. I always go there when I have time to spare. I sit down in the chair and hoist up the cylindrical box. It is sandalwood with carvings of trees, clouds, and a mountain on the top. There is a pattern snaking across the sides of dots and triangles.
The smell of the box clamed me. Opening it, I find the usual stuff: coins, small jewelry, pins, and buttons. But there is something new…
A rather large, green pendant strung through a piece of brown string. It glows when I touch it, and is warm. I feel it connecting with something inside me, and realize...
You do one thing my it just goes downhill from there. You say one word and your world comes collapsing down around you. You never wanted to be bad. Never wanted to be shunned, disrespected, and hated. You never wanted to be feared. It just happened.
You started changing how you acted. When everyone expects you to be a jerk, there's no point trying to be nice anymore. Frowns and glares have ten times the impact of a hesitant smile. When you're expected to be bad, you become bad, because the way everyone sees you becomes the way you see yourself. And the way you see the world becomes cold, and harsh, and you become cold and harsh too.
Sometimes you miss being loved, and hate being feared, but you can't go back. Nobody expects a bad guy to change, a bully to stop, or a villain to give up. What you think you are becomes clouded with who others think you are. Cruelty is an illusion, but if you stare at an illusion long enough, it becomes a reality.
On one gloomy, stormy winter day, I opened my eyes when the clock struck 5 am. I looked at my alarm, to its evil red letters that had always bothered me and threw it against the wall. My parents came up to my room, and I threw them out the window. My dog went down to the basement in fear, once looking at me with a wagging tail, now with a look of repugnace. I slammed all the doors with a grin, feeling an intense heat behind my eyes, in my head, through my body. I looked in the mirror. I was a red eyed, horned beast, with a smile so cringy I laughed. The mirror shattered. there was a note on my desk. "You have been gifted with powers the devil longs for. Welcome, because now you are one of us. You are the Evil." I gave a maniac smirk and agreed. For once, I was powerful, gifted, hairless, and beautiful.
This was 5 years ago. They now call me Evil.
Winter of 1700, Poland
An aging pair of ballet shoes lay on the shelf,
Of course they could fit no one else.
There they laid day after day,
until a young dancer took them away.
With her new shoes, she danced in the city square outisde,
However she found her energy would not subside,
She found that she needed to rest,
however she could only relax at best.
"Help me!" the young dancer cried in dismay,
but those watching had already ran away,
no one stepped in for they were afraid,
becuse this was the beginning of the dancing plague.
A blacksmith who was passing was admiring her skill,
He approached her and suddenly felt a chill,
he too began too dance the ballet,
for he had caught the dancing plague.
Exited and unaware of the dancers's state,
the local school children joined them to play,
They ignored their parents say,
and of course had caught the dancing plague.
The whole of Warsaw was moving thier feet,
and the dancers's feet had began to bleed,
Even those bedridden woke up from their sleep,
No one was able overcome their defeat.
The mysterious spell forced movement into those effected,
its souce undetected,
and as the light of day slowly trickled into night,
victims found no cure that would suffice.
For days the city was filled with dance,
the exausted public seemed to fall into a trance.
One by one the dancers dropped,
and dancing plague had ceased...only in Warsaw.
Where you headed, where you going?
Can i come? This is going to come to push and shove
What happened to happier times
This can't be the right idea of love
You shot me onto the ground again
When you think of me, is that what you think of?
You Hopped a bus to another town
When you look out the window
And watched the raindrops roll down
You fall asleep, nothing on your mind
And i stand here wondering where you might be
Who you might meet, what you may see
I struggled for so long
Couldnt love myself, so it wasn't surprising you didn't love me
But i tried, i made it up in my head
Even when i caught your back hand
I would think of what you ONCE said
Welcome, your're probably crying right now and if I were you, I would be too. This world is full of amazing things, but sometimes you just want to crawl into a hole and cry. I'm going to fill you in on a couple of things that are happening right now and some advice you should know.
1. Donald Trump is president. Now, Donald Trump is a good man (in some peoples opinion). Some people may dissagree with you and thats okay. Everybody has their political views and you may not want to dissagree with people about him. People who like him can tear you down in one second. You will either be 4 or 8 when he is done and you may not understand it and thats okay. I still don't really understand politics.
2. Beyonce is having twins. Okay, so this woman Beyonce is amazing. She has very powerful messages and I'm sure if you google her and listen to her music you will love her forever. You may hear the song "Single Ladies" come on once and a while, and when you do. You will dance until you can not dance no more to that song. Just if you have a boyfriend and she tells you to "put your hands up" I would reccomend you not to. Your boyfirned may be staring at you making sure you do not put those hands up.
3. While were on the topic of boyfriends and being single. I would not worry about having a boyfriend until your at least in high school. That is the last thing to be worrying about. Also it gets really annoying when a 6th grader is telling you that they're upset because you don't have a boyfriend.
I hope you will grow older with a happy, sucessfull life.
You were born today. It’s not a blessing, it’s more of a curse. Why would
anyone want to be born into a world as evil as ours? It’s not just the
world, it is the generation. It is the people living in this world or
generation that are making it a living hell. I feel very upset for you, you
are going to be raised in a world where people with different skin tones
are bad, where people who love the same gender are bad, where
everyone who isn’perfect is bad. We are taught not to judge based in
what’s on the outside, but yet look at us. Our president is even building
a wall across the border of mexico. We only ever remember to do the
bad things we are taught. We remember to discriminate and hate on
others, but we don’t love them. We remember to push them away, not
support them. When you grow up, you are taught to act and be a
certain way, and if you aren’t that way, then you are not normal. This
is why suicide is a thing. People don’t feel worth it and good enough
because instead of making people feel good about themselves, we
break them down and make them hate themselves. We have to pick
out every single thing that we find wrong with them, and they can’t
take it, so they end their life. We are a horrible world. A horrible
generation. A horrible society. Child I hope you read this letter because
you need to know that perfection isn’t real. You don’t need to be
perfect. When you are old enough to have social media,that’s when
you will try to be perfect. You will compare yourself to people who are
not even real. You are going to look in the mirror and feel ugly
compared to models, and people who are fake. Why is that? Society is
teaching us that we need to be these flawless humans when we can’t.
Everyone has flaws, and you should embrace them, not try to erase
them. Child, you are going to grow up in an evil place. This evil world
where we are taught to hate each other, instead of love each other.
Why do we think the clothes they wear
Or the amount of friends we have
Is soooo important
When people are dying
And getting ripped apart from their families
Why do we think that the whole world is going to end
If we only have 700 followers on Instagram
Instead of 1000
Why do we complain when we don’t like the food on our plates
When some people don’t have any food at all to complain about
Why do we think our little lives are so special?
We should be helping the rest of the world
Why are people so stupid and selfish?
I wish someone would tell me
Because I really can’t figure it out
We wonder why we haven’t discovered any alien life
Well I think It’s because they don’t want to be found
Not by a silly, self-centered population like we are
Long and Golden Hair
Hands too small to stop and frisk
Spray tanned, orange skin
Deport all muslims
Make Mexico build a wall
It's gonna be huge
Stop the bad hombres
She is such a nasty woman
He won't even wait
He says he'll grab you
and make america great
Again and Again
He can never beat
little marco and ted cruz
but then he did it
Hillary will win
Trump hasn't got any chance
He says it's rigged
November ninth, now
Look what happened last night
Now we all will know
how it feels when america
is made great again.
Bells are jingling
People are mingling
Hands are tingling
Winter is here
The warmth from the fire
Fulfills my deepest desire
While the the frost and snow conspire
Winter is here
Outside, snowballs are flying
Towards children that mothers are carefully eying
As I watch a white owl off in the distance flying
Winter is here
At night I am cozy in bed
Dreams playing happily in my head
The sun slowly rising from the dead
Winter was here
Sometimes you miss the most beautiful things in life. You miss what goes away, and you miss it for good. After you miss it once you can't get it back, and you wish it had lasted a little longer until you were a little older and you could realize the beauty won't last forever. That's exactly what I want.
The beauty that I want back is a loved one who was lost when my careless mind was 3. Now, of course when you are 3 you don't think about death and sorrow. That can be a problem, because you don´t pay attention to what you do with your loved one. You end up with no or very little memories.
I have very few memories with them. Like for example my family and I went to the store and I got a free balloon. When we got home I accidentally let go and my balloon went up into the sky, up, up, up, it went never to be seen again. So we went to my loved ones place and played ¨ eye spy,¨ that made me feel better.
Now my loved one is gone, gone like my balloon. I like to imagine she is holding that balloon. But pay attention now, while your loved one is still here. Because they might not be here tomorrow.
Object = Bath Bombe
"you do good work" My boss tells me. But I can't stop thinking of how tedious the whole process is. Graphical artistry doesn't seem like hard labor, But if I had to rate how drained a person is when they come home from work between a lumberjack and a graphical artist. I would have to say a graphical artist is more drained both mentally and physically. I squeaked the faucet on and began drawing a bath.
"my back is killing me Mary"
Mary was cutting vegetables at the counter with Cuisine Arts finest cooking knife.
"I left you a bath bombe on the counter hon", "I don't see why you're in so much pain, you sit in a comfy swivel chair giving yourself execuglide all day waiting for the checks to roll in."
"Haven't you heard?","too much of a good thing is never good." ,"Like my computer screen."
I flipped off the light switch and lit a candle. I continued,
"I stare at it for hours and when I look away, it's still there burned into my retina's"
I rubbed my eye's and the rectangular glow didn't fade away. A slight ache accompanying it. I spoke,
"The thing is, a lumberjack works hard all day. When he wakes up for work the next morning he is ready for more. Humans were built to work and working is life giving. It makes you stronger letting your hearts engine put out good revs. But what do I do all day? Sit in a swivel chair throwing my back out. Letting the screen carve into me like carving a jack o lantern."
Mary walked over to the bathroom and sat me down on the side of the tub. She said,
"look at this Bath Bombe my love"
"yeah I see it"
Many see life as birth, existence, and death. This, quite frankly, is the reality for an appreciable percentage of people. The reality is that people live on through their ideas. A mark, a symbol of themselves and their work. Think about it, we wouldn’t remember someone who lived isolated, alone; Someone who hasn’t created connection with other people. What about someone that managed to touch many other people, make an impact in their lives, or even implement their creativity and philosophy within writing and art? These are the people we remember specifically through history; The people we study and analyze in school. The people we can look up to, even though they are deceased. This goes back to the reality of the matter, that we all die. Is that our meaning of life as mortals? To pass down knowledge and hope and guidance to others? We don’t live on through bodies, as bodies die, and rot, and decompose. We live on through ideas.
Sometimes things are sad,
Sometimes things hurt,
Sometimes things are unfair,
Sometimes you want to give up,
Sometimes you just want to quit.
But you don't.
You hold on to that thin string,
the string that holds everything together.
You don't let go.
Just think of all the people you'll hurt.
People love you.
Don't give up.
Don't let go.
Sucide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255
One small pickle in the pail
Two great callous snails
Three tasty liver of whale
To make the spell of ginger ale
To help the sweaty firefighter
To combat the lighter
That set the house on fire
And save the helpless choir
It all started with me getting upset because someone kept hacking my phone. I really wanted them to stop, but there was nothing that I could do. I had no games, no apps, except for the ones that originally came with my phone; but I definitely didn’t have anything that came with a virus. In fact, the only reason that I have a phone is because I like to go to places and my mom said that I need something to contact someone with incase something happens. Well now I’m starting to think that that was the worst decision that my mom made. Until the very next day.
I was walking home from school, when someone calls me. It was a random number, so I didn’t answer it. The person that was calling me, never stopped. I’d only walked for 1 minute and the person had already called me 20 times. I’d have enough, so I picked up the phone, and nobody was there. After all that I went through, it was a prank? I started to wonder, why would someone want to prank call someone that much? Was it even a prank call? I started to get suspicious.
The next day had came, and I was still curious. I eat breakfast, go back to my room, and get a text from someone that says, Hi, it’s ur friend from school do u wanna hang out? I reply, i don’t think I know u. Then she says, Of course u do, i was ur best friend 4 years, do u not remember me? My mind started to spin… I didn’t know what to say, if it actually was my friend, I didn’t want to make her mad. Then I remembered, my friend never gave me her phone number, so it must be her. So than I reply, oh yea, sorry, i thought u were a stalker. She types, it’s ok, i would to if i were you, but now that u know that its me, do u wanna hang out? I think, what’s the worst that can happen? So I say, sure, wat time?
Idk, where do u live again? The friend says.
I live on white street, my house color is the only white house on the street.
Ok, my dad will come pick u up
My dads not home
Thats ok, trust me
See u soon
I hear someone coming up the stairs to my front porch, then I hear the doorbell. I’m coming, I say. I run down the stairs to the door and say, hi. He asks me if I’m ready and I say yes.
We are at her house, I walk in and start calling her name. I run upstairs, but no one is there but me and the stalker…
What happened, well what happened was I threw my smartphone... but I didn't just throw it, I threw it like a baseball player throwing the winning ball. I threw that thing so hard... I made a hole in the wall. But why did I throw it? Well I threw it because it wouldn't let me like my friends post on Facebook. Every time I clicked like it would say "you cannot like this post at this time". So I picked my phone up looked at it, and wanted to throw it again because it was cracked. And by cracked I mean completely shattered. But after I did that I found out I needed to tell my mom. Let's just say she wasn't happy. She told me I needed to buy myself a new phone. Butt the problem is... i don't have any money.
Sometimes I feel like throwing my phone across the room and I want it to shatter as it hits the wall…
I’m writing a piece on google docs or talking to my G on snap and the auto-correct changes my word from not to nit or yes to mess, this is that one thing in life that you can’t stand like when your computer freezes or when you’re running a marathon and you trip over a small stone.
When the auto-correct changes my words it makes me mad. I want to throw my phone across the room and I want it to shatter as it hits the wall…
After I throw my phone across the wall I slowly walk in my conniption, I pick up my phone and see the slick crack down the center, I go on to wipe off the shattered glass and walk back to the couch in my bedroom. I sat back down plugged my phone back into my 10 foot charger. I look back at my phone realizing my G was still talking to me, I respond and look back up at the wall, a hole. The hole was titanic, huge and deep into the sheetrock. As I glanced back down at my phone I see my palm covered in blood. My hand must’ve been cut open when I cleaned off the glass from the new crack in my phone.
It was back in April. A warm, bright day melting away the remaining snow left on the ground. I, still bundled up in a fleece jacket, hat, and sweater headed down to the flea market with my mother to sell the jewelry and art she had been making all winter. "Only thing that keeps me sane." She had told me. With nothing to keep her busy during the dreadful months of the year when it's too painful to even step outside, she finally found a hobby.
"Ready?" She asked, shutting the door behind her carefully so Lucy, our dog wouldn't run out. I knodded as she began to walk down our red front steps and into the car.
I often didn't go to the flea market. There was never anything there for me to do and my mother usually had her stand under control.
"You can walk around if you want," she told me after I had been sitting at the stand for twenty minutes without doing anything. "Here, take $10. Go get something."
I got up, taking the $10 and zipping it up in my pocket. I began to wander. The flea market was so boring. Nothing good or useful for sale that I'd want to spend $10 on. After walking for a while, I started to walk back to my mother's stand, hoping she was getting ready to go. When all the sudden, a gust of wind came and I had lost my balance and had been blown over into a stand.
"I'm so sorry." I said panicing, picking up the boxes off the table I had dropped.
"Oh are you alright?" The man at the stand asked, who had long dreadlocks and a septum piercing.
"I just lost my balance, I'm so sorry." I said, continuing to pick up boxes. When I noticed one with a note slipping out of it, with my name written right on it. I picked up the box.
Respond to the signs you recieve wisely.
Shocked, I kept reading it over and over.
"This is strange." I told the man at the stand. "This note has my name on it and says 'respond to the signs you recieve wisely.'"
"Let me see." The man said, and I showed him the note. "What?" He said with a puzzled look. "There's nothing on the paper."
I looked at it again. "Yes there is. It's right there." I showed him again, pointing.
"What are you talking about?" He said laughing. "There's nothing."
"You don't see anything?"
I examined it. There was no way the words weren't there. I was not dreaming.
"Can I take it?" I asked the man.
"The piece of paper?" I knodded, "Yeah."
I walked straight towards my mother.
"Do you see words on this paper?"
"Honey, I'm with a customer."
"Do you see words on this paper?" I asked her customer, who shook her head. "What?"
I continued to examine the words and they began to fade. Then another gust of wind came, and the words were gone and the note was swept out of my hands. Away with the wind.
I can access all of the discovered information in the world. Out of my pocket, I pull a smartphone. It is small, it can fit in my hand, yet it holds all of the knowledge that we have today. I can click a button to light up the screen. I can talk to my friends across the country with a couple clicks of my curious fingers. I can research history and ethics, politics and ecology, the information of the world is literally at my fingertips. So why do I feel that it is moving me backwards. The same device that possesses all of my answers seems to deny me of my quesetions. The same object that helps me speak to my friends seems to drive a barrier between us. The same machine that has been created for forward progress seems to weigh me down and I find my legs turn to lead and drag as I try to shuffle into the future. It has been proven that everytime I so much as look at the screen, my brain becomes more alert and I cannot sleep. I hold up this object to my face. Everyone relies on it. When I look around me, no one looks up. The need for human interaction and discovery and even love seems for naught, because everyone can seek that in the depths of the internet. The smartphone is the saving grace, people cling to it like a poor man on bread, but if I drop it, it will smash, it will break, and it becomes metal again. Forged from the earth that we deny with every click. This decive was meant to teach, meant to help. But the only answers in this box are things that other people have thought of. Suddenely, my ideas don't seem valuable. Because the information that we seek in this little box are supposedely the right ones. I turn on the device and shut off my brain. I don't need a brain if I have a smartphone.