Stream of Consciousness: Ebony

Prompt: Take 5 minutes to write a stream of consciousness

(Note: this isn't nearly as cool or fun on a computer as on paper with a host of gel pens, but I'll try my best, ne? My object is going to be my cat, because she's what's sitting in front of me at the moment)

Ebony
Black cat
evil?
demon
bad luck - personally, I think this is stupid. I've been living with her for a while and she hasn't cursed me yet....
green eyes
cute - okay, I think she's cute, no one agrees with me
likes me
hates everyone else - she tried to bite my cousin's nose. In my personal opinion, Cassie deserved it. I wouldn't like it if someone stuck their massive, giant face in mine either.
small - runt of the litter... cute though
fat - sadly, yes, she is fat, poor baby
Mini - other cat, larger cat - it's interesting to note that Mini's name came from how small she was when we adopted her. I could hold her in one palm.
lack of coordination in kittens - both of my cats ran into doorframes as kittens. I think it may have caused minor brain damage
psychotic
schizophrenia - my sister's cat definitely seems schizophrenic. Why else would she jump at nonexistent shadows on the walls? It's really creepy. Mom thinks she sees bugs on the ceiling; I'm not convinced. I think she's just--
crazy - but my cat's not crazy. she's just--
temperamental
picky
lazy - thus the fatness, ne? I should force her to exercise, but she doesn't like to--
play - we used to have this little yarn string with colored hairties on it. We would use it as a cat-toy and call it "fruit-loops" after that disgusting cereal brand. That was back before my cat was--
declawed - Mom would never allow a "clawed" cat in the house. We have leather furniture in the basement. I swear if she got her way my cat would be bald, but she's--
not bald - she's a black cat with a little white dot on her chest. Maybe that's why I haven't been--
cursed - Ne, my cat isn't cursed, I swear!

Five minutes are up. I'm sorry if this is hard to follow. I made it up as I went. Actually, this was a pretty fun exericise. I quite enjoyed it. Perhaps I'll pick a new subject tomorrow if I don't find a more interesting prompt. Well, anyway... I should be going to sleep about now even though I'm not getting up as early as I usually do. Goodnight!

FanFiction Rant (Ignore if you want to read something interesting)

I honestly don't know what to write about today. I've been sort of... uninspired. Okay, that's not precisely right. I just need to find a really good prompt and get myself un-addicted to Naruto Fan-Fiction, because that's pretty much all I've been doing in my freetime for two days straight now--reading Naruto. What can I say? It's new.

One of the things I really hate about Fan-Fiction is that it gets old. I follow many different fandoms, and there are very few that hold my attention for long periods of time. Bleach has done pretty well (obvious by how much Bleach I write, I hope?), and you can never run out of Harry Potter Fan-Fiction. I also love Lord of the Rings and the Silmarillion (biggest Fan-Fiction folder in my Documents, ne~) and never get tired of them.

Anyway, I thought since I have nothing better to do and should at least write something today, I would just talk about Fan-Fiction and how epic it is. I'll probably bore you all to tears in the process. It was either that or go on and on about how much I love Hellsing Ultimate OVA... which I need to finish watching with my sister. (I have this gut feeling that she's stalling on me, but she will be convinced eventually.)

Or I could list my current favorite characters (this list changes on a weekly basis), but that would probably bore you as well. All you really need to know is that Iruka and Kakashi are my current favorite characters from Naruto and Byakuya and Gin are my current favorites from Bleach, thus the reason I write/read about them so much.

Maybe I need to get more hobbies...

On the bright side, I have added to my list of "other things" this year. On top of Anime Club I now have the Retail Scholarship Competition, Book Club, Japanese Club, Math League, Chamber Orchestra (okay, this one isn't new) and Music Listening Contest. And Mom says I don't socialize enough....

But this is getting off-topic.

Maybe I'll try my hand at writing some Naruto Fan-Fiction tomorrow. I have never written Naruto Fan-Fiction before (because I don't know enough of the terms to make it realistic), but you have to start somewhere. Proceeding this, I will do extensive vocabulary research on the Naruto-Wiki and learn background on a good dozen or so characters if I have time. Finishing revisions on my paper shouldn't take too long... and I have to start my college resume... yeesh... What a depressing thought to be thinking so early in the morning, huh?

I really should be sleeping right about now, but I'm not tired. I do, however, think that I've ranted enough for one night. This is a complete waste of an entry and I haven't practiced any of my writing skills in it, but my brain is too fried to write anything semi-intelligent right now. Plus, I just want to keep reading...

Kakashi is awesome.

And so is Alucard. He could kick Edward's a** any day. We need more classic vampires.

There... now I'm done.

Why...?

Prompt: Use the words from your favorite song (or the song that is stuck in your head), mix them up and write a short short story using every word.

Utopia doesn't exist.

I sit beside the window alone, staring out into the rain feeling as though I'm drowning. The whole world is coming apart at the seams. Sometimes I have these days... I feel like all the colors are fading out of the world around me.

Maybe it's all in my head. Closing my eyes, I try to remember what I was dreaming before I woke up... maybe there would be refuge there. Maybe there I can find the cure for this strange lifelessness inside me. But even there, the whole world is burning down... down... down... until there's nothing left.

Why...?

I have to ask, you know. I don't think I can be free from this... this desire for answers. Searching... searching... where is the door? I want to get out.

Sometimes, I hate my life. Don't tell anyone. I won't lie to myself, at least, about that. The door swings shut... closer and closer to locking me inside. My hand clenches tightly on the windowsill in the fading afternoon light, barely visible through the dreary gray blanket covering the Earth.

"Jessica!" It's my mom... I wish she would just leave me alone. "Jessica, it's time for dinner!"

"Coming!"

Lie. I'm not going anywhere. Outside, the cars swish past. There's a dead squirrel in the street--I think the neighbor killed it. He's always been out to get the squirrels. Yet I find that the thought of being that squirrel, at least, doesn't appeal to me. I'm not that hopeless yet.

I have something to live for.

"Jessica! Come and eat!" She's getting annoyed now. Her and her backwards ideals. She never responds when I yell at her.

"I said I'll be down in a minute!" Another lie. I'm still not going anywhere. Maybe if I stare out into the rain long enough, the boundaries keeping me from finding my answers will fall down. There must be something... what am I missing? Why does it hurt so much?

You know, it shouldn't bother me like this. So my boyfriend dumped me. Am I going to forget about the rest of my life? I'll have another chance... right? Romance... so overrated.

Sighing, I pushed myself away from the window. Fine... if that's the way she wants it... I stomp down the stairs, frowning stubbornly as I enter the kitchen. Mom turns to give me that look. I try my best to ignore her. I turn to stare at the window opening out into the street from a different angle. From here I can see the stupid neighbor guy roaming across his yard like a wayward dog, caught in the shining light of a nearby street-lamp. What an idiot. You'd think after evolving for several thousand years mankind could turn out something more intelligent than a man who shoots squirrels with bee-bee guns.

"The food's getting cold," Mom informed, setting a plate down on the table in the spot that was supposed to belong to me. Funny... no one else seemed to like the idea of sitting at the table either. My two brothers and father were nowhere to be found. It wouldn't have surprised me if they weren't even home.

I took the plate nevertheless, scavenging a piece of juicy red steak. "I'm going back to my room," I muttered.

"Jessica..." Her tone was warning, but I ignored that, too. The pleasant dark, grayness of my room awaited me. There, at least, I could think without interruption. Why... why... why...?

In the end, I guess it doesn't really matter. I'll find it eventually.


Note: I don't even know what the hell this is about. I'm not depressed (and my name's not Jessica). I guess this is just a... practice narrative? Yeah... sure... something like that...

The song I based it off of is Utopia by Within Temptation. Look it up, it's pretty.

The Dangers of Sugar Overdose - Ninth Division Style

Prompt: Start a story with the words "In retrospect, it was a bad idea..."

In retrospect, I thought, it was a bad idea to give Kazeshini sugar. So it hadn't been on purpose, but that hardly mattered in the face of the disaster that had now befallen the Seireitei (1). Somehow my Zanpakutou (2) had gotten ahold of three jelly donuts and packet of M&Ms Renji had brought back from the human world for me, and now everything was going to go to Hell in a handbasket.

Panting, I raced down the street in the wake of a tide of black smoke and destruction. In the distance, I could hear Kazeshini's maniacal laughter echoing in my ears. Man, he was enjoying himself...

Such an idiot... Should have known he eat anything off the counter... Damn it!

A familiar blur almost crashed into me, heading away from the rising smoke. It was Kira, looking more disheveled and depressed than he usually was. After this, I thought, we're all going out for a drink. I really need one... and he looks like he needs one even more.

"Kira!" I shouted, "Where're you going?"

The blonde gave me a look that roughly computed to "Are you crazy" as he slowed to a standstill. "You're Zanpakutou is on a rampage," he informed me bluntly. "Wabisuke says that he was giggling about 'pink bunnies' and 'making Hyourinmaru pretty again'. I thought it was about time to leave."

You got that d*** straight! "Which direction did he go?" I hadn't even really started chasing him yet, and already I was tired.

"North!" Kira shouted over his shoulder. He was already a speck in the distance. And here I'd been thinking that my old drinking body would give me a helping hand. No loyalty these days.

I headed in the prescribed direction, following the screams and splotches of blood. Luckily no one seemed to have died yet, but I now had a general idea of where my idiot Zanpakutou was headed: the Tenth Division. If his nonsensical comments about making Hyourinmaru "pretty" actually hinted at what he planned to do there, then I might as well say goodbye to him now, because he would be a splotch of red and black goo on the concrete floor before I could save him from the wrath of Hyourinmaru.

Thankfully, he'd been intercepted by the time I reached his destination. Looking around at the crumbled building-siding that was scattered over the ground and the groaning and-or cowering victims of his assault hiding behind the chunks of debris. The haze of dust and ash cleared to reveal a tall man with scarlet hair, his scowling face twisted with black tattoos. He looked none-too-pleased to be facing down my crazier-than-usual Zanpakutou, especially when Kazeshini laughed hysterically, his voice rising in pitch until I began to wonder if he was male after all, and threw himself at Renji's head.

"Help me make Hyourinmaru prettyyyyyy~" he sang, grabbing hold of Renji's hair and yanking him around violently. "Let's go find the midget! She can help!"

The redhead wasn't having it. Grabbing hold of Kazeshini's dark, pointed ear, he yanked the Zanpakutou around, crimson eyes scanning until they found... me. Relief spread across his face immediately. I felt my own depression mounting. This was supposed to be my day off and it looked like the Ninth Division--under my command--would be paying the damages on all of these buildings belonging to the Sixth Division and the medical bills of all injured personale. If he wasn't my Zanpakutou, I would have murdered Kazeshini on the spot.

That, and he was looking at me like a kicked puppy. Normally, those two images wouldn't fit together, but I swear he appeared to be on the edge of bursting into noisy, snotty tears, his pale blue eyes wide as saucers, lower lip wobbling traitorously.

D*** it, how and I supposed to be mad at that face?

"This is yours," Renji stated, pushing the cowering Zanpakutou in my general direction. "What the Hell do you have him on, Hisagi?"

"Sugar," was my bland reply. Renji stared.

"I'm sorry!" Our staring contest was interrupted by the Zanpakutou's miserable wailing. "They were so yummy! I couldn't stop! And Hyourinmaru needs a makeover! Please, let's go find the midget and that one lady with the big--"

"Just be quiet," I snapped, glaring heatedly down at the pathetic lump that was typically a salivating, bloodthirsty maniac. Maybe having him on sugar wouldn't be so bad, if he acted saner under the influence. Kami, this wasn't in the job description. I should be paid more for putting up with this crap.

"Good luck!" Renji began to walk away...

"Hey, wait!"

And he was gone.

I looked back down at Kazeshini, who looked back up with every out of pathetic-ness he could muster in the face of my anger. Finally, I sighed, hoisting him up by the front of his clothing. "Let's go," I muttered, knowing I would regret not taking out my anger on him when he recovered from his sugar-induced insanity.

I was right.

The next morning a charge of nine-hundred and fifty-five thousand, five-hundred and thirty yen in damages and medical on my ex-Captains (now my own by default) desk, along with a complaint from the head Kuchiki himself and a notice from the Fourth Division completely ruined my early morning coffee buzz.

I set the cappuccino down on the corner of my desk and sighed, digging my fingers into my temples. The headache I'd thought I'd been rid of after my shower this morning now returned full-force, blasting through my skull with all the finesse of a sledgehammer. To make matters worse, Kazeshini chose that very moment to appear, bearing a small yellow box with a pink ribbon in his hands. Gingerly, he set it down on my desk, eyes downcast. I stared.

"Sorry," he muttered, "For eating your jelly donuts."

Sorry doesn't cut it! I wanted to snap. But he was being genuinely sorry for once, so I withheld my opinion. Usually he wouldn't feel the need to say sorry. He'd never apologized for any of the times he'd stabbed me before, and I thought that should be much higher of the scale of "Necessary to Apologize For" than consuming a couple of donuts and going on a relatively (but not monetarily) harmless rampage.

I groaned softly. "Fine..."

He moved away from my desk. I heard his boots clack against the hardwood floor and the door click shut behind him. My whole body sagged with relief, and I reached for my hot coffee with an eager ha--

Wait... Where is my coffee?

I looked at the bare corner of my desk. And then I looked at the door.

Oh shit... Kazeshini.

In retrospect, it was a bad idea to let Kazeshini get his hands on caffeine.


Note: Based off another prompt from my MT buddy. This is what my mind comes up with at 12:30 at night when I should be sleeping but can't. I hope it wasn't too crappy...

(1) Seireitei: Court of Pure Spirits. This is where all the Shinigami live (except for the evil ones)

(2) Zanpakutou: "Soul slayer" refers to the sword which all Shinigami carry. Their swords are sentient beings with minds of their own. Kazeshini and Hyourinmaru are both Zanpakutou--they are the physical manifestations of swords. They look like people... sort of. They're humanoid, let's put it that way.

Je Chante Pour Passer le Temps

Okay... this is not an entry with a prompt. If anything, this is going to be a very big, long fangirl moment where I share my love of music with the rest of the universe because none of my friends are responding to my emails and I just have to talk to somebody. Okay, so I'm using it as a journal sort of, which I'm not supposed to, but I'll write a real entry later.

So yesterday my sister bought the first Bleach manga, and when I read to the back I discovered that there are character profiles in the back. As unimportant as that might sound, I then found that they included character theme music. This picqued my curiosity. Subsequently, I went on the Bleach Wiki to find out what Byakuya Kuchiki's theme music sounds like, because I'm too curious for my own good.

I was quite pleased to find that he was not given some strange modernized soft rock or anything. That would have been sacreligious! In fact, I discovered that his theme song was none other than a song called Je Chante pour Passer le Temps, which means "Sing to Pass the Time" by Giovanni Mirabassi. And it is amazing. And by amazing I really mean amazing! It's an absolutely gorgeous piano solo that just makes my heart sing! I don't come across solo piano songs that often make me this ecstatic.

I've been listening to it all afternoon. My sister was less than enthused, but she has no real taste in music anyway. I just can't help myself... the mixture of the dancing melody with all those deep chords in the bass... my vocalist will be having attacks over it by the end of the day; there's no way he won't like this, especially since he loved Musique pour le Tristesse de Xion so much.

It makes me think of rain... The opening is like the first little droplets falling down on your nose, cold against your skin, pattering down around you with gentle little whispers while you look off into the distance and smell the sweet rain-scent on the air. It makes me wish that it weren't so sunny outside...

But my favorite part is definitely the climax. I can just imagine standing out on my deck with rain pouring down around me, soaking all the way down to the skin, wind whipping across my face and sending my hair spiraling back from my shoulders with its cold touch. Did I tell you how much I love the bass part, too? The first time I heard it--click--thunder, and the beautiful upper keys like the flashing of lightning across the closed lids of my eyes, blue and violet against the deep gray, weeping clouds. It's like they're dancing together, shaking the whole world. It's just... breathtaking...

Sorry for interrupting my "Academic Writing" in order to say this, but I just couldnt help myself. This was quite the rare treat, because it wasn't at all what I expected to find when I looked up this random song. Now, if I could just get my hands on some sheet music, that would really make my day!

Once more, I'm going to emphasize this: listen to it! Je Chante pour Passer le Temps is absolutely gorgeous! There... I'm finished fangirl-ing. I'll write a real entry later.

Total Darkness

Prompt: What place do you think of when you think of total darkness? Write about that place.

I have only ever experienced total darkness once. It's one of the scariest things even, I think, but at the same time oddly fascinating. When people think of total darkness, they think of something like a moonless night or even a dark room, but even when you have no moon to shine light down on you during a cloudy night, there's still light. Last week when the power went out on a moonless night, I went out swimming with my sister, and I'm telling you, it was dark, but it wasn't like I couldn't see my hands and feet or the edges of the pool.

When I was in seventh grade, we went on a field trip for "Peak" as it was called. Personally, I think it's just the "bigger kid" version of Adventures Plus, which is more or less before and after-school babysitting. However, on this particular day we went to visit Crystal Caves. If you haven't guessed what it is that reminds me of total darkness already... I guess you know now.

So far underground that the temperature drops below freezing is where I'm talking about. No light from the sun ever finds its way down there. Even air from above never seems to find its way that far down.

Now you may think: They would never let seventh graders into a cave like that without lights, surely? You're right; we definitely needed lights to get down that far. It was a mere demonstration, but it stuck with me for quite some time afterwards. I wasn't frightened, more of intrigued. It was fascinating in a strange sort of way to be completely without sight no matter how much I squinted or how long my eyes were given to adjust.

I remember the guide, a tall woman with dark brown hair and a friendly smile. I don't really remember what she said, but the basic idea was that she was going to turn off all the lights to demonstrate just how "dark" total darkness really was. When those lights turned off... it was total darkness.

I raised my hand up in front of my face; I could feel its heat just inches in front of me. But in the five minutes I waited... I couldn't even see the outside. It was the strangest thing. If I had dared to move forward, I wouldn't have been able to see any of the other dozen or so kids in front of my face until I ran straight into them.

And then a flashlight came on. It was blinding... I mean seriously blinding. It was painful to look at for almost a minute because it was just so brilliant. Imagine that: the light of a dull yellow flashlight seeming too bright to even glance at. Quite frankly, it amazed me just because of its complete novelty.

But I've gone on enough. So I suppose, to make a long story short, caves remind me of total darkness, but I think this illustrates so much better just why they do. Total darkness is hundreds of feet underground without even a drop of sunlight, where the air is cold enough that your breath forms puffs of frozen water vapor. That's what total darkness is to me.

Early Breakfast - Las Noches Style

Prompt: Write a ficlet about an extremely evil super-villian doing something completely normal. (Not sure if this is the exact wording, but this is the basic idea.)

The sweet scent of pancakes slathered in a thick layer of syrup with a dollop of whipped cream was absolute heaven to Gin's nose. His stomach growled, complaining that it had been several hours--since six o'clock in the evening yesterday, in fact--since he'd eaten anything, and even then, the "family meals" at Las Noches (1) were a bit... questionable. Especially since the majority of its occupants did not actually eat real food.

Which is why it was so surprising to smell such a welcoming aroma wafting up from the general direction of the typically untouched kitchens. Occasionally Tousen would use them to make some vegetarian mush of some sort--Gin shuddered to think of it--but the only other person who ever used it was, well, himself. None of the Espada (2) could cook, and most of them were banned from the kitchen anyways, after the last disastrous attempt to bake cookies instigated by a very bored Szayel Aporro.

Honestly... mad scientists should not be allowed to handle food. Gin had been stuck with girl parts for almost a week.

Padding drowsily over to the large white door and pushing it open, Gin opened one bleary turquoise eye and peered around the bright room, searching for whoever was making a decent attempt at breakfast on such a slow morning.

At first he didn't see much, and then... he caught sight of brown hair, slicked back immaculately, and white clothing with an apron tied over the front--a pale pink and green one, to be precise.

It couldn't be...

"Captain Aizen?" he asked hesitantly, cautiously, "Is that you?"

Responding to his soft, slightly slurred voice, the man in the apron turned, balancing a very large plate with a stack of perfectly golden, crisp-but-not-burnt pancakes in one hand. Looking closer, Gin could see that there were blueberries dotting the soft-looking pancakes, staining them with deep blue. His mouth positively watered.

And then he remembered who was holding them and who had cooked them... and wondered if perhaps Szayel Aporro had slipped something into his evening tea last night. Because that couldn't possibly be his Captain standing there in a pink and green apron cooking pancakes at freaking six o'clock in the morning.

No. Way.

Sans the new addition to his wardrobe, Aizen looked every bit as unruffled as usual, a smug little smile on his deceptively handsome face, that annoying little curl of dark hair still hanging in front of narrowed brown eyes. "Good morning, Gin," he said almost cheerfully, setting the plate down on the table that made up the center of the large, polished kitchen. "I was just making myself something for breakfast. Would you like some?"

How was he supposed to respond to that? Was this some sort of trick? Gin wouldn't have put it past Aizen... and considering the fact that (albeit secretly) he was plotting to betray the man all along, the lingering abstract posibility of Aizen having somehow plucked the traitorous thoughts from his head with a convoluted kidou (3) spell was all too present in his thoughts. To accept or to not accept...

Except, on this fine morning, his Captain didn't appear to want to give him a choice in the matter. Four large, beautiful pancakes were stacked up before his now wide-open eyes and plopped down in front of an empty chair at the table, a bottle of maple syrup desposited as a supplement to the confectionary hallucination. "Have some," the brown-haired man more ordered than requested. Following that, he practically shoved Gin down into the empty chair, handing him a glittering fork and knife.

Hesitantly, one eye still on his irratically-behaving Captain, Gin began to drown the pancakes in syrup. "You seem very... cheery... this morning," he commented lightly. "Why blueberries?"

"I wanted blueberry pancakes," Aizen replied simply, sitting down to his own already-prepared plate and digging in with a gusto unbefitting of the reining King of Las Noches. It went against everything Gin knew about his former-Captain. Then again, he'd never really interacted with Aizen at such an early hour. Hell, in the hundred years or so that he'd known the man, he could never even remember seeing him eat!

Gin was learning new things everyday. Not only was Aizen an insufferable morning-person, but he liked orange juice and was apparently very good at cooking. Not that he should have been surprised... there were very few things that Aizen wasn't good at.

It's just... the all-powerful aspiring King of the Soul Society (4) and ruler of Las Noches didn't seem like the type to even bother learning to cook.

Halfway through his plate (Gin was eating with just as much gusto and far fewer manners than his former-Captain), the sound of the door opening drew him out of his thoughts. Plastering his most irritating smirk across his face, Gin turned to face the newcomer, only to see a very rumpled-looking Tousen in the doorway.

The black man had never come across as the type to even leave his bedroom without being perfectly groomed, yet the every-present shades were absent and his hair was braided in one messy tail thrown haphazardly over one shoulder. The man yawned and sat down at the table beside his two fellow ex-Captains as if it were the most normal thing in the world to do.

Aizen held out the plate of still-warm pancakes. "Would you like some, Kaname?"

Gratefully, the dark-skinned man accepted the plate, using his other hand to cover up a yawn. "Thank you, Sousuke."

What the Hell is going on?

Following that, Tousen poured himself a nearly-overflowing glass of orange juice and unrolled the latest edition of the Seireitei Communication (5) from where he'd tucked it inside his kosode (6), handing it over to Aizen--Where did Tousen get that from?--who flipped it open to the popular action-adventure novel, Warning of the Twin Fish, reading it with apparent intensity.

It was the strangest thing Gin could ever remember seeing, and he'd seen some pretty strange stuff in his more-than-a-century of existence.

Another knock on the door marked the timely appearance of Ulquiorra. Green eyes stared blankly at the scene before him, no surprise on his face. Is everyone in on this but me? Gin wondered. Sure, he didn't usually leave his quarters until well past eleven, but how could he miss something so bizarre?

"Pancake?" Aizen asked, offering it to the Espada, which it itself was strange (as Ulquiorra did not actually eat human food, but rather human souls).

"No thank you, Aizen-sama," was the bland reply.

Aizen shoved the plate with the remaining three pancakes into the Cuatra Espada's face. "Give them to the Inoue girl, then." The only other person in this hellhole who isn't a soul-sucking demon, Gin silently added.

Ever the faithful servant, Ulquiorra disappeared in a white blur with the remaining pancakes, leaving Gin sitting uncomfortably with his two comrades and an emptied plate, not knowing what to say.

Ten minutes ticked by... twenty... and then Aizen rolled up the Seireitei Communication just as the hands of the clock hanging over the stove reached six-thirty. Dirty plates and silverware were taken to the sink, where Gin expected them to be discarded. Instead, he watched in disbelief as Aizen actually began to hand-wash them beneath a waterfall of sudsy water.

I have to be hallucinating... this is not happening...

Meticulously, Aizen then dried his plate and silverware with a spotless dish-towel--he hung it on a hook beside the sink when finished--and replaced them carefully in their assigned cupboards and drawers, taking extra time to make sure they were all lined up in perfect rows and columns so as not to upset the older man's OCD-ness.

The apron was discarded on a chair, and as Aizen walked past, he set a hand on Gin's shoulder. The younger man barely managed to keep from flinching. "You should eat breakfast with us more often," he was surprised to hear. "Belgian waffles are on the menu tomorrow." And then he was gone.

"Did that just happen...?"

He hadn't realized he'd even spoken aloud until Tousen responded with his typical annoyed voice, clearly having gotten over his morning fatigue after a refreshing, not-so-healthy breakfast. "If you bothered to get your lazy butt out of bed before noon, you would not be so surprised."

Okay, maybe he's not quite past the morning fatigue stage. Did Tousen just say the word "butt" out loud?

"..."

Tousen, too, stood and cleaned his dishes in the same meticulous manner as his predecessor. When he left, Gin found himself sitting alone in the vast, empty kitchen, wondering if he should perhaps pinch himself. Then he would jolt awake to find that he was actually still dozing in bed and all of this was the result of ingestion of a strange experimental hallucinogen concocted in Szayel Aporro's labratory...

Pinch.

"Ow!"

He blinked.

He did not wake up.

Oh Kami (7), it wasn't a dream! The world is ending! Gin just couldn't wrap his head around it! Finally, the silver-haired man decided it was better to just forget all of this had happened and go back to his normal morning schedule. I'm never leaving my room before noon again.


Note: A lot of them today

(1) Las Noches: literally translated to mean "the nights", but it's really just the name of a very big palace in the middle of the desert where these characters randomly live in Bleach-verse.

(2) Espada: evil lackeys of Aizen, the main antagonist. They number from 1 to 10 (in Spanish)

(3) kidou: spells used by Shinigami (that's what these characters are)

(4) Soul Society: Bleach-verse interpretation of the afterlife

(5) Seireitei Communication: magazine/newspaper published in the Soul Society

(6) kosode: rough equivalent of a shirt, only one side folds over the other... hard to explain, just look it up if you really want to know

(7) Kami: Japanese word roughly equivalent to "god", though it more closely means "divine"

Finally... finished...

Love of the Rain

(Originally this was going to be my post for yesterday, but the blog wasn't working yesterday, so it'll have to do for today (since I'm kind of busy doing other homework right now))

Prompt: What do you do on a rainy day?

If I'm not at school (which often I am--a bummer, that, because I love it when it rains outside), I will often find myself sitting silently in my room, listening to the sound of the riny droplets pounding down on the skylight in the bathroom next door. For some reason I find the sound of rain to be incredibly soothing, almost rhythmic in nature. To be honest, I equally dislike sunny days. As much as I know everyone loves it when it's all "happy" and "clear" and "beautiful" outside, I just hate the sun--that's all. It's bright, hurts my eyes and burns my skin to a crisp.

The rain is much better.

There are times, too (especially when it's storming) that I'll sit on the floor in the living room beside the patio door and stare out of the screen intoo our colorful yard, watching the torrents of water washing down over everything in a cleansing stream. Lightning will flash a brilliant, blinding blue over my head--the whole world will come alight for a still moment--and then thunder will shake the house down to the foundations. It gives me shivers just thinking about it! Many people are afraid of thunder, but I find it to be exhilarating! Sometimes, I'll just spend hours staring out the window if I can, thinking about everything... It soothes me--everything seems nicer to me when it rains. Everything seems clearer. Is that weird? Probably, huh?

And, especially, music seems a hundred times more beautiful when it rains. Well, I guess it really depends on what music you listen to, but I'm telling you, there's this song called Memories by Within Temptation--one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard in my life--and I just can't listen to it when the sun is shining. Such a glorious piece on such a bright, annoying day is more depressing to me than a week's worth of rain.

I will say this: playing piano is one of my absolute favorite things to do when it rains--it makes me breathless. I don't know what it is... Maybe it's the combination of the sound of rain against the windows, falling in waves over the roof and forming its own unique harmony of sound, blended with something gentle and soothing, like Seal of the Wind or The Moonlight Sonata that just gets me every time.

But then, I'm a music dork like that.

If I'm really lucky (and my mom's not being particularly paranoid on that particular day) I somtimes can escape the house and stand outside in the rain--run around even--just to get soaked and feel the wet grass between my toes, all cool and ticklish. I warn you, though, never stand under a tree for shelter while it's raining. The last time I did that, I was covered in gnats afterwards.

Two words: Not Fun.

That about sums up what I might be doing on my ideal rainy day. Imagine that: it's far from internally whining about how depressing the gray sky is and wondering when the dreary weather will go away. I guess my perception of the weather is skewed... *shrugs* Oh well!

The Goldfish Incident

Prompt: You've been turned into a goldfish. Tell us about your experience and epic plan to turn back into a human.

Do you have any idea how much this sucks? I mean, really? I'm just going to say this now: Humans should be nicer to goldfish. That's my New Year's Resolution: be nicer to the fish. Because, you know what, if I was a fish and had to put up with people every day, I think I might die...

I mean, I am a goldfish right now... but that's beside the point!

Did you know that this bowl stinks? It's really gross! I suppose regular goldfish aren't smart enough to care about swimming around in grimy water. This bowl really needs cleaning, like badly... like now.

You know what else? I hate it when people tap on the glass, like it's supposed to make me do something more interesting than dart for the nearest hiding spot. It hurts my eardrums. Why don't I turn your stereo all the way up and blast it in your ears and see how you feel. Yeah, that's right! And do you have any idea how big you are? I mean seriously! You're like giants! You're pointer fingers is the size of my head! Every time you press it up against this thin glass I feel like it's going to squish me like a bug.

Moreover, are there any people in existence who actually feed their fish? I'm kind of starving here! A little food would be nice... like, chocolate and steak and ice cream, not the funky rotten fish-flakes that float on the water and get all soggy after five minutes. I can't believe real fish actually eat that... but then, I suppose you have to make due, right? I mean, I'm almost willing to eat them... I'm not that hungry... yet. And I only get one, like, every other day, or even every three days. Would your loving "parents" go three days without feeding you? I don't think so! Aren't you people supposed to be taking care of me?

The boring, endlessly-filled-with-nothingness life of a goldfish aside, I'm telling you right now that there's no way I'm staying like this. Granted, I'm not sure if anyone even has realized where I've gone. Humans don't normally turn into goldfish, do they? I've never heard of that happening before. Oh my God... what if that's where all those missing children you see on flyers go... they get turned in goldfish and are sentenced to prison life in a dirty fishbowl until the end of their pitiful days and their graves lie wherever the rancid toilet-water is taken to!

Not going there... no way... Nuh-uh! I'm not going out like that!

The problem is, you see, that I had a plan. It was the most epic, awesome plan ever... but I can't remember it. Goldfish memory only lasts for five seconds. I'd get to the second phase, and then wonder: How did I get here again? Wasn't there a first phase? I would write it down, except fish can't write...

Let's just put it this way: Life as a goldfish is fail. Life as a goldfish with a cat staring into your bowl in the middle of the night is even worse. Life as a goldfish trying to avoid being scooped out of said bowl and devoured by said cat is just a nightmare! Jeez, I swear, people don't appreciate us fish enough! We put up with a lot of crap!

Here comes that epic plan again! I'll... I'll propel myself out of the bowl (I'm not sure how yet) and onto the desk in the corner of the room, where I can use my awesome dexterity to write out a very large, wet SOS sign with my name at the bottom and at arrow--

Wait... what was the first part again?

You know... maybe I should just wing it. This planning stuff is overrated.


Note: Result of extreme boredom and a very random prompt from my friend in MT. I'm not crazy, I'm just tired and my nose is stuffy. *pout*

Why I'm Grateful to be a Writer...

Prompt: Finish this sentence: I'm grateful that I'm a writer because...

I'm grateful that I'm a writer because, honestly, I think I would go crazy if I wasn't. It seems like I have a thousand ideas floating through my head at any given time; sometimes it's so bad that I can't even sleep (which is why my average amount of sleep is still under five hours even though I try to sleep more...). It's like I read something or see something or hear something and suddenly there are ideas that methodically form themselves in my brain and just won't go away. That's why I write Fan-Fiction, so I can torment all my favorite characters as much as I please whenever I want.

(My sister says: ...because life would be boring and I wouldn't be able to pick on anime characters anymore.)

I sort of agree with her. I really need to pick on people sometimes, so I write about something horrible happening to them. Is it bad that I like to see my favorite characters under serious emotional stress? Like poor Byakuya-hime... he's just so uptight that he's so much fun to pick on... poor baby...

*Cough* Anyways... I also am grateful that I'm a writer because all of my writing experience has made school a lot less stressful for me. I've been able to get through most of my English classes rather easily and can write essays well. Some people might think it's natural talent, but believe me, it's not. I've been writing on the side since I was twelve--no genius instant-talent involved. Virtuoso writing! I'm just glad that I got a head start, because now I can work on really perfecting my writing instead of just getting it into shape.

I'm grateful that I'm a writer, too, because it gives me a chance to express myself outside of music and keeps me from becoming bored. I have a notebook I bring with me everywhere specifically so I can write in it--I didn't always, and then half of my Trig notebook would be about Trinity Blood and half my Spanish notebook would be Lord of the Rings. Generally that doesn't bode well for organization, heh...

Overall, though, I think people don't realize how fun writing can be. They associate writing with essays and poetry and papers for class, when really it can be anything you want it to be! (Here goes the promotion phase:) I really think that a lot of people would enjoy writing if they'd just give it a chance, you know? I guess I am biased, but writing is awesome!

(And, this year, I'm going to do NaNoWriMo and try to reach 100,000 words this year! Last year I only got to 81,000... I was a little disappointed. It's going to be a hard sell on top of my writing portfolio in CIS and CW, but I think I can do this! I just need a really good idea... Note to self: must work on that.)

Now I'm afraid I must stop for tonight. I have Government homework to finish even though it's almost midnight. The power went out (at the most inconvenient time possible) and now I'm behind schedule... oh well, everything will work itself out... I hope.

Mysterious Cookies - Sixth Division Style

Prompt: One day you come into work and find a cookie mysteriously placed on your desk. Grateful to whoever left this anonymous cookie, you ate it. The next morning you come in to find another cookie. This continues for months until one day a different item is left--and this time there's a note.

(Forgive me, those of you who don't read Fan-Fiction, but this is more Bleach Fan-Fiction from Byakuya-hime's POV. I just couldn't help myself; I feel like writing Bleach and this is a chance to get in both character development and practice descriptive writing)

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or any of its characters, Tite Kubo does *sniffle*


The first time it happened I wasn't sure what to think. There was no note and no disturbance in my office. There was no evidence to suggest that anything untoward had happened within its four bland white walls... except that there was a cookie on a small white plate, innocently staring up at me. I knew I hadn't left that there. That incongruous white circle against the deep polished mahogany wood was unfamiliar, unlike the endless stacks of paperwork that never seemed to leave their supposedly semi-permanent homes at the corners.

Who would leave this here? Abarai? No... he's much too stiff around me to even think of playing a trick on me. Rukia? It could be her, but would she not have left a note?

And though I hated to admit it... it was a tempting offering. My stomach grumbled in complaint of my light breakfast--a mere banana was all I had had time to eat that morning. And here was this perfectly good chocolate-chip cookie, a rare commodity from the human world which was to be relished.

Should I...? No one will ever know...

I did.

And I ate the one I found the next day.

And the day after that.

I suppose, looking back upon it, I should be relieved that they weren't poisoned with some miniscule dose of slow-acting chemicals that would slowly paralyze my limbs or cause my liver to malfunction. Considering that I now know the perpetrators, suffice to say, I shall never eat a random food item from my desk ever again unless I know where it came from. It is a small comfort that no one ever actually found out what happened...

Seven months... for seven months, a cookie rested on my desk each day, and each day I ate it, not feeling the slightest bit guilty about such private indulgence. After all, it wasn't like anyone could see. They would probably just assume I had thrown it away. Which I should have.

Exactly seven months to the day after I had received my very first "gift", I walked into my office to find... something that definitely wasn't a cookie.

My eyes blinked in the dim light, wandering over my desk again... and again, just to be sure. But no. That stack of white was much too big to be a plate with a cookie. It was only after I had lit one of the lamps, filling the spacious office with a smattering of golden light to clash against the first rays of dawn seeping through the shuttered window, that I realized exactly what was sitting on my desk.

They were... clothes?

Cautiously, I lifted the top item, watching as it unfolded to reveal itself as a hakama (1). Only it was white. Soul Reapers did not wear white.

Strange... I wonder if this is someone's idea of a bad joke... Wait, is that a--

A note. There was a note. My fingers reached for the slip of parchment, lifting it from where it rested atop of a pale blue sash. My gray eyes tracked across the unfamiliar, somewhat messy handwriting, and I blinked. It read as following:

To Byakuya-hime (2),
You should join the Dark Side. We have more cookies! :D
Love, Gin-chan (3)

It was the strangest thing ever.

The... Dark Side...? Gin-chan...? As in... Ichimaru?

Click... click... click... The lightbulb went on in my head excitedly. Only the epiphany it sent me wasn't exciting in the least. Had I just been... propositioned by a traitor?

When...? How...? How had he gotten into my office?

For seven months?

Weren't there... guards or something? Was security here really that bad, I wondered, that even with so many Soul Reapers patrolling the streets at night, Ichimaru had been slipping into my office--my office--for seven months straight, risking capture, torture and execution for treason, in order to leave cookies on my desk in a mockery of a practical joke?

I felt a serious headache coming on.

Moreover, my stomach wasn't feeling to good, either. How many cookies was seven months worth? That was a lot of poison... Was I slowly dying? Was this some sort of plot to weaken our defenses even further, by killing off Captains one by one--by feeding them cookies?

But no one else had mentioned...

Then again, I quickly realized, neither had I. Who would I tell? Who would believe me? Until now, I had no proof of foul play; everyone would have assumed that, as usual, Rukia was worshipping her precious brother a little too much.

I need to see the family physician, I decided, setting down the note and trying not to let my nausea actually escalate into full-out vomiting.

I will never eat a cookie again. D*** you, Ichimaru.

Fin


Note: Okay... not as good as I would have liked it, but it's a rough draft and a vague idea, so don't kill me if it's terrible, I'm just having fun!

(1) Hakama: article of traditional Japanese clothing. They actually look kind of like very, very baggy pants. In Bleach, this is what Soul Reapers in their standard uniform wear.

(2) -hime: generally, it's like calling him Princess Byakuya, making fun of his social status

(3) -chan: honorific used to address someone one finds endearing, but it's considered rude to use it when referring to a person of higher status. In this case, Gin is just being cute.

For those of you who don't know or care about Bleach, forgive me for writing so much about it. Ichimaru is on the evil side and is the right-hand man of the main antagonist, if that helps clear anything up. I can't really make it any less confusing than that.

From an Apple's Point of View - Third Division Style

Prompt: Write a story from the point of view of an apple sitting in a fruit basket on your kitchen counter, observing life around it.

You know what the most boring thing in the world is? It's not being able to move. I sit here every stinking day, and you know what, I hate it. Do you have any idea what it's like to be trapped here day after day, awaiting slaughter? Every morning I see him padding through the kitchen, and every day he looks at me, and I wonder: Is today the day? Is he going to eat me? But he just walks on by with this creepy smile curving his thin lips.

As I am an apple, I cannot "breathe" a sigh of relief, but you get the general idea.

It's very strange living in this house. You know, he's the only one here. Well, that's a lie. He has a cat. And a Lieutenant, but that's not as important. I know Kira isn't going to eat me; he wouldn't dare!

The cat, however...

Mr. Fuzzymuffins was a gift from Ran-chan, his best friend. I can think of a million things that crazy woman could get him that don't think, breathe and--more importantly--scratch. But no... She likes cats... And, of course, he went along with it...

So I just sit here. I wake up every morning to Mr. Fuzzymuffins whining about not being fed for a whole six hours. Worse, I might even wake up to see his fat, ugly, squished cat-face in front of me, those gold, slit-pupil eyes watching me like a particularly interesting toy he's about to pounce on. It's almost as bad as Gin-chan's smirk! If it weren't for the fact that Gin-chan's not orange, fuzzy or cat-faced, I'd almost think they were related.

I may be an apple, but I'm not stupid.

After he gets up to feed the cat (in those bunny slippers that he was given by his Lieutenant (who got them from Hinamori-chan but didn't want to hurt her feelings, so he gave them to Gin-chan instead)), Gin-chan habitually prepares two pieces of toast--crisp and golden, but never brown--and smears them with a layer of creamy butter which would make me gag because there's so much of it. And then he puts cinnamon on it... I know I shouldn't be complaining, but that's just gross! Surely I--the apple--am more appetizing than a high-carb piece of soggy toast with overrated mouth-burning spice on it!

At this point he leaves the kitchen and doesn't return for approximately three hours in which he procrastinates and attempts to drive his subordinates insane. At precisely eleven o'clock in the morning, Kira will show up at the front door to get him up (even though he's already been awake since eight o'clock) in an attempt to force him to do his real job.

It never works.

He will walk through the kitchen, open the door, and do his very best to annoy Kira into leaving him alone. Kira, being the diligent trooper that he is, will not be convinced. Thankfully, Gin-chan will be dragged unceremoniously from the front door (his sandals leave tracks across the polished kitchen tiles), leaving me to my own devices until early evening.

It would be great... if I could move. I can't, however, as I am an apple and have no legs.

You might argue against this logic--how can an apple with no legs have a brain to think with? Or rather, what kind of logic dictates that an apple should have a brain but not legs? I am a special apple, you see, created by the Twelfth Division. You could say that I am the guinea pig for sentient apples everywhere. However, I can't talk and I can't record, so I can't spy, nor am I useful for anything but being eaten.

I think it's an epic fail on the part of the Research and Development Department, but who cares what an apple thinks?

But that's not really important. At approximately four o'clock in the afternoon, Gin-chan will arrive at home (having not completed any of the mandatory paperwork demanded of his position) and bring out the sake (1). The door will swish open just so--see just there?--and he'll sweep inside with that creepy smile on his face--see, I told you--and then he'll walk across the kitchen and reach into the... Hey! Hey wait! Wait a minute here! Put me down! No! No, no, no, no, no! I am a member of the Department of Research and Development, you can't eat m--

(And there ends said apple)

Fin

Note: (1) sake - an alcoholic drink from Japan. Think of it like beer.

(2) I borrowed characters from Bleach because my sister wanted me to. I guess you could call this a disclaimer, but *clears throat* I do not own any of these characters (barring the apple and Mr. Fuzzymuffins), and Gin-chan, Ran-chan, Kira and Hinamori-chan all belong to Tite Kubo *sniffles*

An Eye for an Eye

Prompt 27: Is "an eye for an eye" a good basis for determining an appropriate punishment? Why or why not?

I've heard the phrase "an eye for an eye" before. I've also heard the phrase "an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind". I think that the former sounds too much like revenge to be used as a tool for determining appropriate punishment. If a murderer kills your mother, should you kill theirs back?

While it certainly sounds like it would make you feel better (and keep in mind, this is completely hypothetical--DON'T go and kill anyone's anything), in the end I think that's a rather pointless philosophy. Two wrongs don't make a right, after all. It doesn't change anything; it doesn't make your situation any better. In fact, it makes your situation worse, and you've sunk to the level of the person you were trying to "punish" in the first place. It sounds to me like that defeats the purpose of the entire endeavor and makes it a waste of time.

I do realize that, when people take "revenge" on someone, they aren't always thinking rationally--the world just isn't that perfect. Ideally, we would take the latter of the two phrases to heart and go about everything through the proper channels. And, honestly, if you wanted to kill someone out of revenge... well, it just seems stupid to me. Perhaps this is a sadistic point of view, but I'd rather they rot in jail knowing that they're guilty of everything they've done for the rest of their miserable lives.

That point aside, I definitely disagree with the phrase "an eye for an eye" in terms of distributing punishments to criminals. Besides, it would hardly be appropriate for the government to use such tactics either, not just the victim of said crime. It just wouldn't be appropriate for the government to say "Hey, you killed this person's mom, so we're going to kill yours and then everyone will be even!" I mean, that's just illogical. The basis of government isn't to make the victim feel better, but to distribute justice.

(Damn, I'm starting to sound like Tousen... that's very bad. If my sister ever reads this, I'll never live it down. *Makes face of horrorified realization*)

Now, I'm trying not to get repetitive here, but I'll just tie this off. "An eye for an eye" sounds to me like blatant revenge. It has no sense of the "justice" which America is supposedly founded upon (judicially speaking), and therefore it has no place in the workings of our crime and punishment systems. Perhaps that's corny of me--and I've never been wronged, I don't know how victims of crimes feel--but I do think that everyone would be better off if we didnt try to take others' "punishments" into our own hands. That usually only lands you in a jail cell, and that's certainly not where I want to be spending the rest of my life.

Fictional Writing

I am stealing a prompt from Lecam because it actually sounded very interesting, so bear with me, okay?

Prompt: Finish this sentence: The best part about writing fiction is...

I think that the best part about writing fiction is that I have the freedom to take a story wherever I want it to go. Oftentimes when I read stories other people write (I am an avid Fan-Fiction reader), I find myself wishing that the plot would twist in another direction. Sadly, it happens all too often that I find a story that sounds promising, but takes a turn somewhere that leads it down a path outside of what I desired to actually read. I do try to give every bit of fiction I read a chance, but there are occasions where I just run out of patience.

Nevertheless, I love writing fiction because I can do whatever I want with my characters. Along with the slew of OC (1) characters I have been creating since I was twelve, I have a vast array of fictional characters to draw from in anime, manga and from books or movies. Yes, I write Fan-Fiction.

I love it, too, because sometimes I watch an anime and wonder "What would the story be like if this happened instead?" or "What if this character died instead of miraculously avoiding death once again?" I have a headache-inducing tendency to run theories and scenarios through my head for hours on end. If you ever see me staring blankly off into space, this may be what I'm doing. It's a habit that I find often makes it hard for me to concentrate on what I should actually be doing (though I can usually keep my mind pretty clear during the school day--it's when I get home that I lose concentration).

In many ways, fictional writing helps me keep my mind from feeling cluttered. I get this feeling sometimes that I'm thinking about too many things at once. I just can't concentrate! Have you ever had that feeling? It's the most frustrating thing in the world! (Okay, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, but you know what I mean, right?) I especially despise it when I can't sleep at night because I'm thinking and thinking and thinking and just can't stop.

I still think that the "being able to make characters do whatever I want" part is the best part, though. Giving my imagination free reign feels very nice, especially since it can be hard to do in an academic setting. In music, art and writing I can express myself freely (within reason), whereas obviously in Chemistry or Calculus I wouldn't be able to to whatever I feel like doing. It's a nice change in comparison, to be able to just let loose.

Surprisingly, I've been stuck in a "Bleach phase" for most of the summer. Usually my phases die out pretty quickly, but this one has lasted a surprisingly long time. Then again, I shouldn't be complaining. Bleach has a vast array of interesting characters to twist and plot with. It makes me excited just thinking about it!

Heh, I've been ranting again. I think I'll digress for now.

(1) OC is the Fan-Fiction slang for "original character"

Musique pour le Tristesse de Xion

Prompt 376: Music can often trigger powerful memories. Describe a memorable experience associated with a particular piece of music.

Well, I'm bending the rules just a bit on this prompt. I rarely actually associate pieces of music with memories. Mostly, I associate them with imagery or powerful emotions. I thought that, since Musique pour le Tristesse de Xion is the song I'm working on on the piano right now, I would write about it.

Xion's Theme is a song that I have always loved, even in its less complicated form. Something about it is just so graceful, perfectly combining with the tragedy in her story to really strike home. I just can't emphasize just how much I love this song, which is why I'm putting in so much effort to learn it, even though it has been taking a very long time. The music itself is very complicated, rhythmically and expression-wise, and I must admit that it's a challenge, but a worthwhile one.

I think, though, that what it makes me feel most is calm... like tranquility. The opening makes me think of droplets of water falling into darkness, hitting the surface of the mirror-like reflection in a pool and rippling outwards. It rises up inside you and crashes over you in a way that makes me think of a waterfall--not aggressive, but not still either. It's a waterfall hidden in an oasis, masked beneth the pink and violet hues of a setting sun, yet somehow it still manages to convey the strains of pale blue sadness as well. And in the end... you just float on the surface, staring up at a darkening, starry sky...

Okay, maybe that's a bit melodramatic of me, but that's what I think of. It doesn't make me think of any particular memory, but--like I said--a myriad of emotions and images that have little to do with reality.

Still, it doesn't strike me as the type of song you weep to, but more of a musical tragedy (much like the character it's based off, who dies tragically and soon after everyone forgets that she ever existed). I have to say, I've very excited to learn the whole thing! I definitely believe that the hours upon hours of sweat (not so much blood) and tears will pay off in the end.

One of my favorite parts of any song is the finished product. Perhaps it's pompous of me, but my way of playing it is always my favorite way of playing it, because then I can express exactly what it is that I feel rather than listening to someone else's interpretation of it. Think of it like you would someone's thoughts on a story. What someone else thinks of it and feels about it is completely different than the way you think and feel about it--it's like that. And, unlike when I speak (I hate speaking in front of people), I love playing piano in front of people. It's one of the few ways that I'm completely comfortable expressing myself in front of others.

Hopefully I should have it completed within the next week or two, though I'm quite certain my parents and my sister will be sick of hearing it by then, no matter how beautiful it is. Sacrifices... but it's one of those things you just have to drill. I'll thank myself for my hard work when my fingers move without thought and I can concentrate on the expression and inflection of the music rather than the technical bits.

That's all I have to say for now. I hope I haven't bored anyone beyond all reason today.

Note: I would strongly recommend looking it up unless you're really not into piano music, because it's absolutely gorgeous, even though I don't like the official piano track as much as I like the way I play it. But then, I'm biased. Heh.

9/11 Tenth Anniversary

I didn't really have a prompt to write about today, so I thought I would just reflect upon 9/11, since today is, in fact, the tenth anniversary. To think, it's been ten years since it happened and I still remember it even though I was only seven! It's strange how that works, isn't it? How we remember things that were important but forget all the inconsequential details.

I do remember that the teachers were acting particularly strange that day. Unlike many of the stories I hear from everyone else, I didn't see any teachers crying that I can remember, and I would like to think that I would remember if I did, because I've never seen any of my teachers cry... well, okay, I've seen one cry, but that had nothing to do with 9/11, so I think it would be rude to talk about it any further.

Actually, I didn't even know what was going on until I got home. You know how adults hide things like that from young kids, tell them that everything's fine and not to worry--I'm fairly certain it was something like that at my school. I didn't see any footage of the towers falling until I got home. It was in the upstairs living room, which no longer hosts a TV, but is actually the home of my grand piano and my dad's miniature office-space. Ten years ago, though, it was a lot different.

There was an entertainment center to the left of the stairs just past the hallway. I can remember that I wasn't tall enough to reach the upper shelves yet, where mom kept all of her china cups and dishes. The first time I saw any of the footage, I was sitting about three and a half feet from the screen on the floor, and Dad was standing about a foot to my left, fidgeting. I also remember that we still had that hideous spider-plant hanging next to the patio door and, instead of a piano, there were two old white couches back from when my mom was still in college. I don't think we even had cats yet! (Now there's an odd thought.)

I can still see the metal fold-up table in the middle of the room. We were doing a 750 piece puzzle on it, one of the zodiac sign Sagittarius rescuing a damsel in distress. It's actually one of my favorite puzzles, though I'm not sure where it's disappeared to, a fact that I lament, as I would like to put it together again someday. It wasn't complete, though. The right bottom corner and part of the middle were still missing. Funny how that stands out, isn't it, when I can't even remember what I did at school that day.

And Mom was already home when I got there. Back then, Dad was always the one to pick me up from school, but Mom wouldn't come home until later. They'd let her off early because she worked in one of the three tallest buildings in Minneapolis and they were worried about other attacks. Thinking back, it seems kind of pompous, but then, I guess we're all better safe than sorry, eh?

I didn't really understand why it was such a big deal, though. I don't think any of the kids my age really got it until way, way later. Even the whole "War on Terror" thing that came after... I guess we were just too young to understand how big it was.

And it's strange, because to me it's always been that way. I can barely remember anything further back than maybe Kindergarten, except vaguely going to daycare and being forced to eat (and subsequently throw up) bananas. I didn't even know that the World Trade Center existed when I was 7, and then when we get older we find out that it was a really big deal. I guess we don't have that disbelief that people who were older might have, but then, I don't pretend to know what anyone else feels.

Well... This wasn't much of a writing exercise, but I felt like I should at least write something, you know? It seems like it would be disrespectful to just let the day go by like any other typical Sunday. I'll try and find something a bit more academic to write tomorrow.

Elevator Conversation

Prompt: You're in an elevator with the admissions director of your first choice college, and you have five minutes to "sell your brand" to them.

I slipped into the elevator at the last second, barely escaping the clutches of the screeching metal doors. The sound of generic music filled my ears as I reached around and pushed the number for my floor. Honestly, I've never liked elevators... why did the ride up have to be so long?

Turning, I couldn't help but notice that only one other person occupied the elevator. He didn't look too scary... brown hair, kind of old-ish, if you get what I mean, and dressed so formally. I was wearing jeans and a tank-top! Awkward silence sat heavy in the elevator. I could almost swear he was purposefully not looking at me, but then, I was staring at him. And then I noticed... was that...? No... There was no way that the admissions director from my first choice college could be standing in the same elevator as me!

Naturally, this is the point where I freak out.

But you have to say something... say something, don't just stand there like an idiot staring!

"Uh... hello..." Just great, way to sound intelligent. "I couldn't help but notice that you're, um, from [insert currently unknown college here please]. Actually, I was thinking of going there myself."

He was staring at me... I hate being stared at, especially when I'm dressed so poorly and have my hair caught up in a messy bun instead of down and brushed properly. I hadn't expected to meet someone so important! If that wasn't bad enough, I think that one of the most annoyingly awkward things in the world is to be stared at by someone you've never met before. Looking straight back almost made my eyes water, but... C'mon... why the heck would he want you at his college if you can't even talk coherently in an elevator?

Honestly... I don't like talking, but this was my chance... my opportunity...

"I'm really excited, too, you know. I've been working especially hard this last year of high school so I can get into a really good college. Well, I've been working really hard for years, really. I can be very competitve, but I really, really love learning new things. You could say I'm ambitious, but I prefer to think of it as being determined to get the best education I can possibly manage. I'm determined to do my very best, stretch my limits and learn to counter my weaknesses, you could say."

I was kind of worried that I was being too forward. I don't normally randomly burst into conversation with strangers, after all, but at least he wasn't scooting away from me or anything. His staring was... unnerving, though. I gulped, searching my scattered thoughts for more things I could add and trying to think of ways to make it sound less like bragging and more like stating facts.

"So you've been thinking about my college," he said. He smiled; I couldn't tell if it was forced. I hoped I hadn't made too horrible of an impression. "What can you specifically offer my college?"

I stood up straight, trying not to wince. "I'm my own person--creative and determined to do the very best with the grades to prove it. I'm not afraid to step out of my boundaries and I'm not afraid to work hard and encourage others to do the same. I'm one of the top of my class and have high grades in all my subjects as well. I'll do my best no matter what college I get into!"

I couldn't tell what he thought of my spiel. I've never been good at reading people, not really. Nevertheless, I couldn't manage to squeeze in anything else before the elevator dinged softly and that nauseating feel of the floor almost dropping out from beneath my feet as I kept moving when it stopped left my stomach turning even more than it had already been with sheer nervousness. Hopefully my first impression wasn't too horrible...

He gave me one last look. "This is my floor, miss," he said almost apologetically and held out a hand, "It was nice meeting you..."

"Claire," I said quickly, trying to give a firm handshake even though my palm felt slick and gross from nervous sweating. "It was nice meeting you, too." And nerve-wracking.

"Good luck." And then he was gone. Silently, I watched him disappear as the doors closed and the metal box began moving again. Slowly, the nervousness dissipated, replaced with slight relief at having been left alone to my own thoughts. Oh God, what was that... I blabbed my mouth off!

"What is wrong with me...?" I asked.

But then, I thought, it could have been worse... at least I didn't fall on my face or anything.

I tripped getting off on my floor, though...

Note: I have no idea how realistic this is. (*goes to hide in a corner* It was horrible!) Hopefully I didn't do too poor of a job with my scenario. I hope that I never meet the admissions director of my chosen college in person; I'm not sure my fried nerves could handle it.

My Sister's Sketchbook

Yes, that's the object I picked: my sister's sketchbook. I've never had a sketchbook important enough to have cat-fights over, but my sister does. Seriously, she barely lets me touch it. I distinctly remember going to the store and pouring over like fifty different ones so she could specifically pick out the one that she wanted. Though art is a large part of my life, music has without a doubt overshadowed art in all aspects of my life (though I do still enjoy art quite a lot), but my sister--who is not so musically inclined--focuses much more on her artistic talents.

Thus leading to her sketchbook becoming an item of high value to her. Actually, it really doesn't look very special. It has one of those rough plastic covers, the kind that you can drag your nails across and make obnoxious scratching noises because of how bumpy it is. It looks kind of like leather, but I've fairly certain that it's plastic, as it feels too hard to be leather, smells like plastic and tastes like plastic (yes, I did actually lick it, just for the sake of doing so). Really, all and all, it has no distinguishing features on the outside and, as it's black with no designs, appears rather generic.

Well, it's the inside of sketchbooks that really matter, isn't it...

I'm not sure how in-depth I'm allowed to go. My sister may not like me divulging her private artwork to my peers for the sake of writing "practice", but I'm going to do so anyway. Though it's not even halfway full (because it's fairly new; the old one is filled up--actually, the inside smells delightfully like new paper, which reminds me of brand new books right from the bookstore) but already it's riddled with her adorable chibi (1) drawings of various characters depicted in the anime Naruto. For some reason, Sasuke Uchiha is one of her favorites to draw, even though she hates him passionately. I think the big-eyed, adorable little faces she puts on her characters are just completely kawaii (2) and I can't get enough of their round faces. They have the most adorable expressions, too--chibi characters look cute when they frown, it's just a matter of fact. She also has at least a thousand drawings of the Akatsuki (3) (okay, perhaps a thousand is an exaggeration), which are without a doubt her favorite characters from Naruto. It's very hard to imagine them as being the main antagonists of the series when you look into their too-cute faces placed atop their disproportionate, cartoonish bodies with blobs for hands, wearing their cloaks which, funnily enough, are adorned with red clouds (which I have always found to be a little... not-so-intimidating).

I could rant about her chibi drawings forever (because I love them and am totally horrible at drawing them), but I shall move on. She also has a series of dragon drawings. Their lines aren't quite fluent yet--there are little jagged spots here and there, and the shading is still a bit lopsided--but I've been attempting to teach her. She's getting much better (don't tell her I said that) and I enjoy hearing her serenades about the impression which she leaves upon her fellow classmates, who all frequently stop to admire her superior work... of course, it could just be that she tells me overexaggerated stories, but I'd like to think that she's pretty awesome at art. She certainly seems to love it a lot.

I've also found that she has a passion for oil pastels rather than colored pencils. Some of the pages of her sketchbook reek of them... they don't smell bad, just sort of... waxy? I'm not sure that's the right word for their unique scent. I particularly love the way she can blend purples, reds and white together to get the most amazing borderline magenta color, which actually is more purple than pink (what is that called?). It looks amazing as a backdrop against flames, perfectly sychronized with the distorted twist of orange, yellow and deep carmen red that I just find so pleasing to the eye. Her Flareon drawing is my favorite by far.

I could probably go on for another decade about my sister's artistic attributes, but I won't draw this out too much longer. I know that art is a huge part of her personal identity, something she's recognized for at school apart from her peers in a way that I have never been. It's "her thing", not mine, which I think makes it very special to her, and by extension makes the place of keeping for her artwork also incredibly valuable personally. I also know that she enjoys artwork much more than I ever have--I don't fully understand that aspect, but I imagine it to be similar to my preoccupation with music, how it becomes my emotional release and sanctuary away from "reality", if you follow. It's a way for her to express herself and the things she loves in a way that is relaxing.

As she gets farther into middle school, I know she'll be facing a lot of stress, both from school and at home. Looking back, I don't think middle school was that bad stress-wise, but to her it probably seems like jumping into the deep end without quite being sure how to swim. Hopefully this outlet of hers will keep her from going completely crazy (like my music does for me). Obviously it's very important to her, and I really hope it stays that way. It would be a shame to lose something so important.

And so you can understand, hopefully, why her sketchbook embodies something of far greater value to her than it would to me. Actually, it reminds me a bit of how I feel about my piano, only my piano is bigger, more expensive and far too heavy to carry back and forth to school. I'm glad that she has her "special thing" though, because life really sucks without it.

Notes:

(1) chibi: Japanese word meaning "short" or "midget", but in this case it describes a certain type of cartoon-like drawing where a person is disproportionately drawn with an over-large head, too-small body and unrealistic representation of facial definition and clothing. In other words, they're really cute drawings.

(2) kawaii: Japanese word meaning "cute"
Note: I may use this word a lot, though I'll try to not use too many non-English words. They just have this different sort of connotation to me. Saying cute just isn't the same...

(3) Akatsuki: main antagonists of Naruto Shippuden. I just thought I'd be nice and let you know about this, because otherwise it can be confusing to devise the meaning of some of the things I write if you really have no idea what I'm talking about. It's also a Japanese word meaning "dawn", but in this case, I'm talking about the evil people chasing Jinchuriki all over the place in Naruto