To Be Me

Alonely. Not really a word, but definitely a feeling. People can be alone; they can be lonely. So why can't they be both? Alonely. v. To be alone and lonely; to feel separated from the normal crowd; to make oneself a social outcast without being completely ignored; to never truly feel like one fits in.

Alonely. That's me. Me, Morgan. Alias aka nickname: Morgan Le Faye. The most evil sorceress to ever wander the earth and time. The only girl to have lived in every century of the world. The only person to have lived under the same name since her conception and still travel time and space. Not master of time; oh, no, not me. I am just like everyone else.

Well, not really. I travel time. But...I don't do it on purpose. Or rather, I don't do it. Something gets inside me; some desire to see another time, another place, another world. And off I go, to the 1850's, or the 1930's, or the 1300's! Every place I visit is so dramatically different from the last, so amazing, so new. Every era has its gods, its rulers, its tyrants, its everything. Nothing is the same from even generation to generation. I have known families that spanned decades; I have known families that spanned centuries. I have known a girl's grandmother, and her grandmother, and her grandmother before her. I have known legends. I have changed history: yet still, despite all I have done, I am called evil.

If the people of this world knew what I had done for them, they would not call me such a thing.

They will never know.

Alonely. v. To be alone and lonely; to feel separated from the normal crowd; to make oneself a social outcast without being completely ignored; to never truly feel like one fits in.

To be me.

Sarah Camille

According to the wishes of her manager, I will be writing a short (short short) blog about one of my friends, the wonderful musician Sarah Camille. Sarah has been playing guitar and violin for who-knows-how-long, and she is amazing at it! Lately, she wrote several songs and recorded them. They can be found on iTunes under Sarah Camille or the album name, All I Need. There are only a few songs on it, as this is a bit of a new thing for Sarah. It's kind of her introductory EP, or so her fans are hoping. She recently wrote and performed another song at a talent show, and the response was overwhelming- it was a beautiful song! I believe it was called "Everything." It was a song that no one had heard before, and therefore a nice surprise. I think everyone who listens to her first few songs is really hoping this new song will lead to another album!

Her manager, on Twitter as @failcookiesmith, has been working hard to get her album out on iTunes. He asked me to write this blog to ask you, dear readers, one question or request: Please please please, won't you go to iTunes right now and listen to her songs? Buy them (that'd be great) or don't, but listen to them! They're beautiful! Then, after you listen to them, come back here and comment. Let me know what you think about her songs. Let me know if you want to hear more, and if you bought the songs or not. Be honest, please! I really really want to know what you guys think! Thank all of you so much. This means a lot to me, Sarah, and @failcookiesmith! :)

You can find Sarah Camille's fan page online on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Sarah-Camille/244957835190?ref=ts

Also, if you want more in-depth info from @failcookiesmith, check him out on Twitter. Just tell him I sent you snooping. ;)

Happy listening!

Candy Time

Everyone who's older than six knows you can make candy easily. I mean, all you have to do is mix water and sugar and like two flavors. It's easy. I've seen my mom do it. All she did was get out a spoon and pour some liquid brown sugar stuff into it, then melt some other stuff in a pan, and...I had the recipe. How hard could it be?

So when my teacher told us we had to make some food or something for a project my class was doing, I was all over it and ready to start some candy. The youngest kid in my class, who is only eight, wanted to help, but he's too little, so I got a couple of my friends (they're nine) and started. We had the little kitchen down the hall, and we could do whatever we wanted, as long as the teacher said we could. I showed her my recipe, and she said to go ahead, it was easy. So we walked into the kitchen, ready to start making candy.

The stove was the first really hard part. It wouldn't turn on. So we just used the microwave and put a couple things in there at the same time. The teacher was watching other kids- and they were all making a mess- so we pretty much could do whatever. So we did.

The next hardest part was figuring out how much was a tsp. I mean, that's not very good instructions. How are we supposed to know what a tsp is? How does anyone know? So we just poured some in until we thought it looked good.

The next part was shaping it. It was really hot, too- it had been in the microwave for like twenty minutes. We finally got it cooled down a little bit and tried to make shapes or something with it, but it was really hard. I mean rock solid. So we just got out Mike's (that's my friend) rock for show and tell and used that to break the candy into little pieces. It looked pretty tasty, but I didn't want to be selfish, so we took a big chunk to our teacher. She didn't really like it, but I don't think she has much of a sweet tooth, so we just took it back to the room and put it on the display table. We disguised it as edible decoration.

I think people liked it. It was completely gone after we presented the project.

The trash bag was really heavy when we took it out later. There must have been a lot of people who ate our candy and then were too full for other food. I guess they just threw away all the other stuff.

Harsh

The weather was brutal, and that's being nice. It was nothing less than bone-beating, skin-soaking, finger-numbing cold. It was harsh- and for the boys trekking through the snow and ice, it was murder. The drifts were higher than the boys were tall. They each carried a shovel and a small pick in double-gloved hands, ready to fight their way through the ice if need be. They knew what they were doing was hopeless, but the four young men also knew that it had to be done. It was respectful and a loving gesture. It was a necessity, and they had volunteered.

The town was completely blanketed in snow. There were no buildings with lights on- the power had been knocked out days ago, at the beginning of the storm. The few townspeople who had managed to escape their houses had quickly made their way to the only heated place in town- the underground shelter. It was smaller than it could have been, but it was warmer because of it. The people who had not been able to escape their houses...those were the people the four boys were in search of. It was a tough job, one that no one ever wanted to do, but the young men had found that if they traveled together, they could keep each other warm if need be.

The boy in the lead stopped suddenly, and pulled his scarf off of his face for a brief moment. "Did you hear that?" he yelled into the swirl of snow.

The other three nodded slowly, straining to hear the sound again.

"What was that?" one of them yelled.

"I don't know!" the one in the lead said.

"We have to find it," the one taking up the end of the train yelled.

"Which way did it come from?"

"I don't know. That way?" The lead boy pointed to the left.

"I thought so. Let's go!"

The train started moving again, slower, still listening for the sound. It had been high and long, but oh-so-faint. It had sounded, each boy thought, a bit like the wail of a child or a hurt animal.

For twenty minutes, the boys trudged slowly toward the noise, pausing only when the sound came again, and then not for long. They glanced at each other, shuffling their feet, edgy. The sound was unearthly. They had never heard anything like it before, and it scared them.

After another few minutes, the noise grew so loud the boys knew they were on top of the sound. They glanced around warily and, seeing nothing, looked to the ground and the drifts towering above them. They split up and began to dig shovels and picks carefully into the deepest drifts.

A half hour passed in near silence, broken only by the wind and the sound of picks digging into the ice.

Suddenly a cry came from one of the boys- the one that had led the small troupe. The other turned to look and gasped at what they saw. A drift had collapsed, revealing a hollow spot that was occupied by not an animal but a girl. She was young, about as old as the four who surrounded her. She held in her limp arms a baby, only a couple years old. The baby was wailing and pulling at the girl- her sister, they boys thought. The girl, however, was not responding. She was alive- but she was freezing. She had wrapped herself around the baby, trying to keep them both as warm as possible.

The boys instantly started wrapping scarves around both of the people, hoping to somehow keep them alive for the walk back to the center of town.

They had arrived just in time to save two lives from the harshness of the cold.

Beached: Lisa

The weekend had finally come. Finally, meaning here, at long last. The girls of room 113 had thought that the weekend had left them and gone elsewhere. Neither Lisa nor Mara had seen a Saturday in- well, in about 6 days. They had been looking forward to a good long Saturday at the nearby beach. Nearby, meaning here, a couple hours away.

They headed for the beach at about nine in the morning, which was early for a college student. The beach, they knew, would be crowded, so they had told themselves to get up earlier than normal to get a good spot. Good spot, meaning here, not a mile from the actual shore. That would be good.

They finally got to the beach. Ah, sun! Ah, spring! Ah, salty air! Ah, weekend! They were overjoyed to find the beach almost completely empty. It wasn't even lunch time, and it was so open and quiet. It was beautiful. Even the life guard stands were somewhat empty, only every other one occupied at all. Every other one had quite a distance between them, so there was no worry of being disturbed, but they were close enough that, if an emergency called, at least two life guards would be ready to help.

Lisa and Mara hit the water with no delay. They raced each other to the waves and threw themselves into the swells. The waves seemed calm and caressed each of the girls. Mara drifted a ways down the shore, so Lisa carried on where she was, trying to reach the bottom of the ocean floor. It was harder than she thought, and each time she resurfaced, she laughed at how terrible she was at her simple task.

Almost an hour passed before Lisa noticed that Mara was still missing.

Where had she gone? Lisa shaded her eyes and scanned the shore first. No sign of Lisa there. Actually, no sign on anyone there. No one at all. That was slightly unnerving. Lisa turned to the swells down the shore, where she had last seen Mara. Nothing. Mara was a very capable swimmer- she had been swimming for much, much longer than Lisa herself had been. It didn't make sense for her to just disappear like this. Lisa gulped. Where had Mara gone? Maybe the bathrooms?

She pulled herself out of the water and ran to one of the high life guard stands. She shaded her eyes and stared up at the still person sitting on top. "Hello?" She called. No response. Not even a slight movement. "Hello?!" Still nothing. She yelled as loudly as she could. The person on top was still and stony.

Lisa shook the stand, fed up with the life guard. The person swayed, then slowly- too slowly, as if in slow motion, fell from the stand. Lisa gasped. "What on earth?"

She bent over the person laying face up in the sand.

Dead eyes stared up at nothing. A dead mouth hung open, as if in a silent, long-since-stifled scream.

Play for Me

When she got mad, she played piano. When she was happy, she played piano. When she was excited, she played piano. When she was sad, she played piano.

It was when she was saddest that the music coming from the piano was the most beautiful. When she was sad, the notes were long, low, and exquisite- a sound most people in the house didn't know a piano could make. When she was so sad she cried, the music was slow and sometimes there were long pauses between notes, so long the music almost faded before it picked up again. When she was so sad she became angry, the music was amazing. It was fast-paced. Her fingers reached all over the keys, tickling all of them, from the shiny black to the dull, slightly worn ivory. It was when she was sad that the music was enough to make others cry, too.

She loved the piano. It was her life. It was all she had ever wanted to do. Mandy was known to the people of the house as the most musically talented person they had ever met. She never left the piano for anything less than absolute necessity, and nobody minded that. The music filling the house from morning till night was peaceful, even if at times a bit distracting or emotionally rendering. The piano became the house's love through Mandy.

All that changed the night of the car crash. Mandy hadn't been driving- she didn't like to- but she was in the passenger seat, her never-still fingers picking out keys on a piano only she could see. The driver didn't get hurt- the driver hardly ever does in these cases- but Mandy did. It wasn't as bad as it could have been- she survived- but the minute the other car smashed into the passenger door, Mandy knew one thing with absolute certainty: She would never play the piano again.

It was that realization and not the pain that made Mandy cry.

My Attic's Inhabitant Part 5: Goodbye?

I ran up the stairs to my attic, taking them two or more at a time. I'm not going to lie, I fell several times. I finally reached the top of the stairs and burst through to see the genie, slightly glowing, alternately banging on a suitcase, sitting on it, crying, blowing his nose, and staring off into space.

Genie? Hey, what's going on? Are you OK?

I've never seen a genie cry.

You're what?
Attached to me? Really? That's...cool, I think. Weird, too. How do you-um. What are you doing, then? Why are you leaving?

You have to? That's dumb. Can't you stay? If I ask you too? Well, that's kind of what I just did. I mean, that's what I was getting at.

I have to say it? Like that? OK. Here goes.

Genie, will you please stay? Yeah, no problem- that was my shirt...no big deal, I'm sure genies blow their noses on stuff all the time and it comes right out. Yeah, it's OK.

Here's the deal, though. If you stay, I'm going to ask you to do one thing for me: Stay quiet at night. And sometimes during the day. Think you can handle that? You can? Cool beans. Alright. I think I have a permanent inhabitant, here.

Sweet. Maybe I should charge rent or something...

Nah. It's cool.

I got my wishes. And I like what I'm doing right now. I'm happy.

My Attic's Inhabitant Part 4: Third Wish

Ye gods, avoiding paparazzi is hard. I have never been so tired! Another thing I don't think I've been since I started wishing: alone. I feel so very very alone. I mean, sure, every single guy out there was tripping over himself to get to me...but that was because I'm famous now. They don't even know who I am. No idea. One of them forgot my name and just started yelling I love you! really loudly. That was embarrassing. Very.

I'm walking back up the stairs to my attic. I'm so tired the flight of stairs seems about four times longer than it actually is. Gah. I'm exhausted. Did I mention that before?

The dim light of the genie is coming from under the door. I know what I'm wishing for this time, but I'm still nervous to enter. What if this guy really can't grant this last wish? What if he really IS like Aladdin's genie, and I have to set him free or something with my third wish?

I grit my teeth and push the door open. Hello? Oh, there you are. That's a magazine...with my face on it. Wow. They got those out pretty quickly, didn't they? Heh heh. Yeah, thanks. Well, hey, I'm ready for my third and final wish. But can you *whisper*?

Yes! Oh, thank goodness. Alright. Here goes nothing. Genie, I wish for true love, and not just for my looks. For me.

....................

I'm waiting. Hello? I thought you said you could do this. Oh, you did? Then where is he? Huh? I want to know.

There's a weird sound outside, like someone crashing into a rather hard object. Um. OK. Better check that out, huh?

Hello, I believe that you just managed to crash into my mailbox on a bike. What talent you have...and holy cow are you attractive. Yeah, no, I do live here. Uh-huh. Yep. That's me, hi. Are you- ahem, are you OK? Are you sure? Well, why don't you come inside and- OK. That's the wrong door. Here, let me help you. I think you hit your head a little hard, there. Let me get you some ice. What's your name?

I think I may have found someone. Someone who doesn't care that my face is on the magazine that is all over the newsstands. Someone that really wants to know me, and not my face. I think I like this guy. This incredibly talented bike rider who crashes into people's mailboxes. I think I really do like him.

What the heck? What is going on in my attic?

Genie?