too lazy

Hahaha. So, here's the link to the story I was thinking about today. I'm too lazy (and it's too long) to post here on the blog. :)

untitled

wolfgrrl (aka Gen)

The coffee shop

This is actually part of the story of the previous post about coffee beans. I will see how this goes...

Love,

gasybeans ♥

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Introduction:

There was music playing outside, thumping its familiarly rapid beat as the town was enveloped by the gray clouds. The rain was refreshing, but it brought back sad memories and locked people inside.

The end of the cigarette bud glowed a dim red as each inhalation of toxins was taken. Deadly smoke began to fill the air of the empty coffee shop. All the other employees were already sent home.

A cup of black coffee was sitting on the small, round, graphite table in its special mug. The mug was a caramel color with an image of a tiger on it, abstract and beautiful. The amount of coffee in it was the same as it has been 10 minutes ago.

The two men sat facing each other, one puffing poisonous pollutants, the other tracing the familiar ring of the coffee mug. Both of them let out a heavy sigh. The green-eyed smoker looked at his friend with conflicting thoughts, trying to make sense of things he wish he could say. Frustrated with himself, he smothered the short cigarette bud and lit another from his pocket.

The bell of the door jingled softly behind them, but neither looked up. The footsteps began to approach them and a wheezing cough resonated to their ears.

“You shouldn’t do that, ya know. It’s bad for you, smoking that is.”

The two paused and quickly looked at each other, their thoughts the same.

“Why is this place so dead, so...empty and dull?”

Crash. The rhythmic beating of the rain was interrupted by the drop of the mug. The smoker and the coffee hater both gaped in disbelief. He just dropped the coffee mug.

Curious as to whom this voice belonged to, the two slowly turned their heads to the person at the door. She was removing her coat and shook her luscious brown hair that had been drenched with rain. Then she looked at them with a small smile pursed on her lips. They froze.
“That was a pretty mug” she said as the gaze of her hazel eyes danced to the other side of the room.

It couldn’t be.

Cheerup

Yes, that's not EXACTLY what I had in mind, but it's close enough. Poor Hron: don't give up girlie girl! I believe in you. (Insert Aretha Franklin song here, haha.) Technology causes lots of problems, doesn't it? Writing doesn't have to be just stories and scenes; it can be essays, epiphanies, or thoughts (rants). Let your mind go free! Have a little bit of happiness, dear.
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Happiness is being transported out of yourself, out of ordinary life. It doesn’t mean you’re removed from the ordinary world, but that you transcend it. You are on a plane of existence where it’s ok to be silly, or tearful, or bubbling over with laughter. Effervescence is ok when you’re happy.

It’s the magic of drinking starlight and the warmth of drinking sunlight. A golden froth that burns low inside you, humming in every part of your being until you have to jump, or smile, to look ahead because you can’t and don’t want to keep it inside yourself. You’re lighter; so light you can float, or dance, or fly. Happiness is electrifying because it intensifies all that is wondrous and gently releases all that is painful or upsetting.

We are truly blessed that we can be happy, and those who cannot recognize happiness are truly cursed. It is the world’s most simple healer, a balm to anything and everything. Happiness connects us; it’s something inside of us that says “Yes, I’m here. Yes, I am. Yes. Thank you.”

There’s truth in those clichéd adages you hear as you go through life: Standing on top of the world; Jumping for joy. I have stood on top of the world; I have jumped for joy (though I never imagined it was possible). I have been so happy I’ve jettisoned all dignity and spun in circles until I fell over just because the sun was shining, because I was with my friends, because I was.

Those of us who radiate happiness have the power to summon it in others. I read a saying once on the inside of a public bathroom stall that said, “If you see someone without a smile, give them one of yours.”

Happiness and fulfillment aren’t the same, but they can walk hand in hand like siblings. For me, the distinction between happiness and fulfillment is one of people: when I’m happy, there’s always a person involved. My crush smiled at me, my friend hugged me for no reason I could think of, a baby waved and laughed when he saw me, or my favorite TV characters got together. I am fulfilled when I complete something; when I can stand back and say that I’m satisfied, or when others are satisfied. I am fulfilled when I can make a positive change in my surroundings, but I am happy when I can make a positive change in a person around me. So you see how happiness and fulfillment are complements, and how often we feel both, together, to the point where we begin to think them inseparable.

Life hurts. Happiness is the compensation for – the other side of – that pain. We lose people and things every day: sometimes to Death, sometimes to Time, sometimes to just the ordinary process of living. But happiness pulls us back together like a mooring line, preventing us from drifting so far apart we can find nothing to share. When a smile no longer can gently lift the film of reality from another’s perspective then we’ll know that we’ve gone too far and the human experience has become so microscopic in scale we no longer see each other as a race, as a species.

The sensations of happiness, the invocation of that brightness of spirit and self by something or someone else – is transcendent across borders and nationalities and cultures: all humans, everywhere, that have ever come before and will ever come after, have felt that. We have all drunk the sun-and-starlight potion of joy. And that we have keeps us together when free will, when God or fate or chaos theory contrives to pull us all apart. Haven’t you had that sense, when you’re happy, that you can do anything, be anyone, overcome any impediment before you? I have. Happiness makes men and women mightier than gods, more powerful than any construction of faith or will or science. In happiness, we are invincible. 

Gen, aka WolfGrrl

Don't Spill the Coffee Beans

This is a story I've started, but I'm not too sure were it's going yet. I may also change the title...
Enjoy! :)

Best,
Hron
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Ariel Jane Soske jerked her hand back at the touch of the hot ceramic surface, dropping the mug as its dark, bittersweet contents fell to the floor. Everyone in the small café could hear as the flawlessly molded object shattered into an unsolvable puzzle piece. The customer’s dress shoes were now covered in caffeine rich coffee, imported all the way from South Asia. Left too long, it would become an annoyance, sticky and smelly.

Levi William Chappelle stared at his freshly waxed and shine dress shoes that were now covered in a sticky layer of coffee. He hated coffee. He let out a heavy sigh, not out of annoyance, but out of pure exhaustion. Running around here and there, applying to this job opening and that, and then being rejected to the last five places he has been to. He just wanted a break - a moment to settle down his thoughts and relax. Somehow, he walked himself right into a coffee shop in desperate need of this break. It wasn’t something he would choose, and he himself was beginning to wonder why he was there in the first place. He hated coffee, and now there was coffee on his shoes.

The young woman stood there with her bright hazel eyes wide and though they projected in his direction, their focus went right through him. Levi turned his head and saw that there was no one behind him. He returned his eyes to her, confused. Then, he got a better look at her.

She was petite, standing at an average height of five foot five. She was curvy and had an athletic build with hips that were wrapped with a black apron full of straws, napkins, and the sound of jingling coins. Her long curly hair was black with dark brown undertones and her skin was a natural beige. Her almond-shaped hazel eyes were enhanced with naturally thick and long upper lashes. They were beautiful, but they were swirling with all kinds of emotion. Then he saw it, a small puddle of tears building in the socket. She began to bite her bottom lip, refusing to let them fall, and behind her he saw the reason why.

the Phone Call

A very short scene about a phone conversation. Pretty self-explanatory, yeah?

******

It hurt to acknowledge it, and yet I knew I had to. This was the last straw. This was my breaking point. Holding the baby on my hip I clenched the phone in my other hand and breathed, slowly, for a count of ten. You can do this, Mary. You can do this. It was the hardest thing in the world to call my parents' number that night, but I didn't know who else to ask.

"Mama?" I could hear Charley barking in the background - he had such a high, squeaky bark it was easily distinguishable, even over the bad connection. "Mama, are you there?"

"Just a minute, querida." I heard her put the phone down; there was a crash, and the sound of a door shutting. "Hello? Mary-Margaret?"

"Mama, I need help." I curled the phone into my body the same way I cradled my sleeping daughter. "David didn't come home last night."

My mother's voice was calm, as unruffled as her slow Spanish accent. "Did he take the car with him, querida?"

"No, Mama, but he took the keys."

There was a beat of silence after my last remark, then I heard a soft curse and the sound of movement. "Okay. Okay, baby. I'll come get you. Where are you? Home?"

"Yes. Yes, but Mama..." How to tell her? How did I tell my mother it wasn't safe for her to come to my house? The baby started to cry.

Gen

“This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals—sounds that say listen to this, it is important.”

—	Gary Provost

Howdy

So, I think what we want to do with this blog is post little things we write or find interesting about our lives. I won't start in this specific post, but that's the general idea. Hron had to go to work, but she'll probably pop in later on.

Ciao
Genevieve