Writer's Workbook #28

#28 I could only imagine...

I can only imagine the world that will become. Of all the new inventions and commodities that mankind comes up with. The wonderful, creative minds that will strive to better the world around us and the living conditions of every citizen. I can only imagine in the most optimistic way, because to limit your mind to only pessimism is not justice to the full capabilities of the brain.

I can imagine the products that will make clean drinking water for everyone, and put a roof over some people’s heads, and provide the basic necessities for all. I can imagine the new whimsical inventions that will improve everyday electronics and living. I can imagine the near future, and what it may hold for me and others. The world is so full of wonderful minds full of creativity and those willing and able to make ideas reality. Nearly everything is within the grasp of people, if only we are willing to work and search for it.

Writer's Workbook #27

#27 It had just been here, and now we couldn't find it.

“Hey man, you doing okay on your project?” Reese asked her sister. She frowned when she saw the desk was empty and that her sister was lying on the bed. “Ella? What are you doing?” Ella sat up and looked Reese in the eye, her expression hard and frustrated.

“Reese, what do you see?” she asked, holding out her hands. Reese looked at her empty palms, still confused.

“Uh, nothing-”

“Exactly. Nothing. It’s gone, Reese,” Ella said.

“What’s gone?”

“The amount I care. The project is due tomorrow, I’m three-fourths of the way done, and I just don’t care anymore.” Ella flopped back down on the bed in a huff. Reese sat down beside her, relieved that she understood the situation.

“C’mon Ella, your brain is just fried. Let’s take a break, go grab some food or something,” she offered, trying to coax her sister out of the room.

Writer's Workbook #26

#26 Everybody’s talking about this...

Dear Diary,

There’s this game everyone at school seems to be into, but I’m not sure why. I think it’s some video game that’s getting a lot of hype. Even my friends are into it. Everyone is so excited about it, except for me. I don’t even remember what the game is called. I guess that’s what I get for being one of the only teenagers not interested in video games. I like the idea of RPGs and all, but prefer acting it all out in real life. Maybe I would be into D&D, but who knows?

Anyways, this game is really popular, and everyone says the storyline and characters are amazing, so maybe I will check it out. I just need to find out the name of it. Of course, I’m not going to waste money buying it for myself. I don’t even own a game console. It might be a PC game (a lot are these days), but going through the trouble of downloading a game onto my computer that I’m not going to put much effort into doesn’t seem worth the time. Or money for that matter. If anything I guess I could always ask if I could watch my friends play. I don’t think they would mind, since I’m not asking to use their game or anything. Though some people might be weirded out by me asking them if I can watch over their shoulder as they control a bunch of pixels with a joystick.

Writer's Workbook #25

#25 I told you so...

“See, I told you it would turn out this way. If you had listened to me-”

“Just shut up, Jones. I know the tent is set up wrong, but with your arm in that stupid cast you weren’t much help,” Oliver snapped at his friend. Allan glared at him.

“It’s your fault my arm is broken and you know it,” Allan said.

“Why are we on this camping trip anyway? We could have canceled since you’re incapable of doing practically anything on your own.”

Allan shrugged, sitting down next to Oliver on the dirt. “I don’t know man, we’ve been planning this for so long that I didn’t want to cancel just because I lost an arm.” He laughed. “Even if you were the person who told me to try that jump on my bike.” Oliver’s face grew red at that comment.

“It was a small jump!” he protested. “You do stupid stunts on your bike all the time, I thought-”

“Relax, man,” Allan said, still laughing at how embarrassed his friend was. Oliver huffed and glared at Allan.

“I told you that stupid bike would get you hurt someday,” he said. Allan smiled and laid down on the ground.

“I guess you did. Too late for that now. Hey, maybe someday I’ll actually make that jump, if that abandoned building is still there when my arm heals up.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Sure, and you’d break something again.” He sighed, looking down at Allan. “You just have to be a daredevil.”

Writer's Workbook #23

#23 I wonder if...

I wonder if anyone else taps into their childlike sense of curiosity. I wonder if anyone else wants to learn as much about the world as I do. Sometimes I just want to absorb all the information I can, just for the sake of knowing. Learning is such a joy for me, and I wonder each and every day about the inner workings of all that is around me. I want to know about the different fields of science and how mathematics evolved and the risks that have been taken in literature and the arts.

I wonder if anyone has the same desire for knowledge and learning that I do, but also if they think as I do. I want to learn so much but am so easily distracted. My attention span does not like to keep up and I am constantly fidgeting one way or another. I jump from idea to idea and subject to subject on impulse, and only tasks of utmost interest are able to hold my attention. I wonder if people that want to learn as much as I do have this same problem and thought process.

Writer's Workbook #22

#22 Dysphoria

How does it feel to disconnect

from your own skin?

To look at yourself and say

“This body is not mine”?

To see the traits you were born with

and know they weren’t for you?

It feels foreign, and wrong.

It is a being unfamiliar to you

despite having known it your whole life.

To want to escape your own body

and replace it with one that feels right

Is the greatest dream of some.

How does it feel when someone calls you

the wrong name?

You’ve told them time and time again

the right name

the better name

and they know.

They know that name, and refuse to use it.

How does it feel when someone

refers to you with the wrong pronoun?

They know what is right

they know what makes you comfortable

And they ignore it.

It feels like you’ve gone numb

and you have lost all trust.

They don’t make an effort to better their ways

and it’s a dagger in your heart.

I walk the world, open and out

to the people of the universe.

And the ones that care most

are the ones who know the right words

and use them.

I have ones I love dearly

that disregard me every day

and I’ve lost touch.

How does it feel when someone

shows they care?

When someone has the right name

the right pronoun

respects the struggle with your body?

It feels like they hung the sun

just for you

and you know, truly know,

who cares and loves you greatest.

Writer's Workbook #21

#21 It wasn't her fault.

“It’s not fair!” she yelled, slamming her door shut. “Everyone blames me for everything!” She flopped down onto her bed and screamed into her pillow to try and release some energy. She rolled over to her back and glared at the ceiling, hot angry tears spilling over her cheeks. She didn’t mean to break the vase. She was just trying to show her brother how to throw a ball, and the vase was in the way. She had tried to aim away from it, but the ball had hit and smashed her mother’s expensive clay vase.

It’s not my fault, she tried to convinced herself. If the stupid vase hadn’t been in the way, I wouldn’t have hit it. If Jeffery didn’t need to know how to throw a ball then I wouldn’t have hit it. If mom didn’t collect so many expensive vases then the vase wouldn’t even have been there for me to hit. She cried some more out of self pity, realizing how she was in the wrong. If I had thrown the ball outside like I was supposed to then I wouldn’t have hit the vase.

She wanted to leave her room and tell her mom she was sorry, and that she wouldn’t throw any balls in the house any more, but was afraid she’d get in trouble for coming out before she was supposed to. She felt a little helpless, and was ready to cry some more when the door opened. “Sweetie?” her mother asked. “Can I come in?” She nodded and sat up. Her mom walked in and sat next to her on the bed. “Sweetie, I-”

“I’m sorry Mom!” she cried, cutting her mom off. “I shouldn’t have thrown the ball inside the house! I didn’t mean to hit the vase, I’m sorry.” She was crying even more now, but her mother smiled down at her.
“It’s okay sweetie, I forgive you. Thank you for being such a big girl and apologizing to me.” Her mom hugged her tight and kissed her forehead.