It's time to study abroad in Fukuoka!!



I – at last – have internet!! Buuuutttt, I’m too lazy to upload the, like, 10 blogs I’ve been working on. Such effort. Much lazy. So not done.

Anywho, I’m trying to get back into the whole creative writing thing, but it’s really difficult for me to write without prompts. I happened to find one that worked out; I won’t share the prompt though (feel free to, you know, leave prompts for me. It’s helpful and junk).


Her hair lay flat on her shoulders, wisping about her olive skin. The once dirty blond hair now shaded her face, its dull black standing as a stark reminder of her whimsical attitude, her spur-of-the-moment actions.

Thin hands sweep up in a rush to calm the unruly mess. Fingers once described as “piano fingers” fiddled with some locks, pushing them into place behind dwarfed ears.

Such bones were not meant to strike at ivory; their privileged softness told of a spoiled childhood. These hands could only sing sour notes, notes that isolated – and, inevitably, abandoned – me.

Thin lips pursed in displeasure; soon, their own sour notes were released, begging for reassurance against the faults of their owner. Such notes were repetitive; the measures had no end, as if a second ending was never written in. The author of such a piece was sadistic in nature, but charisma flowed through his music.

If the questions were repetitive, toxic, so also were the answers I gave.

How such a thin woman held so much power, I cannot say. But her mind twisted my own, forcing false shadows to dance around, mocking me. My friends hated me, my enemies closed in, and I counted myself among neither – for how can someone as lowly as I be a part of anything?

My only solace was the cold feeling of her arms around me, her whispers slyly encouraging my weeping. The blade in my back was sharp and hot; it slid in unnoticed, the scarring more pronounced with each passing hour.

She wanted to be caught, as if some sick thrill helped her sleep at night. When called out, there was no regret in her dull green eyes. She had grown bored of playing long ago, moving on to the next victim before finishing with me.

For years, the sound of falling leaves hurt me. Her name caused anger and grief; not a day went by that the friendship did not cross my mind.

The scarring is permanent, but her grasp is gone. If there is some greater force, may they damn her to the dark, slick hell she wormed out of. Until then, at least I take solace in each easy breath, knowing that the falling leaves are beautiful again.

New notes sing more beautifully for me now – though, perhaps ignorance, and solitude, play the sweetest movements.


2 thoughts on “Intermission

  1. ever think that you’re just overly dramatic? i’m guessing high school drama from the sound of this an everyone gets back stabbed in high school at least once. you’re gonna meet a lot of dicks in life and if you cant let high school go then you’re really gonna struggle with being an adult cause that shit doesn’t stop. you really gotta move on or shit only control you forever. forgive and forget my friend. life feels better when you live like that I promise.


    • You’re right; I shouldn’t creatively write about things important to me. I should not learn from my experiences, and I definitely shouldn’t express them in any way, even if expressing them helps me accept them. There’s no possible way that this was based off of a random word prompt (as mentioned in the post as well), and it was just something FESTERING away at my life, making me incapable of moving on.

      Also, I do apologize for taking so long to respond. I just read it because, you know, I’m travelling around Asia, studying a different language, meeting people from around the world, and just, you know, having too great of a life to bother looking at a blog that I started out of necessity for a scholarship from back home. Have fun writing condescending posts on random people’s blogs; it really shows what kind of person you are, and what a fulfilling life you seem to have : D


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