As usual, her feelings turned out to be accurate. Someone had been watching her. It was the man from the elevator, and this time Mirela had a name to put to his face. Mamet. Mirela had gone to the theater to get her mind off of him, but encountering him was inevitable. She had to face her strange mix of feelings head-on because there was just no escaping what was meant to happen. Dinner was the plan, yet Mirela had some odd premonition that this would never be. Mirela felt excited and uneasy about this entire situation. Finding Mamet in this odd run-down town seemed too good to be true.
She began to walk home seeing that Mamet had already turned the corner of the block. The closer she got to the apartments the sharper the sensation she had to turn around or to leave entirely. She fought this urge, pulling her feet to the ground in front with each daunting step. Mamet seemed different from the other men. From a particular glint in his eyes she knew that she was safe with him. Why was her body telling her to stop in her tracks and run? Once she was just a block from the Thallow Flats, she could no longer move. Her body was trembling with fear inside and out. She grabbed onto the wall of a building, curled up into a tight ball and held on, waiting for something to happen.
"BOOOOOOM"
A sound that could rupture eardrums from at least 100 miles away penetrated Mirela hearing. Quickly following the boom, a shrill, high-pitched ringing filled her ears. Then her stomach dropped as she vaguely heard a thud off into the distance. Her bewildered eyes darted up to the sky near the flats, which was now filled with a thick black smoke. She ran to him.
The air was so full of smoke and ash Mirela could barely breath. The sound of crumbling and crunching wood accompanied the shrill ring in her ears. Through the dusty air she could barely make out the outline of Barnaby's house collapsing. And that's when she saw him. In a bed of rocks and earth, Mamet lay pinned beneath a heavy wooden light post. Mirela leaned over Mamet searching for life, for a split second she thought she even saw him looking back into her eyes. She pushed and pulled on the light-post, but it wouldn't budge. She tirelessly attempted to force the splintery light-post off of Mamet. Then she saw the lights. Flashes of blue and red shone through the dusty air. Help had arrived. In utter exhaustion, she slid her body across the ground to move closer to Mamet. As she did this, something sharp ripped through her flesh. Dark red blood stained her blouse. Underneath her was a scattered pile of glimmering diamonds. In that second she knew that the very diamonds that sliced her skin had also cost Mamet his life. All was a result of Greed. Tears flooded Mirela's eyes, knowing that she would leave the Thallow Flats, alone, never to return. She pressed herself against Mamet, holding onto him for as long as she could.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
The Eyes & The Theater
As Mirela walked the streets in a daze, she imagined his nurturing eyes, framed by modest wrinkles at the corners. That set of eyes was realistically etched into her memory just from the few moments they had spent together in passionate silence. She searched back deeply into her detailed reminiscence to interpret his every movement. What had he been thinking…and feeling? He had looked at her with honest curiosity and concern, almost as though he hadn’t looked at anyone in that way in years. Unfamiliar stirrings occurred in Mirela, as she hesitated to trust what her heart was telling her. The man had been nearly twice her age and was even old enough to be her father.
Finally, a break in the sunlight tore through her daydream, pulling her back to consciousness of the present. Mirela looked up at the overhang of the once magnificent town theater. Bright, new posters were plastered up on the walls. Apparently the old theater was of new use. Flyers and brochures were being given out at the ticket booth. Mirela slipped one of the glossy brochures out of its holder, and traced her fingers under the bold letters as she read. A local group of actors were having several fundraising plays benefiting the renovation of the town theater. Oedipus Rex, The Dumb Waiter, and Othello were some of the plays that were to be performed. Mirela was more than happy to stumble upon the doorstep of the theater because she enjoyed any sort of theatrical performance. A play was perfect to ease her mind because she had been contemplating everything far too much lately. As she flipped through the pages of brightly colored masks and men in tights, she looked up, having the sneaking suspicion of being watched.
Finally, a break in the sunlight tore through her daydream, pulling her back to consciousness of the present. Mirela looked up at the overhang of the once magnificent town theater. Bright, new posters were plastered up on the walls. Apparently the old theater was of new use. Flyers and brochures were being given out at the ticket booth. Mirela slipped one of the glossy brochures out of its holder, and traced her fingers under the bold letters as she read. A local group of actors were having several fundraising plays benefiting the renovation of the town theater. Oedipus Rex, The Dumb Waiter, and Othello were some of the plays that were to be performed. Mirela was more than happy to stumble upon the doorstep of the theater because she enjoyed any sort of theatrical performance. A play was perfect to ease her mind because she had been contemplating everything far too much lately. As she flipped through the pages of brightly colored masks and men in tights, she looked up, having the sneaking suspicion of being watched.
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
The Elevator
The elevator door shut slowly behind Mirela. She waited in the car for a stranger on some other floor to press the up or down button.
Scanning the small square of space, she observed the stains on the burgundy, patterned carpet, the bronze railings tarnished in the places where they were used the most, the scratches on the mirror, and in the mirror-herself.
She stroked the small scar hidden by her eyebrow, the ridge of her nose, her lips, and her jaw-line. Then she imagined the countless wounds and flaws that were invisible to the eye, yet existed inside of her. In this moment, she realized why she had chosen this town as her home. She had something in common with this unpolished town. She was comfortable amongst imperfection.
Closing her eyes, Mirela filled her lungs with a large amount of air and then released it. She did this several times before the room subtly began to lower. She opened her eyes and saw that one of the yellowed buttons was lit.
When the doors opened, a some-what scruffy, yet attractive older man stood in front of Mirela with a surprised expression on his face. After several seconds of very direct eye contact, the man became conscious of his expression and immediately blundered into the elevator. Reaching for the yellow buttons, their fingers collided, both pressing the one for the atrium.
The unexpected touch startled the both of them. The two looked up at each other slightly smiling, as their eyes locked. Mirela read his face; deep into his greenish-brown eyes, she found a hint of comfort. It was strange. That morning she had been so lost, so alone. By simply looking into the warm eyes of a stranger, her heart flickered with hope.
The intense silence was broken by the familiar “DING” of the elevator.
The doors opened and two men stood waiting to enter the elevator. Mirela recognized one of them as living on her hall and frequently rushing to work, and the other as an angry bookstore customer.
With one last curious stare, the two strangers departed, exiting the elevator.
Scanning the small square of space, she observed the stains on the burgundy, patterned carpet, the bronze railings tarnished in the places where they were used the most, the scratches on the mirror, and in the mirror-herself.
She stroked the small scar hidden by her eyebrow, the ridge of her nose, her lips, and her jaw-line. Then she imagined the countless wounds and flaws that were invisible to the eye, yet existed inside of her. In this moment, she realized why she had chosen this town as her home. She had something in common with this unpolished town. She was comfortable amongst imperfection.
Closing her eyes, Mirela filled her lungs with a large amount of air and then released it. She did this several times before the room subtly began to lower. She opened her eyes and saw that one of the yellowed buttons was lit.
When the doors opened, a some-what scruffy, yet attractive older man stood in front of Mirela with a surprised expression on his face. After several seconds of very direct eye contact, the man became conscious of his expression and immediately blundered into the elevator. Reaching for the yellow buttons, their fingers collided, both pressing the one for the atrium.
The unexpected touch startled the both of them. The two looked up at each other slightly smiling, as their eyes locked. Mirela read his face; deep into his greenish-brown eyes, she found a hint of comfort. It was strange. That morning she had been so lost, so alone. By simply looking into the warm eyes of a stranger, her heart flickered with hope.
The intense silence was broken by the familiar “DING” of the elevator.
The doors opened and two men stood waiting to enter the elevator. Mirela recognized one of them as living on her hall and frequently rushing to work, and the other as an angry bookstore customer.
With one last curious stare, the two strangers departed, exiting the elevator.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
What Goes Around Comes Around
Mirela sat happy and humming in the thick, rich grass. She observed beetles and ants, while lacing clover necklaces together. She rolled on her back, admiring the pillowy shapes in the sky. That’s when she saw it.
Out in the distance a blob of blackness turned on the horizon. As it spun, it sucked the living juice and color from every corner of nature. The blueness of the sky quickly transformed into a blank, unnatural white. The very pigment was sucked from the blades of grass beneath and around Mirela. Next, the roots and plants were ripped out of the earth, and then the soil and ground itself were swallowed by the ghastly cyclone. Mirela sat in the middle of all of this, bewildered and unscathed. The black tornado of destruction evaporated before her eyes, leaving her naked and alone in the blindingly white nothingness.
Mirela gasped, as her eyes flashed open. She lay in bed panting with a cold sweat. The cat curled up at her feet let out a mew and began to purr. A wave of relief flooded Mirela’s body. The sound of Moon Pie’s purr calmed her rapidly pulsating heart. However, her thoughts were on fire.
She knew what the dream had meant.
Feelings she had long since ignored, escaped in her sleep, when her guard was down. She was content when she concerned herself with the lives of the beetles, ants, and clients, but the big black cyclone of fear chasing her had finally caught up. Instead of some freckly, snaggle-toothed third grader breaking the news by yelling, “You’re It,” a memory she had managed to forget for a few months, ran up, tagged her and whispered, “You’re Alone-“
The empty ache she had suppressed (for the most part) since moving to this new town was unmistakable as ever, as she lay in her dark, chilly room. It was the same indescribable feeling that had consumed her on the day he left for good. No matter how much Mirela traveled or tried to lose herself, the same hollow thirst always returned. Her thoughts and seclusion swallowed her whole. She often found comfort in nature, but now she knew she needed someone else. She could go to the theater, the diner, or even the tavern? It was necessary to her well-being. She needed another human’s affection; She could give no more.
Before Mirela could leave her apartment, she heard a knock on the door. She slowly turned the knob, not knowing who to expect. The same young girl that was crumpled on the floor in front of her door shaking and exhausted a few days earliar, stood tall with a friendly, open smile. She had been up on an early morning run and had decided to stop by to thank Mirela for her helpful advice. Miranda offered Mirela a warm, well-needed hug. Her heart lightened a bit at this kind-hearted gesture. Miranda left, abandoning Mirela with her afflictions. Mirela locked up her room, ventured down to the end of the hall, and pressed the down button.
Out in the distance a blob of blackness turned on the horizon. As it spun, it sucked the living juice and color from every corner of nature. The blueness of the sky quickly transformed into a blank, unnatural white. The very pigment was sucked from the blades of grass beneath and around Mirela. Next, the roots and plants were ripped out of the earth, and then the soil and ground itself were swallowed by the ghastly cyclone. Mirela sat in the middle of all of this, bewildered and unscathed. The black tornado of destruction evaporated before her eyes, leaving her naked and alone in the blindingly white nothingness.
Mirela gasped, as her eyes flashed open. She lay in bed panting with a cold sweat. The cat curled up at her feet let out a mew and began to purr. A wave of relief flooded Mirela’s body. The sound of Moon Pie’s purr calmed her rapidly pulsating heart. However, her thoughts were on fire.
She knew what the dream had meant.
Feelings she had long since ignored, escaped in her sleep, when her guard was down. She was content when she concerned herself with the lives of the beetles, ants, and clients, but the big black cyclone of fear chasing her had finally caught up. Instead of some freckly, snaggle-toothed third grader breaking the news by yelling, “You’re It,” a memory she had managed to forget for a few months, ran up, tagged her and whispered, “You’re Alone-“
The empty ache she had suppressed (for the most part) since moving to this new town was unmistakable as ever, as she lay in her dark, chilly room. It was the same indescribable feeling that had consumed her on the day he left for good. No matter how much Mirela traveled or tried to lose herself, the same hollow thirst always returned. Her thoughts and seclusion swallowed her whole. She often found comfort in nature, but now she knew she needed someone else. She could go to the theater, the diner, or even the tavern? It was necessary to her well-being. She needed another human’s affection; She could give no more.
Before Mirela could leave her apartment, she heard a knock on the door. She slowly turned the knob, not knowing who to expect. The same young girl that was crumpled on the floor in front of her door shaking and exhausted a few days earliar, stood tall with a friendly, open smile. She had been up on an early morning run and had decided to stop by to thank Mirela for her helpful advice. Miranda offered Mirela a warm, well-needed hug. Her heart lightened a bit at this kind-hearted gesture. Miranda left, abandoning Mirela with her afflictions. Mirela locked up her room, ventured down to the end of the hall, and pressed the down button.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Mirela Meets Pokey
It is early evening and Mirela treads around the room, pulling the lamp chains and blowing the candles out. It has been a long interesting day at work. She travels down the steep set of stairs, using the splintery railing as her guide. After bidding Mrs. Ryan and Harold goodbye, she pulls the thick wooden door shut behind her and sets out for #725 of the Thallow Flats ( a small space she likes to call "home")
On her last stretch of block Mirela notices a figure across the street nervously fiddling with a head set and player. The young man then approaches the cross walk and presses the orange button three times; the WALK sign blinks on. The boyish man studies his possessions and surroundings, while uttering underneath his breath and nodding his head, possibly making a mental checklist. He looks both ways, steps out between the thick, faded lines of the crosswalk, and begins to cross with his head in a down-turned position.
Mirela stands motionless, just feet from the dull bronze doors of the Thallow Flats. She is absorbed in observation, processing every minute detail of this man's being, while writing his story in her mind the entire time. Realizing that she is staring, though she doubts the man notices, Mirela turns toward the entrance of the flats. She takes half a step and then glances over her shoulder to get one last glimpse of this odd stranger. At that very second, his bag rips open and the contents spill onto the dusty, gray concrete. Wool socks, flannel shirts, galoshes, and thermal wear all fall into a messy unorganized pile of winter clothing. The man begins to frantically collect his clothes with a clenched jaw and reddened cheeks. He could not pick up his belongings fast enough. Mirela was already standing over him with kind eyes. She bends down and picks up a pair of wooly socks and holds them out to him like an offering. He quietly accepts the socks, only making a few seconds of shifty eye contact.
"Hi, I'm Mirela. Do you need a hand? I have an extra bag you can borrow."
Mirela began to pull a cloth grocery bag out of her gigantic purse.
"Um, No. I'm fine."
He begins to pick up each item and stuffs them underneath his arm. It is obvious that he isn't going to be able to carry everything, so Mirela stands her ground.
"Here, just use the bag. I can come pick it up later. Are you in a hurry?"
"No, it's just that I can't let these clothes out of my hands until I get to my room and it's getting dark and mom doesn't like me to-"
He stopped his fast paced stream of words mid statement as Mirela unfolded his hand, placing the bag onto his palm.
"It's no big deal. I live in room #725. Oh, and I never asked you your name."
He gazed into Mirela's gentle eyes with astonishment.
"I'm Pokey. Um, thank you."
And with that, Mirela was off to enjoy the nearing sunset.
On her last stretch of block Mirela notices a figure across the street nervously fiddling with a head set and player. The young man then approaches the cross walk and presses the orange button three times; the WALK sign blinks on. The boyish man studies his possessions and surroundings, while uttering underneath his breath and nodding his head, possibly making a mental checklist. He looks both ways, steps out between the thick, faded lines of the crosswalk, and begins to cross with his head in a down-turned position.
Mirela stands motionless, just feet from the dull bronze doors of the Thallow Flats. She is absorbed in observation, processing every minute detail of this man's being, while writing his story in her mind the entire time. Realizing that she is staring, though she doubts the man notices, Mirela turns toward the entrance of the flats. She takes half a step and then glances over her shoulder to get one last glimpse of this odd stranger. At that very second, his bag rips open and the contents spill onto the dusty, gray concrete. Wool socks, flannel shirts, galoshes, and thermal wear all fall into a messy unorganized pile of winter clothing. The man begins to frantically collect his clothes with a clenched jaw and reddened cheeks. He could not pick up his belongings fast enough. Mirela was already standing over him with kind eyes. She bends down and picks up a pair of wooly socks and holds them out to him like an offering. He quietly accepts the socks, only making a few seconds of shifty eye contact.
"Hi, I'm Mirela. Do you need a hand? I have an extra bag you can borrow."
Mirela began to pull a cloth grocery bag out of her gigantic purse.
"Um, No. I'm fine."
He begins to pick up each item and stuffs them underneath his arm. It is obvious that he isn't going to be able to carry everything, so Mirela stands her ground.
"Here, just use the bag. I can come pick it up later. Are you in a hurry?"
"No, it's just that I can't let these clothes out of my hands until I get to my room and it's getting dark and mom doesn't like me to-"
He stopped his fast paced stream of words mid statement as Mirela unfolded his hand, placing the bag onto his palm.
"It's no big deal. I live in room #725. Oh, and I never asked you your name."
He gazed into Mirela's gentle eyes with astonishment.
"I'm Pokey. Um, thank you."
And with that, Mirela was off to enjoy the nearing sunset.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Between Day Break And Night Fall
On a particularly warm day, a woman of 32 years carelessly tosses her sandals off and sinks her amber feet into the cool, wet soil of the community garden. She smiles silently, perhaps noticing that her shiny toe nails look like the little lavender shells of the animals that burrow deep in the sand at the beach back home.
Mirela has been living on the top floor of the Thallow Flats for a little over three months and has made very few friends. Her dark, untamed beauty and private lifestyle leave the town dwellers to their highly judgmental imaginations. Every morning she rises with the sun and the birds. At dusk, she drinks a single glass of red wine, while watching the sun set from the roof of the flats. What takes place in between, in her private meetings above the rare book store, is unknown to the public.
Preparing for the upcoming winter season, Mirela, using her strong, feminine arms, prudently uproots natural herbs to bring indoors and save from the cold. While humming a soothing tune, she mends the dirt in the places where the wonderful plants used to reside. She gently pats the soil to leave the remaining perennial plants undisturbed in the bed they no longer share. A cool breeze causes a wind chime that is hanging quaintly in a tree to sound its eerie song. In an instant, the tiny hairs on the back of Mirela's neck prickle up. She cautiously scans the grounds with her glorious green and golden flecked eyes to check for any unexpected visitors. Though she strongly senses a presence, she physically sees no one. She listens carefully to what the wind and trees murmur and feels safe once again. After collecting the herbs in a hand-woven basket, she walks to the rare book store and pulls open the majestic, heavy door.
A woman with silver hair and readers sits in the corner absorbed in a book. She doesn't appear to hear or even notice Mirela's entrance.
"Good Morning," Mirela cheerfully speaks.
"Didn't see you there, my dear. Good morning to you too," replies the shop keeper.
With that simple exchange of greetings, Mirela makes her way through the shelves and stacks of age-old books. At the foot of the dangerously steep and skinny set of stairs, Mirela clears her mind and prepares to assume her daily role as Madame Fouquois. She proceeds onward.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Come Together
SO, the first blog post that I wrote at school was a total failure. Seconds after completing my entry..."the spinning wheel of death" took over my computer. Now, I will begin to write my first post (a short one) from my faithful and trustworthy computer at home.
English has always been my favorite subject. When students at Decatur ask me about my schedule, I get a variety of responses at the mention of APWorldLit. Most people (not the folks reading this) think I'm insane for actually wanting to take a challenging course taught by the infamous Ms. Williams. I see this class as an opportunity to learn and grow, or as something that allows me to be creative or to express myself (which is always exciting!).
Our first major assignment (creating a story of a town and characters) sounds like a lot of fun. Since there will be a plethora of ideas being tossed about from student to student, I think it will be very interesting to see what the class puts together. I can't possibly imagine what masterpiece will be created when everyone is playing/working off of each other.
It's about time for me to go to choir practice. Thanks for reading!
-Alex
English has always been my favorite subject. When students at Decatur ask me about my schedule, I get a variety of responses at the mention of APWorldLit. Most people (not the folks reading this) think I'm insane for actually wanting to take a challenging course taught by the infamous Ms. Williams. I see this class as an opportunity to learn and grow, or as something that allows me to be creative or to express myself (which is always exciting!).
Our first major assignment (creating a story of a town and characters) sounds like a lot of fun. Since there will be a plethora of ideas being tossed about from student to student, I think it will be very interesting to see what the class puts together. I can't possibly imagine what masterpiece will be created when everyone is playing/working off of each other.
It's about time for me to go to choir practice. Thanks for reading!
-Alex
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