The Fox and The Sparrow

There was once a fox who lived in a hole in a grassy field in the French countryside. He was never happy. He would scamper to and fro, catching mice where he could, and eating garbage from the folks who lived not to far away when he couldn't find any mice.

One day, as he was grumbling to himself about how scratchy the grass was as he brushed pass, he spotted a movement off to his right a few yards away.
"Oh goodie, there's my lunch," he thought. He immediately went into stealth mode and crept silently toward his prey. Closer, closer, closer, until he was just a breath away from the oblivious mouse. Suddenly, the fox sneezed.
"ACHOO!"

The mouse was off in a flash. The fox cursed and humphed to himself, letting his head fall on his front paws.
"Humph," he humphed.
After lying there for a minute or two, the fox saw another movement off to his left. Grumbling he got back up and quietly padded over to his next victim, however, he wasn't as quiet as he was the first time, and the mouse heard him coming. It darted off into the tall grass away from the fox.
"Grrrr," growled the fox, his mood quickly falling from its already low altitude.
After a few minutes he heard a squeak behind him. He quickly turned and pounced on the creature, however it scampered up his paw and jumped off his back before he realized what had happened.
"Gaaaahhh!" howled the fox. "Why can't I get just a single, meatless, mangy mouse?"

He kicked a pebble in front of him and turned around, planning to head back to his hole to eat some of the garbage he had stored for such occasions when he couldn't catch any mice.
"Ow!" a voice said. The fox lazily swung his head back around, but he couldn't see anything through the grass. "I say, what would you do that for?" the voice asked. The fox squinted, but still couldn't see anything.
"Who's there?" snarled the fox.
"I am, chap," the voice answered, predictably. "Though I shouldn't be. It's quite strange, it is. Can't really make head or tails of it!"

The fox hungrily walked toward the direction of the voice. Soon the grass parted in front of him, and he saw a small, English sparrow lying in a clearing, sprawled awkwardly with one wing bent at a strange angle.

"Ah! Foxy, I do say. do you think you could help an ol' chap out?" the sparrow asked, smiling as the fox walk into the clearing.
"And why would I do that?" questioned the salivating fox. "What have you ever done for me?"
"Well, nothing, I'm quite afraid! Though I dare say you could get a warm feeling right down in your belly if you were to straighten my wing for me!" the cheerful sparrow petitioned.
"Oh, I'm sure I would get a warm feeling in my belly," the fox answered. "Though I doubt it's the kind of warm feeling you're thinking of."
"Oh ho ho! Foxy! What a joke! But come now, I am in quite a lot of pain, and you are in a position to help me!" it chirped.
"Give me one good reason why I should help you instead of eat you," the fox challenged.
"Well, it tis the season, is it not?" the sparrow tried.
"I don't even know what that means, bird." And the fox began to advance on the helpless sparrow.
"Quite right, quite right..." the sparrow muttered to itself, seemingly completely oblivious to the hungry fox padding toward it. "Oh wait! I've got it!"
The fox stopped, glaring.
"You like mice, if I'm not mistaken?" the sparrow asked.
"Not particularly," grumbled the fox.
"I see, well, that's that!" the sparrow conceded.
"What's what?" the confused fox asked.
The sparrow laughed. "You know, I don't quite know, chap!" And the sparrow laughed to itself as it lay on the ground.

The fox was taken back. He didn't understand how this helpless sparrow could possibly laugh with a broken wing and the threat of being eaten alive.

The fox thought to himself for a second, then shrugged. A meal was a meal. He walked over to the sparrow and gobbled it up, then headed back to his hole in the ground to take his afternoon nap.

THE END

The moral of the story: You can never trust the French when they're hungry.

Called To Serve

Dear Elder Howell,

You are hereby called to serve as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. You are assigned to labor in the New Jersey Morristown Mission. You should report to the Mexico Missionary Training center on Wednesday, March 4, 2015. You will prepare to preach the gospel in the Spanish language.

I've reached that point in my life where I now have the privilege to serve The Lord for two years of my life!! I am beyond excited. There will be no other time in my life where I am able to dedicate 100% of my time, ALL the time, to this gospel. It really is a blessing.

If someone had told me a few years ago that I would be serving my mission in New Jersey speaking Spanish, I'm not going to lie, I think I would be pretty disappointed. However, I can't even begin to describe the immense joy and gratitude I felt as I read that first line of my call. "You are hereby called to serve as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints," and that's when I knew that I would be completely fine with wherever I was called to. 

I am honored to be called to serve the people of New Jersey, and I can't imagine I could have been happier with anywhere else I could have been called. The church is true. I testify to you through this run-of-the-mill blog that Jesus Christ lives, and that Joseph Smith saw Him and The Father in a vision in 1820. This is fact. And now I get to go tell everybody the joyous news: "God loves you! You are His child." 

I am so excited to serve. 

"For the fullness of mine intent is that I may persuade men to come unto the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, and be saved." (1 Nephi 6:4)

Cheesecake

Sometimes you just have nothing to write about.

This Is College

Well, I suppose you could say that I made it! Twelve long years of school completed, (fourteen if you count kindergarten and preschool) ...and now I'm back again for another four to six! How marvelous.

But I like it here. BYU really is a nice place to be, especially since I am so familiar with the area. It practically feels like home! And home as now become home for some 2,000+ more freshmen besides me. Granted, classes haven't started yet, and to be honest, so far it has all felt a lot like EFY all over again. But that's okay! Because EFY is awesome. And I'm not sure if I'm completely ready for classes to start. But they will, and when that time comes, I will say a prayer and dive in.

My roommate's name is Isaac, and he's from Canada. Pretty cool huh? His ethnicity is actually Turkish, and he's not a member (as of right now). He has been investigating since January though! So I hope that I will be able to answer any of the questions he may have, and that I will be able to show him the depth of my testimony through my actions. He's definitely in the right place though, surrounded by the gospel. I wish everybody could have this opportunity and be as open to learn as he is. He's such a great kid.

One of my goals for college is to be more social than I was in high school! So I plan on going to more of the events going on here than I did in college. Now, that doesn't mean I'm going to go to EVERY one, because I doubt I will ever get to that point (and frankly I really don't want to either!). I'm content being who I am, but I realize that I should step a little further out of my shell for a little bit here. I gotta work on remembering people's names! That's gonna be a big thing. I can talk to all the people I want, but if I can't remember their name, (which I usually don't...) then it won't really matter haha. So that's goal number two!

I really love how much BYU is centered in the gospel. It surrounds everything here! It's going to help me so much in preparing for a mission. One of the things that really hit me during freshman orienteering happened during a devotional we all had Friday morning. They were showing a video documentary made about the history of BYU, and one of the quotes somewhere in the middle of it stood out far above the others. I can't give it justice by just summarizing, so here is the actual quote, with the bolded part being the thing that stood out to me:

Zina Young Williams, the dean of women of the Brigham Young Academy in Provo and a daughter of Brigham Young. The academy was less than a decade old and was experiencing serious financial difficulties that, if not resolved, would mean its closing. After listening to Sister Williams’s plea for help, President Taylor took her hand “in a fatherly way” and said:

“My dear child, I have something of importance to tell you that I know will make you happy. I have been visited by your father. He came to me in the silence of the night clothed in brightness and with a face beaming with love and confidence told me things of great importance and among others that the school being taught by Brother [Karl G.] Maeser was accepted in the heavens and was a part of the great plan of life and salvation; . . . and there was a bright future in store for . . . preparing . . . the children of the covenant for future usefulness in the Kingdom of God, and that Christ himself was directing, and had a care over this school.” [Leonard J. Arrington, ed., The Presidents of the Church (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1986), pp. 108–109]

I know that that statement is true. I know the gospel of Jesus Christ is true, and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints is the only church on the face of this earth that contains the fullness of God's plan, His words, and His love for His children. That is my testimony, and I'm so proud to be part of the newest class of Brigham Young University! Go Cougars!

The Boy And The Moon

He sat.

He sat outside in the starlight, gazing up at the thick clouds that covered most of the flickering lights.

They're so inconsistent, he thought to himself. The stars. He laid back into the blanket of soft grass that whispered like silk, swaying gently in the night air. One moment you think you see one, only to squint a little harder and realize that the sky was playing tricks on your eyes. The stars... He sighed. The stars are beautiful; they shimmer like dim light reflecting off old crystal in a filled ballroom. But the Moon... The Moon is beauty.

He closed his eyes and smiled slightly, the corner of his mouth curving into a satisfied curl. He loved spending his summer nights sleeping outside in the fresh air. It gave him a sense of freedom that he couldn't feel anywhere else.

The trees around him rustled suddenly as a stronger gust of wind howled through the sky. They shook for a second or two and then settled again, the noise once more being replaced with the sounds of the night. The boy listened to the chirping symphony of crickets and cicadas, the grass playing a part in the music as well. They droned out the noise of the highway only a stone throw away from where he lay. Not that the highway was quite busy at this time of night, but it comforted the boy.

Ironically, he thought, they are louder than the cars. And yet, they are silence. I hear them, but yet I do not. They are the noise of my thoughts - loud and many, yet private and unregistered. They are beautiful as well; all around me, and yet I don't see them. But they are there... they are there.

The boy opened his eyes, but the rest of his body stayed still. The night was not unpleasant, but he had experienced better.

He shivered.

Another breeze snuck through the air, making the trees sing again, adding harmonies of frail tones to the orchestra of the night, as if to announce the presence of their guest of honor.

A cloud shifted.

The Moon appeared, revealing herself in a dreamy ribbon of silvery light. She gazed down from the sky and found herself looking directly into the eyes of the boy.

"Hello Moon," said the boy, letting his eyes take in her beauty. "You look magnificent tonight."

"Of course I do," replied the Moon. "When do I not?"

"I cannot answer that," said the boy, closing his eyes again.

"I thought not," laughed the Moon, sending out beams of light into the hazy clouds nearby.

"Tell me," said the boy, "Do you ever grow weary?"

"Oh no," said she. "Not I."

"Of course not, of course not," replied the boy with a wave. "Forgive me." He sat up suddenly and leaned his back on a nearby tree, his legs crossed in front of him. "But I must ask, why do you wear a mask?"

The Moon looked curiously at the boy.

"What I mean is, why do you hide your beauty for a month, only revealing yourself completely on only one night out of thirty?"

"I fear you are mistaken," replied the Moon. "Am I not always this wonderful? I wear no mask - I have no need for one."

"I see," sighed the boy, sinking back down the tree trunk to lie down once more.

"I am always shining, boy," said she. "Whether or not you can see my beauty is not my problem." And she focused her attention elsewhere.

"Indeed," the boy said quietly, and looked away. "Indeed it is not. But the Sun never made such excuses..."

"What was that?" snapped the Moon, immediately focusing back on the boy.

"Oh nothing," said the boy, closing his eyes once more. "But you have no reason to be jealous of the Sun. You're much easier on the eyes, and one could stare at you all night and never grow tired."

"That certainly is true," huffed the Moon. "But don't believe for a second that I am jealous of the Sun, oh no!"

"Oh no," repeated the boy to himself. Then, softer than the moon could hear, he whispered, "Though if I was only a reflection of another's glory, I wouldn't feel beautiful, I'd feel cheap. Tainted. No, I would rather make something of myself that others could admire fully every day, and not just on nights when the moon is full and the stars are covered."

"What on earth are you mumbling about?" questioned the Moon. The boy chucked at her unintended pun.

"Do not worry yourself over it," said the boy.

The wind rustled the trees again and the boy shivered. There was a long silence before the boy spoke again.

"Moon, do you ever grow lonely?"

He waited for an answer, but all that replied were the crickets and cicadas. After a long time, the boy questioned again.

"Moon?"

The boy opened his eyes, but the moon had disappeared again behind the veil of clouds that blanketed the sky.

How I Became The Sea

June was the lobster shell I dug by hand; a haven that hid me well beneath the sand

The white, windy waves washed in, but I stayed dry. The great breakers broke again as I nodded off inside. And then, when the empress ran aground and my eyes turned blue and green, I heard a gorgeous sound, and that's when it became a dream. When the sky fell in, when the hurricanes came for me - I could finally crash again.

And that's how I became the sea.

I wrenched the engines off and drank them down, the depths turned the iron soft as they swiftly drowned. And I brought the ocean side to its' rusty knees, as I felt the eventide deepen my shallowed dreams.

And Then

When the empress ran aground, and my eyes turned blue and green, I heard a gorgeous sound.

And that's when it became a dream

When the sky fell in.

When the hurricanes came for me, I could finally crash again.

And that's how I became the sea...

Dream

Dream

I swear I saw a castle

Hidden by the hills

Sunken by the passing time

Frozen in its frills

The amber gates were firebrick red

The towering spires white

The shady hue was tinted blue

All colors of a kite

The countryside was picturesque

With fertile lands to sow

Mountains rising far behind

Laced with ice and snow

I swear I saw a castle

Fair as I've ever seen

I swear I saw that castle

But it may have been just a dream

~Trevor Howell

The Epic Story of Awesomeness

    Parker walked in. “Hey everybody!” He shouted. “Time to get crazayzay!” Nobody really knew what that word meant, but they all cheered and threw up their hands and started dancing. They were at a dinner festival with the best food around. The year was 2043, and everybody had superpowers because in 2038, the new government, the S.U.S.A. (Semi-United States of America) decided it would be totally awesome to start human experimentation zo that everybody else could benefit from new, engineered genes. When they had succeeded, they handed out superpowers like candy on Halloween night to everybody that wanted them, except for people with a criminal record, for obvious reasons. Naturally, a good majority of the S.U.S.A. wanted superpowers, so they practically broke down the Grey House doors to get them. We hear stories about back in the day when democracy was still alive that it used to be called the White House, but now, covered in ashes and soot form the ruins and craters surrounding it, it is anything but white.

    “Attention everybody,” spoke Parker. “We have a problem. The S.U.S.A. has become too corrupt and therefore must be overthrown.” Everybody quieted down as they comprehended his words. “I’ve found startling evidence that the government has implanted within each superhuman gene a mind control switch. All they have to do is press the big red button and BAM! You’re under their control.” A cry of alarm went through the crowd, and one of the guests spontaneously burst into flames. People around him screamed, but he soon extinguished himself. That was his superpower.

    “I will take three of you with me to carry out this secret mission we must accomplish if we are to gain peace once again. I want Ezreal, Elise, and Ryze all to join me.” The three of them stepped forward, or rather, Ezreal teleported forward. The other two walked like normal. “Let’s go.”

    They were at the Capitol within seconds, due to Ezreal’s teleportation.

    “It’s going to be tricky,” cautioned Ryze. “We should make a plan.”

    “Naw,” yawned Elise, and she stood up. “Let’s just get this over with.” Ryze gave her a glare and she apathetically sat back down.

    “Here’s a blueprint of the Grey House,” said Parker, pulling out a holographic card. “We’ll enter from here,” he suggested, pointing at the balcony.

    “It’s cold out here,” complained Elise, wrapping herself up in her jacket. “I hate the wind.”

    “Then let’s get inside!” said Ezreal with a smirk, and he vanished in a puff of dull golden light. Three seconds later he was back. “You guys coming? Sheesh. Slow-pokes.” They all grabbed on to him and suddenly they were on the balcony. Ryze looked around and noticed a piano. How odd. They cautiously crept inside, sending Elise to scout ahead.

    “It’s just because I’m small, isn’t it?” she complained, and transformed into a spider. The other three waited insolence until she returned thirty minutes later. “What exactly was I looking for?” she asked. Ryze lost his patience.

    “The big red button, you flawed little spider!” he raged. “We have to disable it!”

    “Ah,” she said. “I found that, but there were a lot of people around it, so I just pushed it.”

    “YOU WHAT?!” they all exclaimed.

    Suddenly, Ryze’s and Ezreal’s eyes turned white, and they stared blankly at Elise. She laughed. “Now you are all mine! You will all bow to the Spider Queen!” She tossed her head back and cackled evilly, while a clap of thunder conveniently echoed in the background, and it randomly started to rain. As she stopped laughing and let down her head, she noticed that Parker was looking at her with a different expression.

    “You fiend!” exclaimed Parker. “You witch! It was all for honey! It was you all along! You fed me this information just so that I would bring you here and you could control everybody!” Elise laughed again, but then realized that Parker’s eyes weren’t white, and he had complete control of himself. It was too late, Parker was already running at her, and tackled her to the ground. He wasn’t exactly sure what he hoped to accomplish by doing this, but he wrestled with her as it began to rain harder, and lighting flashed all around. Finally Parker subdued her by pinning her against a wall with a knife to her throat.

    “How… Why are you not under… the spell?” Elise gasped.

    “Because I wasn’t a fool,” shouted Parker over the raging storm. “I didn’t trust that the government had good intentions when they handed out superpowers. Good thing I never took one!” And with that, he stabbed Elise.

    …Right in the arm. She squealed. “Ow! Ow that hurts! Cut it out! I won’t be bad anymore, I promise!”

    “Okay,” Parker said, and let her go. “Let’s go back inside and disable that big red button so that everybody will be normal again.”

    “Alright,” she whimpered, holding her arm tenderly, and they went inside as the rain suddenly stopped and the sun came out.

    And so, the world was saved by Parker Skousen, because he had the guts to stand up for what was right. Not everybody can be super, but those who are given the chance for power and turn it down are the real superheroes. This concludes The Epic Story of Awesomeness.

FIN

An Inverted Desire

In every kind of literature, be it books, newspapers, or even the internet, there is always conflict of some sort. Conflict between two characters, or two nations, it's all the same. We read all the time about conspiracies, murders, accidents, and gossip, not because we desire that to happen to ourselves, but because it's interesting to read. No NBC news story is going to cover the twelve thousand year history of the Aspen Tree, nor will any full length novel describe how people weave baskets for a full 800+ pages, and expect anybody to honestly pay attention or listen to them. (Even though English teachers have a knack for finding incredibly dull books and making them required reading) No, what people want to read about is war. The dirty secrets of kings and queens. The intricate details of a murder plot, to either be foiled or carried out. I can't quite explain this desire we have as a human race, the need to devour information concerning disruption from normality, but it's imbedded in our very personalities.

And this is why it's so hard to put down a good book after it has ended.

Think to yourself, you've had that time in your life where you were completely engrossed in a series of books, and since there were so many of them, and each one was over 500 pages in length, you had this subconscious thought process that the story would never end. You thought it would be infinite.
And then you reached the end.

And then this all-consuming rage welled up inside of you, and you considered writing angry inquiry notes to the author, begging him to tell you what happens after the series ended. But alas, that cannot be, because authors are masters at their craft. To write ideas down is no large accomplishment, and to create a story from your imagination isn't all that difficult either. The real challenge, and that which makes authors so good, is where they choose to end their tale. Because they realize, even though their readers have become incredibly attached to these characters, through the adventures and dangers they've traversed, that if they continue the story too long after all of the action has died down, the readers will lose their interest, and the magic of the book dies.

Thus, our inverted desire.

We desire to know what happens to Harry Potter's children as they grow up, and experience the magical world. We desire to know what becomes of Frodo after he leaves Middle Earth. But the reality is, we really don't. As I said before, if a book continues too long after the adventure has ended, the thrill of the book ends with it, and all that's left is peaceful, uneventful times. And unless you're an English teacher, you don't want to read about the dull, unexciting events of normal life. We experience that ourselves, therefore what purpose does it serve if what we read is a parallel to our day to day routines? Nothing. It serves us nothing, and makes us lose interest.

Authors walk a fine line when choosing how to end a book, I'm sure. They must fret about it every day, unless they already have a clear ending in mind. Because, no matter how well the story was in the middle, endings can ruin books if they're done wrong. All too often have I heard people rant and rant about a book because of its ending, and usually the ones I've heard aren't the only ones upset. Take the Hunger Games series, for example. Out of the many people I have talked to, I have only come across one person who said that he didn't mind the final book. Everybody else, myself included, have hated it, for a variety of different reasons.

Nobody likes the end of a good series, but there is a significant difference between a bad ending, and an un-likeable ending, purely because it was the end of something you love. But I am of the opinion that if you find yourself in the second description when reaching the end of the book, then the author has done his job well. Though curiosity inevitably remains, concerning what becomes of the characters after the last page in the book, the author knows about this inverted desire. And while I'm sure it is harder for the author than anyone else, he must end the story, for fear of doing it injustice.
Our inverted desire is what keeps balance to curiosity and actuality.

And so, I offer this blog post to those who may read it, as a source of comfort, in a way. This is why we cannot know what happens after all has been written that should be. Though it may take a day or two to come back to reality after the end of your series, once you do, you will be able to understand this inverted desire, and the reason the author ended his or her book in the way they did.

And hopefully, this too will bring you peace.

From Dust to Dust

I imagine it to be quiet there, and peaceful.

Kind of like the end of a long day with friends, working in the coal mines as the darkness suffocates your lungs as much as the dust around you. But all you find are diamonds.

There are colors we've never seen, and scents we've never smelled; some foreign mixture of dreams and the violet hue in your grandmother's blueberry pie. The golden crust crumbles like the stars in the sky, appearing as clearly in the day as they do in the night, backed in a canopy of blueish purple. The water would always be glass - a million similar crystals bound in the earth that sustains life and beauty. Grass would grow everywhere, and no one would fear walking barefoot, for the carpeted ground would feel as though you were walking on the clouds in the sky. The sun would constantly be shining, but not in an overbearing way, rather the perfect temperature for each individual person.

There would be peace everywhere. No fighting, no lying, no famine, and no ingratitude. No secrets, only mysteries yet to be revealed.

The green eyes would be truthful. The long hair would flow as sand between fingers - elusive, yet ever present. The brown shoulders would sustain any amount of weight charged to them. The scarlet ears would hear all, from the wings of the hawks, to the gills of the fish; from the breeze in the air to the rhythm of a cricket.

I long to be there.

But I must wait until my day is done, and I have polished and presented the diamonds I have found.

Turtles Are Immune to Water Balloons

Hello everybody, and welcome back to my blog. As a few of you may know, not too long ago I got my wisdom teeth out, and it was quite the experience. It was pretty miserable not being able to eat, like, anything for about a week... but you know, life goes on. Anyway, shortly after arriving home from the surgery, my mom gave me her laptop so that I could write. I had asked her before the operation if she would do that, mostly because I just wanted to see what would come out if I tried to sit down and type while I was high. This is what came of it.

DISCLAIMER

What you are about to read has not been altered in any way since the first drafting of this Word document.
Thank you.

My mouth is really dry and it tastest like throw up because I think I threw up in the car. Something was really funny in the office, but I was in a really nice soft chair with a soft blanket. My mom told me to stop laughing but I don’t know why I was laughing or why she even told me ot stop laughing. Wow! it’s 11:00 already. It started at 800 and I was really nervous because I really don’t like needles. But the doctor said that there would be no needles and there would just be a tube that went into my vein. I didn’t laugh at him, but I should have because how could you get the tube into my vein without a needle?? It doesn’t make any sense, doc. It really hurt when he put it into my arm and I was hoping I would be out in a snap. But I didn’t hear any snaps and it kept hurting and then they put an oxygen mask on my nose like I was going to die and I didn’t want to die. But I didn’t obviously because I am writing this. Then after like a minute I couldn’t feel my arm and then it was cold and then I was in a big soft chair with a really warm blanket. It was so nice. But my arm still hurt and I thought the doctor was still trying to find my vein. But when I took the blanket off there was something taped to my arm. Thanks a lot doc, now I will have to pull the tape off of my arm hair too, just like everybody at school thinks is funny to put tape on my arm. It’s not funny it hurts. But it’s okay.

Hahahahahahaha guess what I am on laundry this week but I just found a great excuse to get out of it. MOM I CAN’T FEEL MY CHIN. Some turtles are floating through my mind or something because Taylor Swift is telling them that she can’t ever ever ever put them back toghter. Poor turtles. I wonder if turtles know how to throw water balloons. If I ever had a water baaloon fight with a turtle I don’t know who would win because I think turtles are supposed to get wet or else they die. So I would have to get it wet a lot. But it has a shell so it would just splash on its shell. Oh well maybe I won’t have a water fight with a turtle I don’t want to be an animal hater.

My mouth is so dry it feels like somebody put a bllowdryer in my mouth and it turnd on and made it like a desert. Oh my mom is so great she just gave me some water and that felt really good. Except I don’t know if I am going to throw up again. I hate throwing up it’s so gross. I feel completely normal I don’t know why some people get all crazy and stuff after their wisdom teeth. I just feel super dizzy like I am going to fall over even though I am sitting down. Do you know how hard it is to walk? I never realized how hard it is to walk when you’re dizzy and have gauss in your mouth. Ew I hate gauss. Who even thought of that idea? It’s like, “Come here little boy let me put this super dry piece of cloth in your mouth and watch you try and talk. Hahaha! see? You can’t do it, you silly little boy.”

I’m so sad I can’t eat any food. I’m so hungry this is worse than fast Sunday because on fast Sunday you don’t have gauss in your mouth and I still can’t feel my chin. This is so weird because when I touch it it feels like it’s not even mine. It’s just a funny feeling bunch of nothing where my chin is. I tried to lick my chin but I can’t touch my tongue to my chin. My brother Jaden used to have a really short tongue and it made me laugh because he couldn’t stick it out very far hahahahahaha. But then they clipped something in his mouth and now he can bring it out of his mouth. Tongues are so weird. What even are tongues made out of? I’m pretty sure it’s not skin. Tongues are kind of gross too because it’s just like a little pink flappy thing inside your mouth and it does whatever it wants and it gets in the way of your teeth when you’re trying to eat like it’s saying, “Hey teeth, I’m flapping here, do you mind? It hurt when you bit me.” And then I get mad because even though it was my own fault for biting my tongue, it felt like it was ITS fault for being in the way. GO BACK TO WHERE YOU BELONG TONGUE.

It’s a pretty day today. Theres a blue sky and it’s pretty warm for January, even though it’s warmer in Mexico. I’m looking at two candles right now and I don’t even know why we have those tow candles in our house. They’re never lit. They just stay there all day being unlit.

I’m really tired. I woke up this morning worrying about being poked with a needle because I hate needles. But it turns out the doctor said there wasn’t even a needle to put me to sleep, Just a tube. It didn’t make sense to me but he had a lot of plaques in his office with certificates and stuff so I think he knows what he is doing. My lip feels huge. My mom says I’m not swelling but I feel like my lip is a balloon. Please don’t pop it I need my lips for when I can eat food again. I’M SO HUNGRY I JUST WANT FOOD THAT I CAN EAT. But I’m afraid that I will throw it back up. THat’s dumb I’m not even sick and I’m throwing up. It’s okay guys, I’m not contagious you can still touch me.

My hair is so long and it’s starting to do its own thing now. Ms. Nelsen says I can’t cut it but I think I am going to cut it because it gets so messy. I don’t want to grow a beard either. I only like them when they are on other people. But it’s too scratchy.

Oh my gosh my lip is so huge I just know it. I bet my mom is lying to me. Actually I don’t think that because my mom is too good to lie. I have such a good mom I love her. Everthing I see is two things. I can’t read my writing because there are two words where there should be just one word but it’s still the same word. This is really uncomfortable and comfortable at the same time. Minus the gauss and the gross taste in my mouth I think is throw up, I feel great. My mom put a spiderman blanket on me and I’m resting on a lot of pillows. I look like a nun because I have an ice pack on my head but it keeps sliding off because of my hair. I’m really tired. But I can’t sleep yet because my friends said they would come visit me during lunch! So I have to stay awake for them because I love seeing my friends. I don’t care if they laugh at me because that’s what friends are supposed to do. I also really like Jaden. He has become a really good friend to me lately and I like him. We used to fight when we were like ten, but now we don’t and we just tease each other and laugh. I like it when we get competitive with each other because I usually win :) Unless it’s something that he is really good at like Chinese, but we’ve never had a Chinese competition because I don’t even speak Chinese.

Anyway I think I am done writing. My mouth is really dry and I want some water. At least I didn’t have to go to school today! Yay! Okay bye.

It's 1:13 AM

It's 1:13 AM, and what am I doing? Blogging. Duh.

What is my life...

There is a castle set on a hill, I'm sure. One with tall spires and oak lining, protecting the inhabitants inside. The flags wave triumphantly. The bells toll gloriously. The sun shines through the open windows of her room and the slight breeze catches the drapes and they float around like ghosts. The glint of her closed eyes makes it seem like she is dreaming, being funneled through endless space in a whirlpool of her memories. Her crystal lips smile like the ice sculpture in the courtyard, surrounded by dozens of flocking doves. Her emerald hair billows down over her small shoulders and some say that if you get close enough to touch it, it shimmers like a glass lake in mid-summer.

This is the Princess of the Castle.

She dreams of swimming and dancing with the nymphs and elves, and to go on victorious quests where she could conquer her fears, and light the waxy candles in the hallway at night to keep her on the right track. She dreams of voicing her thoughts to the wind, but doesn't recall the last time she allowed herself a voice. To speak, to listen. The frailties of the world are captured in the castle, and she sits upon the bed of her parents, to speak, and to listen. The king is bold, daring, and a brilliant musician. The queen, she came from the icy kingdoms of the north, being shaped by the chilling cold, and softened by the cracking ice. Their back stories are told in many variations of lore around the castle, but the White Princess is the only one who knows of them intimately.

It's 1:27 AM and she is still up. I'm still up, too. She is only awake in her mind, though, dipping her toes in her deepening nostalgia, whereas I feel and drift my way across the keyboard writing absurdities and legends. It's not that I can't sleep, I don't want to sleep. I want to talk and write and listen and ponder. I want to stare at the Princess of the Castle from the sun's eyes, and listen to her crystallized breathing from the moon's ears.

It's 1:32 AM and the snow outside is billowing. It wants to take me to the unknown, where lilacs smell the same as dandelions, and where the "seven ate nine" joke is still funny. It's a cruel world sometimes, but the leathery ears of the bear sitting next to me can help as my screaming pillow when the night draws to an end. The noise from this entry is creaking through the floorboards and seeping through the walls, spreading through the house, begging to be heard. But I can't let it be heard, or my untapped imagination will leave again. It's been too long since I've been here. Too long since I've smelled the fluorescent white of a blank blog page, and now here I am. At 1:43 AM. With nothing left to give, and yet wanting the rest to be heard. The moon must be waning, but on Mars, I'm sure the time difference accounts for lost sleep.

Hey, Princess, if you can still hear me, I'm here. Rooted into this tree I call my home, with all of the comforts of a gumming old man. If you can still hear me, I'm listening for the steady river stream wanting to flow from your lips and through the ears of this bear sitting next to me. I can see you through the window of your castle. Like your carved bedposts, I am waiting to decay, but not able to change unless you carve me a mouth and put your heart up next to my forehead. If it beats loud enough, perhaps the raindrops in your eyes will wipe themselves clear and you can drink to your good health and the long summer days you no doubt will have.

It's 1:56 AM, and what am I doing?

Dreaming, of course.

Walk

He walks, eyes on the ground, earphones in, listening to his favorite band. Unaware of the world and the people passing around, his feet keep moving. The mellow music keeps playing.

Brown are his eyes
Black, his hair
White are his socks
But Transparent his stare

Hazel his heart

Saturn his soul

Oily his thoughts

And murky his goal

Dark is the ground

But Green is his stride

Turquoise the air

And Golden his Guide

And he Walks.