The vague status update

We've seen it before, the one status that sounds a little like this.

"I'm so frustrated right now"

"Well that could've gone better"

"Doctor said it could be bad"

These are just a few (poor) examples that are seen across all forms of social media.  Facebook and twitter are probably the places where they show up the most (for me at least)

But I have a question.

"Why?"

Why post such a vague comment that can be so misconstrued?

Is it for sympathy? would that even be a valid use for posting a vague status update? In my opinion thats what I believe to be a major reason.  think about it, something has happened in your life and you need someone to give you support, you're not in a particular position to 'have a shoulder to cry on' so you post a vague status to use as bait, to sucker people into a position of wanting to help and support you.  We've seen these comments before.

"Is everything ok? just want you to know I'm thinking of you"

"I'm sorry, things will get better"

The thing I find unusual about this is that, on these social media sites.  The only people who see these updates are people you can trust right? These people are your friends, here to help you through pretty much anything right? So why post something to your friends thats vague and can be interpreted in many different ways?

By posting a vague status update you are receiving a false sense of sympathy, you didn't earn it through being honest, you said something that makes your life sound crappy.  Don't do this for your sake and for the sake of the people you care about, its rude and inappropriate.  If your posting about something that shouldn't be posted, then don't.  If it doesn't need to be seen by certain people then refrain from posting.

Personal matters belong with the people involved.  Unless you intend to be clear about whats going on.

"I just got fired, it was kinda my fault though"

"I broke up with my girlfriend, we just weren't that compatible"

These are examples of expressing how you feel while being clear at the same time.

Please, for the sake of your friendships/relationships stop with the vague comments, they're empty feelings.

Her hair...

Steam/Smoke

I thought this was supposed to be a happy ending, the siblings me and this Huntress have protected from werewolves, a dragon made of stoves, pans, clockwork and steam their witch of a stepmother created.  A witch of the most lethal intent.
Have I gone and shown how much of a fool I am? The youngest son of a blacksmith who can’t even help these children when they need me the most.  We reached Scarborough, the city that moves across the land, where their grandmother lives.  Just to have our journey end with their father and a king in our midst.
“Son, daughter.  Please come back home with me, your stepmother and I were worried sick” The father plead.  The siblings hid behind me and the Huntress.  Her black smoke rifle steady in her hands but not in a position to make issue.  I looked at the son, the trials we had overcome, his sister right beside him the whole way.  Me and the Huntress experiencing an adventure of strength and determination.  We became so close we could be considered a family by passerby.  The look in the son’s eyes was genuine, he would never go back.
“It would seem they’re pretty determined to leave you behind, they wish to live with their grandmother” the Huntress said causing the king to chuckle among us, his men confused.
“My children will not find their grandmother inside those walls, for she has proceeded to the next life some time ago” a carriage approached from behind the father and the king.  Out stepped a woman of genuine discomfort and unease, it was to my belief from the feeling I had and the trembling hands of the siblings, this was the stepmother they spoke of.  A witch capable of creating monsters that attack children.  A vile woman shelled in a beauty a fool would want.  The father seemed to be of good nature but a man of poor choice in love.  For if this is what he decides is a true love he is more blind than those who walk without sight.
I know not what I should do at this moment, my heart wants the siblings to have true happiness, but with their grandmother gone all our work falls on empty hope.  But a hand reaches to me.  The Huntress wishes for my attention.  The look in her eyes is all I need to know what our next option is.
“Then me and this huntress will take the children in, to care for and train”
“That’s absurd” the stepmother said “My king, of our many kings.  Please order your incompetent soldier to know his place” her slithering voice made the blood in my arms boil, my white steam rifle itching to meet her.  The king chuckled once more.
“It is clear these children are aware of an immediate threat within their own home, and wish to retreat.  My Soldier and this Huntress wish for the better of these children, which is in his right as a soldier of our country.  If he wishes this responsibility I will allow it” Everyone looked in surprise and silence to the kings words.  The father most surprised, his eyes must have been opened to a potential sight he was ignorant to.  Stepmother was upset in many degrees.
“My king, surely you see the predicament we face.  These children belong to my husband and me, not to these foolish heathens” Stepmother wished to cause these siblings harm by her hand, a witch through and through.  My heart filled with anger towards her, and the displeasure she had towards these children.
“If you wish to take your children back, than as king I demand a duel between the parents and the surrogates.  A duel to the death if necessary” I knew this king could be outrageous at times but this is a whole new level.  The father was no warrior, his knees buckled, the stepmother however had already started a spell, spirals of red magic swirling around her.  The Huntress moved the siblings out of danger and took spot in shadow to prepare her black smoke rifle.
Is this right? Is this still beneficial for the siblings? I look at the eldest brother, young but a heart so strong, nothing would break it.  He knew what had to be done as did his sister, she had a heart of radiant warmth capable of healing.  Their father would live and they knew it.  He would have to live with the choice he made.  I knew then, I had to take care of them. Me and the Huntress would.
It was decided, If I could, I will make the stepmother submit.  Allowing her to live so as to keep the siblings from seeing her death, I held confidence the Huntress felt the same way.  She had a lover who was turned into a werewolf whom she ended with her own hand during our journey.  Had she become a true love of mine? Time will tell.  In this moment we would fight to protect the siblings once again from their wicked stepmother.  Her magic a weapon against us.  My white steam rifle a weapon against her, along with Huntress’ black smoke rifle.  The two of us together will wrestle her into defeat.  We just want a chance for the siblings, our children, to live happily ever after.


Steam (POV change)
Smoke
All this work we have done.  All for nothing.  Fighting the true love of mine who had turned to the ways of the werewolf.  Ended by my own hand.  A dragon made from cookery and clocks defeated by the youngest son of a blacksmith, now a soldier beside me.  A bit of a fool, but a heart capable of moving mountains.  If it meant that our Siblings could live happily ever after he would do it too.
Their father, a foolish coward of a man.  Stands before us now, with a king in tow.  This king knew me well.  Being a former member of his elite guard I ventured off to become a Huntress and to make a new life with my true love.  Once he disappeared I had no choice but to go after him meeting the Soldier and the Siblings along the way.  They spoke of the city Scarborough, a moving city.  A place I had longed to see since I was a child.  Now that we were here their father had caught up with us.
“Son, daughter.  Please come back home with me, your stepmother and I were worried sick” He said through genuine fear for their condition.  They moved not an inch from us.
“It would seem they’re pretty determined to leave you behind, they wish to live with their grandmother” I said, stating the wish they had from the beginning.
“My children will not find their grandmother inside those walls, for she has proceeded to the next life some time ago” Grandmother is gone? And he never told them.  A true coward to the marrow in his bones.  A stagecoach appeared and a woman appeared.  The clothing gave her away, A witch, a powerful one at that.  I would enjoy defeating her.  My black smoke rifle was not ready to fire but that’ll change soon enough.  I touched the Soldier, gave him a look that said we could take care of the Siblings by ourselves.  I didn’t know how, but I knew we could do it, we’ve come this far, we can keep going.
“Then me and this huntress will take the children in, to care for and train” the Soldier said, with as much courage as he could muster.
“That’s absurd” the stepmother said “My king, of our many kings.  Please order your incompetent soldier to know his place” She was making my hands tremble in excitement I’ve never fought a witch before.
“It is clear these children are aware of an immediate threat within their own home, and wish to retreat.  My Soldier and this Huntress wish for the better of these children, which is in his right as a soldier of our country.  If he wishes this responsibility I will allow it” the king chuckled
“My king, surely you see the predicament we face.  These children belong to my husband and me, not to these foolish heathens” the Stepmother said, sneering at the king.
“If you wish to take your children back, than as king I demand a duel between the parents and the surrogates.  A duel to the death if necessary” it was time.  The father dropped to his knees as he should, the Stepmother started a spell.  I escorted the Siblings to a safe spot before hiding in the shadows.  I readied my black smoke rifle.  This is right, defeating the Stepmother will ensure the Siblings a happy life.  But the Soldier seems unsure of what to do with her, I’ll leave him to decide her fate.  So long as the children get to live happily ever after.

Tool (Death Incorporated)

That day? Yes I remember it, the day I realized why it is that I am a tool for Death to use.  A mere item for him to send off to do his work.  It was years ago, before I even met Death.  I was still living at home.  The ones I referred to as my parents were, as any other day, oblivious to my existence.  Research and progress in the ways of science were more important than my well being, but it was supposed to be that way, A necessary ignorance in order to allow them to train me, to make me who I am to become.

"thats not good enough" he would say. "you need to be more aggressive, don't give me an opening to make a counter" I was young, and not very strong.  Not that it mattered to him, everyday him and the other assistants to the house put me through training that would break your average soldier, and I was still in elementary.  I took up the sword, and lunged at him again, his form so elegant and pure it made me look like a rotten sack of shit.  That day was a bare knuckle day.  His fist drove into my cheek with the force of a hammer.

"get up! we're not done yet" all the time I had with him meant I had grown somewhat used to his pain, it was required for me to break the false sense of superiority I had, I had no superiority.  Never did, never will.  A tool like me has no need for such useless mindsets, he did well to extinguish the thought from my body and mind.  If it weren't for him and his team of assistants, the world as we know it today would be very different.

Whenever I was at school, nobody asked what happened to me, the way I looked it was like I had been thrown into a cement mixer filled with hammers.  Not even the teachers asked me about my injuries.  Makeup hid most of my failures from the world but not all of it.

People were miles away from me, even when they were inches away.  He did good to make them seem insignificant, yet.  So, desirable? I walked among them but not with them, like I was alienated from them but found them so fascinating I dare not intrude upon them.  Like I could very well spoil their humble lives.

"get up Mercedes, we are not finished, now come at me again!" My children's books were replaced with fighting manuals, time with 'friends' was time with firearms, vacations were replaced with sleepless treks through mountains and deserts across the world.  Dinner time was filled with mends to wounds I had been dealt.  There was one thing, however, that did not change.  In all my time with him, with them, one thing that stayed the way it was meant to be.

Dessert.

Whether it be a slice of the most delicious cake, a handful of the best cookies in the world, a wedge of the sweetest pie, dessert was one small thing in my life I did look forward to.  If I did good I was rewarded with the finest sweets they could make.  I guess, it was a form of motivation.  As I got older, the rewards got smaller, I started to work harder to get what was given.  Then the moment came that told me what I am.

"Your holding back, focus on me and strike me down!" I talked back to him.  I was upset, angry with him that he took my reward away bit my bit.  I lashed out at him in a fit of rage, and he came back at me with the most important thing he could have ever done for me.  He parried my pathetic strike, hit me with all of his strength.  So hard he broke some ribs and punctured a lung, but those were nothing compared to his finishing blow.

"Remember your place Mercedes, you are a tool.  The greatest tool to have ever been crafted in this universe. I have the privilege of making you that tool, even if I have to break you a few times to make it perfect!" with the sword he gave me, he drove it through my leg, causing irreparable damage.  That day, was the last day I walked on two legs.

The next day he came to me, standing behind what he said.  He handed me a cane, a heavy iron cane that has since disappeared.  I stared at that cane, feeling it.  Swung it around and took its overall measure.  It might as well have been a hammer.  Thats when I realized it.

I am a tool, nothing more than a tool used for the benefit of others, a support for much more than just my existence.  A column for all the world to weigh on and more.  I am not a person, I am a tool.  The greatest tool ever crafted.  I had been awakened, been reborn.

I had been shown my destiny.

I had been broken.

White Russian (Random)

Another day, another drink on this mahogany bar I've grown so used to.  The same scratch marks, the same glasses, hell even the teasing percussion on the back of my ears felt familiar from times past.  I'm sure if I had given it my audience I would have found it to be unrecognized.

I lifted my glass and finished the first drink of the night, my beloved white russian.  I gestured the bartender who gave me his nod, the same one he's given me since my first night here.  Seems like centuries since then.  "Another white russian please" his nod I'd grown so fond of gave segue to the birth of my next glass of the night.  Vodka and coffee liqueur danced together in a spiral towards the stage of shimmering glass, flowing with the grace that is appreciated by so few as it settled around the seats of ice.  Curtain call came with the cream, a billowing conclusion to my drink of choice.  The bartender settled the drink and placed his signature nod.  I drew the glass in, admiring the scent.

I felt so at peace in this moment, the constant pace of work gave little retreat into moments like this, it would be safer to say it was void of any silent happiness to the core.  The constant rearranging of rare, exotic machinery across the country was no easy task.

Enough of that, I'm in my world now.  Here to stay as long as I need.

"So, come here often?" I heard from behind me, a smooth and majestic query settled in the seat beside me, almost as if it were a light gust flowing by.  I looked, a slight turn of the head presented a figure of which I have never seen in person.  My attention ensnared I took a full view of the intensity that has taken interest in me.  Pearl skin wrapped in a silk of red I couldn't take my eyes off.  The one thing that was more breathtaking than the deep red were the eyes.  Eyes of glistening amethyst  framed in locks darker than the grim reapers cloak.  She was unlike anything I've ever seen before, I found it hard to even think that her upward inflected statement was directed at me, if her sight wasn't latched onto me I would have never answered her.

"Often? sometimes it feels like I never leave" after I said it, I wished I hadn't.  What a stupid thing to say.

"That sounds nice" velvet letters across my ears.  Did I say something right?

"It seems like I'm burdened to never see the same faces, feel the same familiar scratches in the bar.  The glasses, the crystal on the shelves.  I envy that" her fingernail played at the scars in the mahogany, scars I was familiar with.  Memory's prodded at the back of my mind.

"So, what are you having this go'round?" She gestured at my drink with a finger.  What did I get? How stupid am I.  Getting so lost like that, I must have looked ridiculous.  I made slow retreat to a more proper, upright posture.

"White russian, my usual" A smile sailed around her porcelain skin.  She leaned in, showing her interest.

"My personal favorite" her fingers interlaced "My personal sanctuary in a world of noise" She snapped her fingers, the bartender nodded.

"A white russian please, and put his on my check if you would" The bartender nodded, did she just pay for my drink? Confusion started to make root.  I'm nobody, a regular, a head in the clouds.  Yet, somehow this, which is something that could very well be from my wildest dreams is conversing with me.  I feel frustration blooming.

Am I dreaming? Or could it be that I've dipped into a dementia like state? I feel numb, but a wave of warmth overwhelms the back of my hand.  She touched me, her thumb massaging my knuckles, one after another.  She smiled at me.  A smile so comforting, so welcoming I couldn't help but crack a smile of my own. A genuine smile, not the kind I masquerade with.  She brought her drink up to view.

"A toast, to the drink of peace and solitude in a world of ambient noise and distraction" A toast.  Well, if this is in fact a dream or a joyful moment of dementia, I have no reason not to indulge in it.  I raise my glass, give it a gentle knock against hers, and we trade another smile.  Bigger than the last.

I feel again, the faded shirt on my back, the weight of the coat behind it.  The percussion teased my ears again, the radiating warmth of her hand still holding mine.  The pulsating healing warmth drew me out of the near dead state I had occupied for years now, a state of cynicism and reality I had grown used to seemed further away for a moment.

Please, stop time.  Even just for this moment.

Formal poems (Homework)

Rose of war (revision


Here I am standing in the center
Standing between lovers of combat and war
The tools of men’s hate that beg for no more
Than to make rupture that my heart cannot render
For in this place I am not a contender
Their armor and weapons that beg for much more
The blood in their hands is beginning to pour
Here I am standing in the center
The armor behind me is ready to fight
To take on the soldiers of hate
Thick armor plating to protect her today
The woman ahead is off in mid flight
To reel in the opposing forces like bait
Her weapon like body protects her this day

Madness

What is this thing we call madness really

Is it a thing for us to fear or to avoid hastily

What if its related to another of strong choice

A word with such immense power and poise

That its capable of corrupting almost equally

The word I’m talking about is of course is bravery

don’t you think it’s a close resemblance anyway

They both dig in and move you with choice

Madness is a choice of anger and hostility

Bravery is a decision of strength and sincerity

One of hate one of love such influencing voice

Warmth of blood or lovers hand it is your choice

Madness and bravery are one in the same equally

A waste of time and money?

So if you didn't know from my recent posts, I've been in a writing class.  Intro to creative writing 2250.  This class, is something that I've been trying to get into for the past 2+ years of school.  Its only a single class so it fills up really quick when registration comes around.  I was lucky to get a seat, or so I thought.

I just had mid-terms last week and at this point in the class, I don't like it.  Its not the classmates, most of them are tolerable.  The issue I'm having here is the content being taught and the teacher.  I'm going to say it, I don't like the teacher.  From the get-go I didn't.  In all the time I've had in the class she has not left a good impression on me.  But the biggest deal in the class for me is the content we're dealing with. Its a creative writing class and all the homework is disgustingly specific.  Homework A has to be done in this format and style or else its not acceptable.  Homework U must be completely broken down and rewritten in a format ranging from 1-5. Homework L has to be a formal poem down to the umpteenth degree.

Now I understand its important to see and try various forms of writing but I feel the class is limiting.  When everything has to be done in a specific way the creativity falls into a bottleneck.  Not a single piece of writing I've done for the class has had my full heart into it (exclude one or two maybe) I haven't been inspired at all in this class and my lack of interest is starting to impact my grade.  I took mid-term and didn't do so well, and I don't care that much.

I keep telling myself that this isn't something in my major (which is still undeclared) and that just makes me daydream the class away "Ok, a formal poem and last weeks assignment must be redone in a new style... great..." The teacher throws out the names of other writers and I'm sitting here thinking 'who the hell is that?'

Since starting college I haven't felt this frustrated with a class in a LONG time.  Pretty much my first batch of classes were a waste of my time and money as I took other classes I started to get better rounded in how the college life works, I've found teachers I like (one I hope to get into next semester for another round of psychology) teachers I hate (most of my auto shop teachers) and teachers that didn't wow me (intro to English)

Is this class a waste of time? maybe, maybe not.  Have I learned anything? not much that feels can improve me as a writer (a writer of fiction to be specific) cause thats what I wanted from this class.  Improvement, the ability to write something I have heart in, let my classmates tell me how it was and let me revise it.

I don't like this class.  I worked hard to get the seat I have and I no longer want it.  I had high expectations for this class, just to have it become a disappointment.