So take to the streets with apocalypse refrain

Peace in the Form of a Dream

Mon, 28 Apr 2008 18:52:24 GMT

Come mama come papa and sit you down by me
Come sit you down by me and pity my case
My poor head is aching my sad heart in breaking
My body's salvating and hell is my doom

- feist

Once, when I was a little girl, I remember looking out a sliding glass window at two cardinals. They were spinning around each other, flying up in the sky and plummeting down to the grass, like fire-red mechanical airplanes. I remember my mother being beside me and saying that they were 'twitter-painted,' in love.

"Gosh, how pretty," I had said.

I don't know where I had picked up the slang word. Maybe it was from Ariel in 'The Little Mermaid.' She said it to Flounder once. Only she had said it worse. She had said "Oh my-" before it. I remember how the word I said tripped out of my mouth carelessly. As if it had always been there, hidden behind a molar, far in the back, away from view. I hadn't even noticed its exit, that's how sneaky it had been. Like the time I suddenly and for no reason decided to dance in the women's section at Walmart to a pop song on the speakers.

My mother made a move during my comment. I smiled up at her. She had her hand hovering high in the air, like a hesitant guillotine. She was searching for the right place, and she found it. On the right side of my mouth, no doubt where the swear word had originated.

I think every child remembers moments like these. Especially the first time when they happen. It was the first moment I was punished for a reason I couldn't understand. Suddenly, and without warning. Like a sneak attack. An ambush.

It feels something like this: a cold wave that rises up over your body, sending electricity to your brain then falling suddenly, as quick as a stone, leaving behind it an aching aftermath, something deep you cannot shake out your body. Something you can only endure until it wants to leave.

It's the ugly feeling of having a trust betrayed. A bond severed.

It's like getting the wind knocked out of your soul.

- - - - - -

I used to make a mean joke and say, "Christianity: if you're not guilty, you're not praying hard enough!" As if everyone grew up as strictly as I did. It wasn't until I was a teenager that I found out that in America, the average Christian's knowledge of the Bible and her faith consisted of knowing John 3:16 and listening to a Contemporary Christian music station in her car on Sundays. it was incomprehensible to me. To use God like a fast food service. Pop-in, pop-out whenever you were hungry. Only half aware of what you were consuming.

As for me, I was taught to question everything. I was supposed to look at all the angles-- weigh out the good and bad carefully. If something didn't make sense, I'd probe it, dig in deep, and try to offer up a solution. Any solution that might support my carefully spun safety net of faith. 'A house without a solid foundation cannot last,' they'd tell me. Like when I was little, in children's church, beating my balled hands together chanting 'the wise man built his house upon the rock- the wise man built his house upon the rock--' They never made me forget that we humans need a solid Truth to hang our lives on. Something we can rely on. A foundation that no 'rain' or 'flood' can wash away.

- - - - -

Oh, beware! Beware of looking twice at things, of peering too closely. Beware of thinking too much or investigating too earnestly. Curiosity was what got humanity into this mess. It was what made Eve mortal. What turned a nameless woman into a pillar of salt. -- If you keep pulling back the curtains to every man's god, soon there will be none left. Only scared faces and empty space will greet you. One second, solid ground. The next, the platform drops, and you fall with the angels.

- - - - - -

Have you not heard of that madman who lit a lantern in the bright morning hours, ran to the market place, and cried incessantly: "I seek God! I seek God!!"---As many of those who did not believe in God were standing around just then, he provoked much laughter. Has he got lost? asked one. Did he lose his way like a child? asked another. Or is he hiding? Is he afraid of us? Has he gone on a voyage? Emigrated?---Thus they yelled and laughed

The madman jumped into their midst and pierced them with his eyes. "Whither is God?" he cried; "I will tell you. We have killed him---you and I. All of us are his murderers...."

-- Nietzsche's Parable of the Madman

- - - - - -

You know what I fear most? Discovery. I fear that they might find out. They might see the way I behaved so many years ago. How I huddled up in a bathroom and cried for my ridiculously damned soul.

Behind me I could still hear the church's organ music play: Here's my cup, Lord. I lift it up, Lord. Come and quench this thirsting of my soul.

In front of me I could see the corpse of God floating in green.

I cannot believe in him anymore, I realized.

But what path is left to me now? I asked myself. What light will guide me past the lions to the House of Beautiful? Will Timorous and Mistrust be the only companions I know? Will I sink forever into this Slough of Despond? Will I abandon Hope and go back to Vanity Fair?

- - - - - -

Superbia. Avaritia. Luxuria, Ira, Gula, Invidia, Acedia

Confession. Contrition. Salvation. Damnation.

SALIGIA

Death.

- - - - - -

Drugs.

A game of Russian Roulette. A chance to behave recklessly.

They strip off the gauze. They peel back the pretention.

They expose the truth, and they leave you numb to it.

Drugs Divide. They illuminate. They destroy. They create. People worship them and die for them.

Drugs are gods.

- - - - - -

//Beware! If you keep pulling back the curtains to every man's god, soon there will be none left. Only scared faces and empty space will greet you. One second, solid ground. The next, the platform drops, and you fall with the angels. //

But as you fall, you think. And as you think, you expand.

It's a bitter journey towards acceptances. It's a bitter journey towards peace. It takes an incredible amount of self-control to place the dice back down on the table. To check out. To shrug your shoulders and loose your back of its burdens.

It's hard to breathe in deep the recycled air of earth. Air that has been breathed in before. That has been shared by everyone.

To understand that maybe there is a balance on the scales. A hand guiding our trimmers.

You can see in the dark a thousand platforms erected. You can see a whole world constructed on supposals. Theories. Faith. Truths and Lies. Surely there's a center, a core to it all. A source of light that we gravitate toward, like moths to a flame.

Eventually you lose your fear. Your hatred. You stop grasping for the edges. You allow yourself to fall through the unknown. You give up. Surrender to your fate.

Then.

Like a leaf in a river. A spark from a flame. A feather in the wind.

You float.

Mon, 17 Dec 2007 21:31:45 GMT

I've made it safely to North Carolina and my parent's house. Mom and dad have certainly made themselves at home here. They've already redone the office, adding in built in shelves, rearrange the layout of mom's bathroom to add in a large tub and limestone walls with really cute alcoves.... Jonathan's old bedroom has been converted into a cute little room with a Christmas tree, some beautiful large dark wooden chests and shelves, a flat screen television (that I can hook my laptop onto and play DVDs on the screen it... sweet!).... a new stove and microwave.... they've spent god-only-knows how much on the back, adding garden beds, putting in a stone walkway, and a stairway through this bed with daylilies and luropi in it.

It's nice and cozy and all the rooms run into each other downstairs so you don't feel very cramped, but I still miss the roominess of our house in Roanoke. Just thinking back on our basement and how much room I had to move around in makes me long for "home."

A good thing is that I got the big room with the Christmas tree and the television. Nobody's home right now, so I've got the place to myself. I've already made myself an omlette. God! It's so good to have a kitchen again... a real one. Not that awful kitchen me and Trista have at the dorm.... that cheap metal thing with the stove right next to the sink. Who does that? Who?

I still haven't heard about my grades. They won't be posted until the 19th. Urrrg, and I really super slacked this time. I had a dream last night that I'd failed my thesis for some reason.... and then, while I was hanging out with all these people, I kept finding old tests and quizzes littered around the room with C's and D's and F's on them. I kept gathering them up as people tried to look at them, making lame jokes about it, etc. and so forth.

Ick, dreams suck!

Anyway, before I came here I spent a couple of days with Alicia and Kady. We mainly chilled, I got to play some video games. Kady had gotten into a fight with her dad, and she couldn't go home for a while. We visited CJ and Matt in Gatlinburg on Saturday, which was fun. They were staying in this Egyptian themed hotel room for their 1 year anniversary. It was kick ass! Spinx statues in front of the posts of the bed, a King Tut head in a alcove above the head of the bed..... hyroglyphs and paintings were on the wall; they have a flat screen tv above a fireplace.... a hot tub and a balconey....

Yeah, pretty cool. Matt made us Tom Collins and CJ ordered pizza. A negative to having a friend that is "well off" is that you always get uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach when you realize you can't really contribute or pitch in..... Grant it, if I were better with my money and maintained 2 jobs like Alicia does..... but whatever, no biggie.

Matt talked to me about hooking me up with a nice friend of his. I'd already met the guy. He actually was nice. I told him that it'd be fun to try, so maybe I'll go on a double date with them or something sometimes. CJ's friend Miles sent me a message on facebook, and he's really cute.... But I think he's also addicted to cocaine (or something).....

Call me picky, but I don't want a guy that's addicted to a drug, ugly, has little education, or has no manners. Surprisingly, this (however) seems to eleminate nearly EVERY MAN I've met in the city of Maryville (and parts of Knoxville).

because it's been a while

Thu, 08 Mar 2007 15:57:35 GMT

I should write fanfiction again.

Any suggestions? Harry Potter, Naruto, Fullmetal.... Boondock Saints....

I really have no idea which direction I should take.

Music is LIFE!

Tue, 06 Mar 2007 01:09:50 GMT

What I Believe so Far:
[Extraordinary Machine - Fiona Apple]

[CLASS LECTURES]

1 >> The only way to really accomplish anything is to think you're better then everyone else. Otherwise, you'll just start second guessing yourself (Shameless - Ani Difranco)

2 >> The only way to really accomplish anything is to understand that you're NOT better then everyone else. Otherwise, you're just kidding yourself. (There's Always Someone Cooler then You - Ben Folds)

3 >> The only way to really accomplish anything is to be pushed to the breaking point, to hurt, and to suffer. ( You Learn - Alanis Morissette)

4 >> The only way to really accomplish anything is to be brought back from the edge and live again (Mary Jane - Alanis Morissette)

5 >> Extremes are bad (Dancing Through Life - Wicked)

6 >> We all have to start out believing things people tell us, and eventually, most of us learn to think for ourselves (Forgiven - Alanis Morissette)

7 >> Expect good things (Everyday is a Winding Road)

8 >> Expect bad things (Yesterday - the Beatles)

9 >> Accept what you can't change (Breath - Anna Nalick)

10 >> Don't accept anything as final (What is Eternal? - Trans-Siberian Orchestra)

11 >> Lead but don't allow people to follow you for too long (Philosophy - Ben Folds)

12 >> Follow but don't allow people to lead you too far (Reasons Why - Nickel Creek)

[STUDY SHEET FOR THE FINAL]

1 >> LIVE (You Only Live Once - The Strokes)
For what you find beautiful (Short Skirt, Long Jacket - Cake)
For what you find worthy (Brand New Colony - Postal Service)
For what you find yourself inrevokably and inevidably drawn to.....
AND HOLD ONTO THAT FOR AS LONG AS YOU CAN (Do You Realize - The Flaming Lips)

FINALLY:
2 >> Bend......Don't break (Buildings and Bridges - Ani Difranco)
3 >> Life is as complicated as it is simple(You Had Time - Ani Difranco)

[EXTRA CREDIT]

Personal Set Backs:
1/Demon - Guster
2/Glass House - Ani Difranco
3/Girl Anachronism - the Dresden Dolls
4/Anything But Ordinary - Avril Lavigne

Reality is False // Poem

Wed, 28 Feb 2007 20:52:34 GMT

This poem has been a WOP for a while. So you BETTER like it.

Reality is False

I don’t need eyeliner to know that my eyes are there
I don’t need lip-gloss to see that my lips are red
What false realities keep us so contained
That we fail to see beauty for what it is--
Veiled behind a curtain, yellowed and pinked,
Not pouted out or winked,

Outside I steal away into my car
Pushed by a straying thought that longs to pass,
I drive to an unknown place,
To an unknown river, to an unknown patch of grass,
I take myself down towards its banks
And I sit myself on a rock to wait,
Wait on something of nature that hasn’t been distorted
By modern fate.

Through the shallow waters I see rusted tin,
I see tires and wrappers
No evidence of fish’s tail or fin,
Humanity surrounds me like a sick blanket
Heavy and weighing
I cannot escape this maw of false smiles
This era of plastic that keeps me straying.

Too far have I placed myself
In the company of blind men and fools
Too connected am I to my fellow man
Their desires, and their rules
Perhaps I cannot be removed from this setting
Perhaps it is too late

And yet I remain on my rock to wait
On something that isn’t distorted
-- the subject of my own fate

random poem

Wed, 27 Dec 2006 17:54:23 GMT

a prayer at the pub
jiffy_pop

'I'm drinking fast to forget,' he said. That incurable itch in the back of his skull
that whispers 'I was a good boy once but Jezebel's seducing breath found its way
into my chest and now
i'm a slave to the jar
to the doleful ringing of the bells at the bar'
they ring 'come all devoted followers of sorrow and regret
stay here and be free of your odious debt'
with a sweetness like prayer to a holy chalice
where psalms are sang from broken lips, through crooked teeth of the faithful
much like the glassy eyes of an abused spouse
with her feet transfixed on the ground, 'I can't go no where. This is the only
life I know.'
Poor weeds, rooted deep in the slush of roadside refuge and decay
withering away, lamenting 'I've got debts I owe, debts I owe
and no place to grow, no place to grow'

you do what you have to do

Sun, 24 Dec 2006 05:10:01 GMT

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. I woke up today feeling miserable! My throat was so swollen I couldn't talk. And I was aching and my ears were ringing..... But I was able to pump myself full of pills and hot drinks, and I felt.... 60% functional by 2:00PM. I still ended up passed out on the couch, though. I've just been so fatigued and weak.

Went to Lauren's apartment today. Once again I was annoyed at the high level of not-so-very-well-hidden drama in her apartment. But it was still fun. She got me some very thoughtful gifts, and that was nice.

- - - - -

Ever notice any movie with Johnny Depp playing in it always has his name usually in bold letters on its cover? And in the movie advertisements they always seem to stress how Johnny Depp is in it. It's like one big advertisement ploy. And what's so sad about it is that it works. With all the attention we give him, I bet that man must have the biggest ego in the world.

- - - - -

Well, I'm leaving for North Carolina tomorrow. I'm going to try and get a little last minute Christmas shopping done. But that all depends on how well I'm feeling. Today I barely had energy to get up. I ended up meeting a lot of Lauren's friends tonight..... Julie, Katie, and Lisa. They were kind of boring. Very sheltered and stiff. They would talk about things in the most simplistic ways. But they had good hearts, and in the very least, it made socializing with them easy.

Original Story Post

Wed, 22 Nov 2006 21:40:02 GMT

Title: Learning to Fly
Author: jiffy_pop
Rating: PG13
Type: Original
Summary: A story about two individuals from very different backgrounds relating to each other and helping each other learn how to cope with the painful situations in their lives.
Quote: "Are you trying to ignore me?" Karen asked.

"You're not real," Sam said simply.

"Of course I'm not, genius."

A/N: Okay, this is another chapter to 'Learning to Fly.' To read the first exchange between Sam and Karen, go here.

how does it feel
how does it feel
to be without a home
like a complete unknown
like a rolling stone

-- bob dylan

Sam came into the house holding the front door carefully so that it wouldn't make any noise. He leaned over and placed his keys softly on the table beside him then closed the door with a dull thud.

"Sam? Sam, honey?"

Sam quickly pulled the strap of his passenger bag over his head and put it on the floor beside the table with his keys. He let out a sigh of disappointment and straightened his tie.

"Yes, Lisa?" he called.

"Come into the dining room for a second!"

"What for?" Sam went through the hallway and to the room on his right where bright light from the chandelier shown at him like a beacon of warning. He blinked against the glare and focused in on his wife, who was on a small step ladder, carefully placing white china plates on the top shelve of a dark wooden cabinet. The cabinet stood so widely and tall that it took up one of the entire dining room walls. It had been a present from Sam's mother-in-law, but the reminder of that wasn't what made his stomach sink.

"Oh, hello, Charlie," Sam said, giving a small wave to the shorter man standing beside Lisa.

Charlie was handing plates from the dinning table to Lisa one at a time. His shoulder hovered closely to Lisa's waist.

"Hi, Sam," Charlie said.

"What do you think of the china arrangement?" Lisa asked, turning and moving to the side of the ladder so Sam could get a good look.

"The china?"

Lisa took a plate from Charlie and held it out to Sam, who took it thoughtlessly. He looked down at its shinny surface and at the pink rose buds that decorated the edges. "Isn't this--"

"The china we had at our wedding, yes."

"Were the plates always this small?"

"Unless they shrunk in the wash."

Charlie leaned toward Sam. "I just came over a few minutes ago looking for you," he said in a quiet voice. "Lisa wanted me to stay for a bit and help her un-box these." There was a tone of apology there.

Sam smiled and struggled for the right words. "How.... nice."

"I took the liberty and invited Charlie over for dinner," Lisa said cheerfully. She came down from the ladder and folded it up against her leg. "I figured it's been a while since we've all sat down and had a meal together."

Sam stared at his wife, who's brown hair was tied back into a tight ponytail. She was wearing a tan skirt that fell to her knees and a button up blouse. He could see perspiration on her forehead from being up near the chandelier's heat.

"Sam?" Lisa gave him a look of polite worry.

Sam blinked, having just realized he needed to respond. "Oh, yes. Dinner. Of course Charlie should join us."

The tension in the room visibly relaxed. "I told her she shouldn't worry about it," Charlie said. "I'm more then capable of fixing something for myself at home."

Sam brushed his fingers through his tussled hair. "No, it's alright. You're more then welcome. It must be tough without Sheri there."

"That's exactly what I told him," Lisa said primly. "It's not healthy to mop about his house all the time. It's important for him to be with friends right now."

"I really don't mind the solitude," Charlie protested. "In a way it's nice."

Sam thought back to before the divorce and the way Sheri would ramble without breaks beside Charlie whenever they went out on Fridays. She had this animated way of making everything exciting, but the effect, after more then an hour, of her constant enthusiasm usually put Sam to sleep. He just couldn't take that much perkiness without becoming exhausted. Looking at Charlie now, he wondered if that was what happened to him at a much slower pace. He had certainly become a lot more subdued since the divorce.

"Well, I have pot roast cooking in the oven," Lisa said. She walked around the dining room table and planted a kiss on Sam's cheek. "Sam, you take care of Charlie for me until I get everything prepared, okay?"

Sam tried to give her a peck back but she was already retreating toward the kitchen. "Alright," he said.

It was only until Lisa had left the room and the silence had spread along the wallpaper to Sam's feet that he chose to speak again. "Would you like a drink or something, Charlie?"

"Just a coke would be nice. Thanks, Sam," Charlie said with hands in his pockets, looking sheepish.

Sam hesitated, wondering if he should invite Charlie with him to the fridge, then he had second thoughts and just left him. In the kitchen Lisa was bent over the oven. He tried to discretely squeeze past her to get to the fridge.

"Hey, Sam, could you take out the cole slaw for me? It should be on the top shelve of the fridge," Lisa said without moving her head to look at him.

Sam nodded and opened the refrigerator door. "No problem, dear," he said.

The oven shut and Lisa got up. "I'm so sorry I didn't ask you about Charlie. He was just looking so pathetic when he stopped by."

"It's no big deal. I would've done the same," Sam said quickly. After he laid the cole slaw out on the counter, he grabbed two colas sitting in the back of the fridge and held onto them like they were life preservers. "It was thoughtful of you to invite him over."

Lisa smiled awkwardly. She began playing with the plastic bowl of fruit situated in the center of the counter between them. "I still can't believe that he and Sheri split up. And the way she just took off like that-- It's so surreal."

"Yeah," Sam said. He shut the fridge with his back. "Well, I better get Charlie his drink. You take your time in the kitchen, okay, honey?"

Lisa looked far away in a thought but nodded all the same.

- - - - - -

'It was in this room,' Sam couldn't help but think as Lisa passed him the mashed potatoes. Her face looked old in the orange colored light above them.

"Want some gravy, sweet pea?" Lisa asked.

Sam allowed Lisa to pile on the gravy over his potatoes. His face was cold and impassive. "Thanks," he mumbled as he picked up his fork.

Charlie was sat beside him and across from Lisa, acting all the more awkward as Lisa offered him the same thing, straining over the edge of the table with the bowl of gravy extended towards him.

"No, no, I'm good," he said.

The rest of the house was dark around them. Only the kitchen light above their heads was on, casting large shadows behind their backs that morphed and changed as Sam watched them. He chewed methodically on the roast, which was too tough, and swallowed it down with water. Charlie looked to be struggling to do that same thing. For a while all he could hear was his own breathing and the sound of his teeth wearing away at his wife's bad cooking.

"I thought you said you hated pot roast," said a familiar voice suddenly in the shadows.

Lisa and Charlie didn't move. They hadn't heard her.

Sam stared at the darkness. "I don't remember telling you that."

"You didn't have to. I could tell by your expression." Karen stepped into the light behind Lisa. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and had her hair pulled back. "What? Not sophisticated enough for you?" she asked when she saw he was looking at her outfit. "Maybe I should wear something more like this. Would that be more to your liking?"

She ran her hand down the sleeve of his wife's blouse. "She looks rather like a school teacher, doesn't she? What does she do for a living?"

"Teach," Sam said.

"Ah. Figures." Karen started to walk around the table. She stopped beside Charlie and put her hands on her hips. "And who's this character?" she asked.

"That's Charlie."

"A friend?"

"My best friend, actually."

Karen made a sound in her throat. A sound that seemed to say, 'of course he is.' Was she mocking him?

"What are you doing here, Karen? Aren't you supposed to be in the ward?"

"It's boring there." Karen took a dinner roll and bit into it. "My roommate's a psycho!" she said in exasperated.

Sam chuckled.

"Is something the matter, dear?" Lisa asked, touching Sam's arm in concern.

Sam flinched. And Karen was gone.

"You were laughing."

"It's nothing, Lisa," he said stoically. He bowed his head and returned to his meal.

After a while he felt something graze his leg. He looked down underneath the table.

"Boo!" Karen said. She was sitting cross-legged close to Lisa's feet.

"What are you doing down there?" Sam asked.

"Checking out your wife's shoes. Sweet heels. She's going to have a lot of back problems from these suckers later in life." She lifted up Lisa's foot so he could get a good look at the backs.

"Get out from under there," Sam ordered nervously.

Karen smiled and crawled on all fours out into the space beside his chair. She got up and dusted off her knees. "Whew, someone needs to clear under there. It's filthy."

Meanwhile his wife was trying to start a conversation with Charlie.

"So Charlie, how's business these days?" Sam heard Lisa ask.

Charlie shrugged. "It's pretty standard. We're about to close the deal with H&R."

"Ow, that sounds promising."

Karen stooped down beside Lisa's face and started to mimic her expression with wide eyes. "Oooh, yes, very promising," she said sarcastically.

Sam resisted the urge to laugh again and focused more intently on his meal.

"Are you trying to ignore me?" Karen asked.

"You're not real," Sam said simply.

"Of course I'm not, genius."

"So go away," Sam said.

Karen pretended not to hear him and started pacing again. "How can you stand this?" she asked him after a while, coming to a pause between Lisa and Charlie.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, looking up at her as he took a sip of water.

A look crossed Karen's face, like a tiny ripple in a pond. For a moment she looked pitying. She leaned an arm on Lisa's shoulder and pointed between her and Charlie. "You do know they're fucking, don't you?"

Sam started choking.

"Oh, muffin, are you okay?" Lisa asked. "Here, Charlie, hand me a spare napkin."

Sam struggled to break free from Lisa's concerned grip. He pushed his glass away and continued to cough into his closed fist.

"I'm fine," he insisted. "Really. I am."

"Here, take my napkin. You spilled your drink a bit," Charlie said, offering the white clothe to Sam.

Sam looked at it but didn't take it. He was too afraid of throwing it back in his face.

"No. It's fine. Really."

not too important

Tue, 17 Oct 2006 00:33:44 GMT

It's been a while since I've posted poetry:

it's a subtle sinking feeling
like a sudden leap from an airplane
it eats you up inside until you hurt
then it explodes

and you expand

expand at the seams

a whole world now stands before you
of inflatable strangers

with our sausage balloon fingers
we prick at the fabrics keeping
our souls contained so compactly
we try to forget the source to our aches
the incurable itch that drives
us forward to keep our minds
busy but keeps us standing still

our expressions lose their meaning

we become amish

faceless images on a bare white canvas
sightless
voiceless
with only the clothes on our backs
to give any clues as to who
we really are

learning how to fly // original piece

Thu, 11 May 2006 17:58:57 GMT

Title: Learning to Fly
Author: jiffy_pop
Rating: PG13
Type: Original
Summary: Dr. Samuel Goodman is a new addition to the staff of Graceford Mental Ward, and Karen has recently been admitted to Graceford for a failed attempt at suicide. This is a small interaction between them.
Quote: "I like that feeling of being on top, knowing I'm in control of the situation. I like catching people off guard and breaking down barriers. I like knowing secrets and exploiting them.... It's natural to me."

I'm politely crazy
don't you want my love
it's a cloud
it's a broken boat
but it might make you laugh a bit easier

-sarah slean

Dr. Samuel Goodman's gaze was frozen briefly on the white lines of light on Karen's jeans. They were flickering as the wind shifted the trees outside the window. The half open blinds made a buzzing noise against the breeze. He forced himself to blink and focus again. "Excuse me, what did you say?"

"I asked if you were happy," Karen said.

"Why do you ask that?"

She shrugged. "I don't know.... because of your position, I guess. I mean, you're living the dream. You've got a good job that you like, a wife that loves you, a kid.... probably a dog, too. Doesn't that make you happy? Knowing you've got all that?"

Sam fiddled with his pen, clicking the bottom of it off and on again on the top of his desk. "Sometimes," he said at last, knowing it was a safe answer, knowing Karen wouldn't be satisfied with it.

"Yeah?"

"Each experience is different for every person. It's not like my family is the Brady Bunch. We all have problems."

"But are you satisfied with it?" Karen blurted out. "I mean, did you really see your life being that predictable: school, marriage, and kids? What kind of story is that? It's been done so many times. It's so boring. It's so old. It's cliched."

"Well, the storyline may be similar to many others but the characters and settings are different."

"Doesn't change the fact that it's all old news. The same goddamned monotony."

"Do you see yourself ever getting married?"

"Who, me?" Karen smiled bitterly. "No."

"Why not?"

Karen flipped her hand up in a dismissive way. "Because I'm too weird, and boys are boring."

"If you think they're so boring, why all the sexual activity?"

Karen stared at him. "I said boys were boring. Not sex. They're two different things. You think they're thinking about me when we're having sex? No. It's nothing like that. Boys offer nothing to me. They only take, and I take, too."

"You keep on saying boys...."

"Well, men are a different story, aren't they? I've heard rumors of their existence...."

"Why do you feel such hostility towards men?"

"I don't feel hostility towards men."

"Boys then."

"I wouldn't waste the energy feeling hostile towards boys."

Sam made a few notes with his pen. Karen watched him behind her fingers.

"How long have you been with your wife?" she asked suddenly.

Sam took a moment to rub his hand over his jaw. He could feel the itchy pricks along his palms, reminding him that he'd skipped shaving. "I, uh, believe we've been married for six years."

"And the love, it's still going strong?"

"We love each other very much. Yes." Sam noticed that his potted fern needed to be watered soon. It was resting on the table beside where Karen sat. Karen made a sudden movement. His eyes followed it.

Karen threw her arms back behind her, running her fingers along the wall and stretching until she touched the corners of one of the plaques above her. "Well, that's a nice bullshit answer," she commented. Her shirt went tight against her chest. "Tell me, why is it that I have to pour my heart out too you, unbridled and open, and you cannot answer a single goddamn question honestly for once."

"Well, you are the patient."

"Yeah, and I'd like to know that my doctor's alive now and again. That he's fucking human. If you haven't experienced any of the shit I have then what the hell am I supposed to gain from this? Can you really help me when all the pain you've ever had to go through is the normal crap everyone has to go through?"

"What do you define as normal crap?"

Karen looked agitated. She dropped her arms. "Fuck, I don't know. Why do I got to explain everything to you? I'm tired of talking. All I ever do is talk. I just wanna.... God, make something move. Make things happen. I'm sick of always sitting still."

"You can stand if you want."

"What good would that do?"

"You wouldn't be sitting."

"You're such a smartass." Karen stood anyway.

She paced around the small office. "Do you ever want to fly?"

"Pardon?" Sam had been writing down another note.

"You know, fly," Karen said impatiently. "I mean, it's not quite like flying. It's more like .... an out of body experience. You just want to suddenly release yourself from whatever it is that's keeping you in this place and expand.... breakaway, be totally free."

"I've never experienced that kind of feeling. No."

Karen went up to his desk and put her hands on it. "Well, you should. It's wonderful. You can feel it right now if you want. Just let all your inhibitions go and ....." She spun around. "You know what? I can't explain it."

"Do you like this release?"

"Of course! Can you really not see why? Why it'd feel so great to throw off conventions and just briefly revel in the moment where there's no consequences, no law, no order, nothing."

"But there is no such thing."

"Are you really so sure?"

"Everything has a consequence."

Karen's shoulders wilted. "Yeah, I guess that's true."

Sam watched her take a seat on the edge of his desk. "But you know, it's an addictive feeling.... total release. Just like flying. It's so empowering being able to say, 'I'm here. I'm alive.' and know for a moment you're above it all, the world, everything."

"Why do you want to be in power?"

"Everyone wants power."

"Yeah?"

"It's human nature." Karen's fingers wrapped around the edge of the desk. "I like that feeling of being on top, knowing I'm in control of the situation. I like catching people off guard and breaking down barriers. I like knowing secrets and exploiting them.... It's natural to me. Don't you crave this?"

Sam tried to avoid the gaze of the young woman, unable ever to do it completely. It was a difficult thing for him to imagine, being in as many helpless situations as she had. He had always been the one holding things together. Power had been designated to him since day one. "I have always found it a burden, but I could see why some people would want it," he said.

"Hmm, that must be nice, having it so much that it's a burden." Her thighs rubbed together as she crossed her legs over. Sam swallowed and made a note. He then scratched it out. Karen tried to read it, pushing herself over on the desk to his side. Sam flipped the pages over.

"Perhaps you should return to your chair," he advised. He pushed back in his chair so she wasn't so close to him.

Karen uncrossed her legs. "Maybe it's good I don't have the power," she commented, pretending as if he hadn't said anything.

"Oh, yeah?"

She hopped down off the desk. Her breasts bounced as she wrapped her legs around both sides of his chair. He moved to push her off but her hands pressed down on his arms. She smiled. "Because if I had enough." She dipped in to breath softly on his neck. It was like the brush of wings. "I wouldn't hesitate for one second-" She leaned back up and leveled her face with his own. "-to destroy the universe."

Sam watched the white light flicker over the side of Karen’s face, warming and dangerous. She reminded him suddenly of a bird, flightless and afraid, pressing against his body for warmth. He knew this girl was vulnerable, and yet he couldn't see how. Not with the way she was looking at him so challenging, like she really was on top of the world looking down. Suddenly he was plagued with the curiousity, did she too think of him as a boy? The thought disturbed him more then it should.

The Tortured Artist

Thu, 20 Apr 2006 23:29:26 GMT

Title: The Tortured Artist
Author: jiffy_pop
Rating: PG13 (cursing, omg)
Fandom: Original
Quote: “I remind myself. I say, ‘Jess, be thankful because things could be a lot worse—you could be an orphan in Iraq, an impoverished mother in Mexico, or even more horrible— you could be a Biology major.’ Perks me right up.”
A/N: It's getting close to Finals, and I needed to write something original for Publications. So here you go..... a blantant example of me getting my thoughts out through another character (for shame)

The Tortured Artist

It was an ugly coffee shop. The florescent lights reflected badly off the black streaked white tile floor at their feet. The owner had tried to cover up the glare with a thread bare blue-green mat that took up most of the floor in front of them, falling short of the couch by quite a bit. Jess examined her pink painted toe nails nonchalantly from her seat on the couch, holding her coffee limply in the air beside her head.

“I painted my toe nails for once. Did you notice?” she asked her friend sitting next to her.

“Yes, I did. They’re pink.” Her friend said as she sipped her drink.

“I know! Isn’t that weird? Me…. Pink?”

“Sure.”

Jess stretched. “We’re not actually going to do homework, are we?”

“I might go over my notes for Bio.”

“Unfun.”

“Yeah?”

“You know, sometimes I get really frustrated with classes: homework, responsibility, the monotony…..”

“Getting up in the morning?”

Jess pointed. “Yes! Definitely that! But, you know, whenever I’m feeling really bad about things, guess what I do?”

Her friend stared.

“I remind myself. I say, ‘Jess, be thankful because things could be a lot worse—you could be an orphan in Iraq, an impoverished mother in Mexico, or worse— you could be a Biology major.’ Perks me right up.”

Her friend laughed. “Good to know.”

“Though really, it’s not like you have it that bad, to be completely fair.”

“You don’t say.”

“Hey, you can stop that sarcasm, missy, I’m serious,” Jess said in an unserious voice. “At least you can live a mentally healthy life and be fine with it. You can go about cooking embryos with your lab buddies—“

“Cooking embryos?”

“Yeah! Sautee and eat them.”

“Mmm, delicious.”

“But yeah, you can be fine with that, leading a normal life and what not, but me, I’m an English major, and you know what that means….”

“What?”

Jess laughed and waved a hand impatiently. “It means that I’m fucked. I’m destined to be a mentally deranged psycho—look all those other writers: Woolf, Hemingway, Poe…. They were all crazies! It’s like an unwritten rule, to go seriously into an English major you have to be “the type.’”

“The Type?”

“Yeah, that “tortured artist type,” a person that obsesses over the ‘whys’ and ‘what for’s.’ The type that had a bad childhood, that’s insecure, and can’t have a healthy love life if her soul depended on it.”

“Aw, I’m sure you’ll find love, Jess.”

“Thanks. But…. Wait, no, that’s not my point. My point is that creativity is a curse. Ask any one that’s a famous writer, they’ll tell you that straight out, I’m sure. Well, maybe not Rowling. She’s filthy rich, what’s she to complain about? But there’s a difference between popular writing, and you know, that universal shit we’re forced to read in class – stuff by Falkner and Plath.”

“I like how you keep mentioning people who killed themselves.”

“No, I’m not…..” Jess reflected and paused. “Falkner didn’t kill himself. I don’t think at least.”

“Should I be worried about you, Jess?”

Jess laughed and posed. “Please, as if….. I’m not going to kill myself, at least not anytime soon. I have a huge list of things I have to accomplish first before I die. I wrote a list out just last month. Once I’m finished with my quest for global dominion and the perfect man, that’s when I’ll consider putting my head in an oven. It’s good to go out with a bang, anyway, and imagine the shock value!”

“You know, I never know if you’re serious when you say these things.”

Jess drained her coffee and plopped the empty cup onto the table beside the couch. “Well, that makes both of us, then.”

fanfic: my anti-drug

Fri, 31 Mar 2006 01:59:27 GMT

Distract me! Distract me!

+ Post an icon or a phrase.
+ Then post a fandom/pairing/whatever

....and I'll write something to it.

(as long as I know it)

Losing Battle == Roy/Ed == Shortfic

Tue, 28 Mar 2006 05:13:15 GMT

Title: A Losing Battle
Author: jiffy_pop
Rating: PG13/R-ish (for some sexual stuff)
Pairing: Roy/Ed
Disclaimer: Roy owns Ed. And I own nothing.
Word Count: 732 words
Summary: Ed hates Roy. Roy kisses Ed. Ed gets distracted.
Quote: Edward knew defeat when he saw it.

Edward always faced things with scientific reason. That was how he operated. It was what made him good at what he did. However, when it came to a certain colonel, logic never seemed to make it to the equation. As soon as that man's jaw fell, that voice in his head that was supposed to keep him operating on a mature, professional level was replaced with this animalistic fury. It was like bees in his ears. Swarming angry bees, and no matter how many times he told himself not to rise to his baiting, not to let this man, this arrogant, cocky, sexy man, get the best of him, he always did.

Wait. Had he said sexy?

What he meant was provocative, promiscuous, disgusting. There was certainly nothing sexy about the way he held his head slightly cocked to the left whenever they got into banters, or how he positioned his hands to be placed so languidly perfect, exactly centered on his desk with his fingers neatly crossed. So goddamned perfectly laced together, like they were made to do that, just that, specifically for when he taunted him.

The man was downright crude. And had he said arrogant? Yes, he was sure he had. But it was still just as true as when he said it before. No one had any right to be that self-assured. That amount of confidence just wasn't allowed. It was like he was God himself, perched so comfortable at his desk, looking down on him (not that he was short!).

And Edward had just heard he had been on five dates last week from Havoc. Five! What was the man going for, the Guinness World's Record for sleaziness? Ed could only imagine the kind of diseases he must be getting from all the nighttime activities he must get into. Not that he wanted to go there! Who'd want to think about that guy doing such disgusting things like that?

So with all that said, it was really a mystery to Ed why he let such a man kiss him, or even (worse of all) why he kissed him back. It was like some horrible train wreck that he couldn't turn away from.

Naturally, the experience was quite horrible. The man had practically bruised his lips on impact. And it certainly hadn't been his idea to involve tongue. The Colonel must've slipped it in somehow, not that it was entirely... unpleasant. Ed would've pushed him away at that very moment, but he couldn't really. The man was practically attacking him! Ed should've found it downright alarming the way the jerk pressed him hard against the wall (what was he trying to do? Crush him to death) and started prying at the buttons on his shirt, ripping out two in the process. Really, he should've found all of this disturbing, and if he had not have gone temporarily insane at that moment in time, he would've given him a piece of his mind right then and there. But at that moment, he saw no reason why he shouldn't wrestle with the bastard's uniform, too. Ed had always hated all those metals and stupid showy buttons, anyway. He tore them off him, not out of anything weird or nothing. It was out of spite- hot, furious spite. Much like the spite that made him moan as the arrogant jerk ran a kiss just there on his neck, and it was only because he felt a tad off balance that he dug his fingers, metal and real, into the stiff blue fabric of Roy's uniform, caught up in a strange, euphoric stream of.... God, Roy! What was the bastard thinking, doing this? Doing- But he better not stop now. No, not now. He was committed now. Edward wasn't about to let him back out now. Not.....

Edward's mental process shut down as Roy's fingers sharked their way down, down, down, and the heat in Edward's belly was on a rise, going higher and higher until, well, god, what did it matter anymore if this was Roy Mustang or not? What did his pride matter or that man's maddening smirk matter anymore? Edward knew defeat when he saw it. And he was perfectly content to let this moment slide because for some weird, stupid reason he wanted this-- wanted him, and that was about as far as his brain allowed him to go.

you've got too much to wear on your sleeves

Tue, 28 Mar 2006 03:05:54 GMT

Eve

is it a 'woman thing'
to want always what's forbidden to me
to yearn for, stretch, and feel the sinful
impulses that cry murder in my body
so wrong
so right

and i want this so bad
my mind is bleeding
from the hungering sight
the poisoning apple
that tempts my delight

and what do i want with these
children, anyway
crying for leather and whip
selfishly wailing for a tit
to put up with them

is it really much of a surprise
that i'd want him
when faced with methods like these

Mon, 27 Mar 2006 00:59:52 GMT

we met last night
while i was passed out in bed
curled up with memories and worries
in my head

it wasn't how i had imagined
my prince
your white horse had died along
the way
and your mouth was crooked
like a pimped out stray

scat cat!

no, stay.

why do you smile like that, anyway
with a cigarette hanging between
your fingers
like a thought never formed

and when you grabbed my wrist
how the night time stormed around my ears
a deafening roar of dismays
and relief
"at last!" it whispered
while tragedy sprang its deadly
trap

your statement was like an open palmed slap
"I've seen your secrets. I've tasted them.
They are mine now," You boasted.
carassing my scars
Not wholly evil, but very far from entirely good
they said
a fitting fate
from where I stood.

Fullmetal Alchemist == Roy/Ed == A Beach Conversation

Mon, 27 Mar 2006 00:10:10 GMT

Title: A Conversation at a Beach
Author: jiffy_pop
Rating: PG (naughty words, oh my!)
Pairing: Roy/Ed
Disclaimer: Blah blah blah (not mine)
Word Count: 999
Summary: Roy meets Edward on a crowded beach one day and has a revelation.
Quote: It was funny how a person could go ignoring something so blatantly obvious, never really giving even the barest thought to it out of (what?) a subconscious fear? worry, even?

A/N: Ends abruptly, but I'm hoping I got across what I was aiming for. My first Fullmetal Alchemist piece, be gentle.

Roy was surprised to see Edward Elric at the beach and alone. The easily spotted alchemist was walking lazily down the sandy shores with his metal arm and leg shinning bright and silver in the sun. Roy couldn't help but notice the way the summertime crowds seemed to part around Ed, as if his metal limbs were a sign of leprosy. Only the children, with innocent curiosity in their eyes, ventured close to Ed, hovering for split moments behind the young man and staring, then losing interest and running deeper into the ocean with high peels of laughter. A small group of young, attractive girls with a beach ball obscured Roy's vision of Edward for a moment, bouncing and talking. An admirable vision, but one Roy hadn't much time for at the moment.

His curiosity had won out. He set down his iced drink, pushed off from his comfortable seat in the sand, and strolled diagonally over to Edward, weaving through people and sandcastles in casual indifference.

Edward didn't see him coming until he was practically beside him. "Fancy seeing you here," Roy stated before the blonde could open his mouth.

Ed was already fixing him with a practiced glare. "Don't tell me you've resorted to spying on me personally now."

"Not at all," Roy said. "I'm just out taking a break, enjoying the sun. It's was pure coincidence I saw you here."

Edward was suspicious. "Yeah, right..."

"I don't see why it's so hard to believe that I could simply be at a beach enjoying myself. I do have a life outside of my office."

"How fortunate for you."

Roy felt too relaxed at the moment to say some thing sarcastic back. "So what brings you to the beach, Fullmetal?" he asked instead. His eyes watched a young blonde with a red bikini run past them.

Edward watched her as well but with disinterest. "Nothing specific."

"Where's Al?"

"At the apartment."

"That's surprising."

"Why?" Ed asked sharply.

"Nothing, really. Just that I was beginning to suspect you two were joined at the hip, that's all," Roy said with a smirk.

Edward scowled. "Shows what you know. Al hates beaches."

"Hmm." Roy stopped walking, hands in his back pockets and gazed at the greenish blue sheets of water rolling and receding toward and away from their feet. The tall structures of distant buildings with colors of rusty reds, browns, and grays melted into the lines of ocean on his left, curving in a half circle then ending at the water's edge that extended out and beyond his sight. The tangy scent of salt hung in the air. There were scattered remains of broken seashells at his feet. "Seems odd for someone like Al to not like beaches."

Roy caught Edward's gaze, who looked away instantly. "Not really."

"But you do."

"What?"

"Like beaches."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess." Edward looked down at his feet. The tide swept in and kissed the edges of his toes. "Mom used to take us out to the beach sometimes. I liked the sea gulls."

Roy blinked, not bothering to hide the surprise he felt at Edward revealing this small piece of childhood to him. Edward scowled at his expression and walked again, closer in the water this time, so that the water lapped at his metal and flesh soles. Roy hesitated, shrugged, then followed, falling into step behind Edward. "Call me crazy, but you seem awfully quiet today," he stated after a few minutes of walking.

"That's because you haven't pissed me off yet."

Roy chuckled. "So sorry. I guess I'm a bit off right now."

"What a pity."

"I'm also noticing a fair bit of sarcasm today, as well."

"So very observant of you, Colonel."

"Bitchy, too."

Edward shot him a glance of disgust before he being distracted by something else. The look melted away into a different expression. Roy looked over to where he had glanced right in time to see a young woman with a beach ball blush and go back to a game with her friends. He smirked self-consciously. This seemed to annoy Edward even more.

"Smug enough, are you?" he demanded.

"Whatever are you talking about?" Roy asked innocently.

"I don't see why that girl would be looking at you. You're old enough to be her dad."

The smirk widened. "Jealous?"

"Not likely!" Edward turn his head sharply away from Roy, giving him a nice view of his bare neck as his corn yellow braid shifted with his movement. It was longer now. Its tips were almost between the top parts of his shoulder blades now.

Roy watched the play of bone against taint skin for a moment, captivated. He wondered briefly what Edward would look like with his hair undone, cascading over his shoulders as wild and feral as his cat yellow eyes. It suddenly seemed to click in Roy's head just why he was still following the brooding teenager. The thought was unsettling at first but only for a moment then it seemed to just be.... As simple and real as the sand and the sun and the people around them. It was funny how a person could go ignoring something so blatantly obvious, never really giving even the barest thought to it out of (what?) a subconscious fear? worry, even? And yet he had really always known, so it wasn't so very distressing to see it unmasked before him, dancing along Edward's shoulders and down the sweep of his spine. He secretly wondered what Edward would think- what he'd say if he turned around at that moment and caught him staring openly, his guards down.

No sooner was the thought completed, Edward was turned around again, eyes staring. Roy tried an off-handed grin that came off more as a grimace.

"What are you staring at, creep?" Ed demanded.

"Nothing," Roy said quickly. The wind blew his unbuttoned shirt open and over his arms. Edward glanced at the uncovered flesh then deliberately looked away.

"Good," Ed muttered.

Such a Girl [SasuNaru]

Thu, 23 Feb 2006 08:28:54 GMT

Title: Such a Girl
Author: jiffy_pop
Rating: PG13
Fandom: Naruto
Pairing: SasuNaru
Disclaimer: Naruto is the property of someone else. I just borrow it from time to time to give my life special meaning.
Summary: Sasuke and Naruto have been living together for two months, and it really is only a matter of time before Sasuke cracks over something.
Quote: Sasuke's expression didn't change an iota. "Baka."

Such a Girl
by jiffy_pop
(feedback always appreciated)

I'm trying, trying to tell you
All that I can in a sweet and velvet tongue
But no words ever could sell you
Sell you on me after all that I have done

--rufus wainwright

Sasuke had never lived with anyone before. Well, not recently, anyway, and he'd rather not think back to when he shared a room with his brother. The point of the matter was, though, that he wasn't at all accustom to sharing a apartment with anyone, especially when that someone was a certain loud-mouthed idiot. Not only did the blonde genin leave trails of trash behind his every wake, he left the bed unmade and the milk carton out. Really, if there was a single person out there that was the least compatible as a roommate to Sasuke, he would be firmly convinced it was Naruto.

It was understood that Sasuke didn't like to speak much, and he made it a point to only say something when it was absolutely necessary. In this, lied the problem. It didn't seem right to him to just go out and tell Naruto what an annoyingly inconsiderate roommate he was being. In his mind, that should've been obvious to Naruto from the spot. But then.... "obvious" was definitely an aspect of the human understanding Naruto hadn't ever had the time to truly grasp. So what was a pissed off Uchiha to do? He had already tried the usual-- brooding, glaring, openly picking up something Naruto dropped on the floor and chucking it at his head..... However, none of these clear indications seemed to clue Naruto in at all.

Having established in his mind the dilemma, it should come as no surprise then why Sasuke was already in a bad mood when Naruto came into their apartment one drizzily day in September. He had on that goofy grin that never seemed to wash away in the rain, and his shoes had the look of just being run through every single mud puddle in Konoha Village. Sasuke felt his left eye twitch as Naruto threw off his backpack (soaked and dirty) right onto the rug and went strolling through the room in his muddy shoes.

"Hey, Sasuke, have ya seen my spare bandages anywhere?" he asked, going to one of the drawers next to the couch and shuffling around loudly inside. Sasuke had just gotten through organizing its contents. His eye twitched again.

"They're in the bathroom. But first...." Sasuke waited for Naruto to actually look him in the eye. "Your shoes."

Naruto blinked, looked down, then laughed sheepishly. "Oh, oops." He slipped off his shoes and tossed them toward the door. One of the shoes bounced off of it, leaving a brown shoe imprint on the metal. "Righto then." He flipped around cheerfully. "Bandages!" he announced with a skip toward the bathroom. A few moments later the loud noise of things being moved around and banged sounded in the bathroom.

Twitch.

Sasuke shifted his weight on the couch and reached for the TV remote, set exactly in the middle of the side table next to him. He flipped on the television screen and started idly flipping through stations. He turned up the volume to drown out any more noise from Naruto. This night he was going to make it a mission not to get upset. This night he was going to see past all these annoying nuances and just ignore Naruto.

Sasuke at last found the news station. He placed the remote back on the table and focused on relaxing. Naruto came back in eventually with his hand bandaged, making a show of finishing up the bandaging.

"What happened to your hand?" Sasuke asked with half-interest.

"I cut it with a kunai."

"Oh? How's that?"

Naruto's face reddened a bit. "I, uh, threw it wrong."

Sasuke's expression didn't change an iota. "Baka."

Naruto's face turned crimson. "Shut up!" He threw himself onto the couch cushion next to Sasuke, plopping his feet onto the coffee table in front of them. He watched the news with Sasuke for a few moments then his knee began to bounce. And bounce. "Geez, isn't there anything else on," he complained predictably.

"No."

"But-"

"No."

Naruto pouted.

Sasuke ignored him.

Naruto got bored again. "Fine, fine! I'll just go make me some dinner, jerk."

Sasuke 'hmm'ed in response.

Naruto got up from the couch and stormed off to the kitchen. Two minutes later he came out with a steaming bowl of instant ramen. He lounged himself out on the couch again. Once comfortable, he began to slurp his noodles down loudly. Sasuke's face slightly twitched again.

"Man, you'd think they'd have things better to report on then all this death and destruction stuff-" Naruto commented, not noticing the change in Sasuke's face. It was gone in a second. Sasuke 'hmm'ed again. "I mean, isn't life depressing enough? Let's hear something cheerful for a change!" Naruto puctuated his point with a 'slurp' as he finished off the last noodle in his bowl. He smacked his lips in satisfaction and put the bowl on the table in front of the television. "Definitely need more food," he said.

Sasuke glared holes into the television reporter's skull, breaking his dead stare to blink, until Naruto came in with a large bag of potato chips. The crinkling of the bag being opened drowned up whatever the newswoman was trying to say. Sasuke shot Naruto a look of annoyance that was missed. Naruto was too busy digging out a large handful of greasy chips from the bag. He pushed the bag between him and Sasuke and placed his oily handful in his lap, gobbling the yellow delights one by one with loud clomping noises from his teeth. Sasuke continued to watch as brittle crumbs of chips broke off from his lap and mouth, flying and sliding onto the floor and couch.

Twitch.

Naruto licked his fingers and then dug into the bag to get more once his lap was empty of chips. A liberal trail of chips was left on the couch after the transfer.

Sasuke couldn't take it. He had to say something.

"You're... going to clean that up, aren't you?" he queried in a deadpan voice, eyes fixed on the screen in front of them to keep his voice from jumping any.

"Clean what?" Naruto asked through a mouthful.

"The... crumbs. They're--" Sasuke paused to run his tongue over his teeth and force himself to be a bit calmer. "They're all over the couch."

"Mmm? Really?" Naruto shifted over to see more of the couch cushions. The movement caused almost all of the chips claiming residency in his lap to suddenly drop onto the couch cushion he was currently trying to inspect. Naruto made a noise of annoyance, got up from the couch, and brushed the stray crumbs still clinging to his clothes onto the floor so he could look better. "I don't see anything bad," he announced.

Sasuke didn't actually hear his pronouncement of disbelief in the obvious. The twitching was getting worse and worse. Inside something was set on “explode,” and right about the time Naruto said "I don't see anything bad" the timer went off with a vehement “ding!”

"Dear god, you twit! Can't you see it??? In the time you have come home and sat down, you have succeeded in completely turning what I have spent hours of my time cleaning into a complete and total mess! Are you blind?! Are you stupid?! What on earth goes on in that dumb, thick head of yours that you can't see how incredibly-- just how much you-- how.....Damnit!"

He was speechless with rage. He, Uchiha Sasuke, was actually incapable of voicing all these frustrations in his head at once. The idiot was getting to him that much. Sasuke realized that he was up from the couch and standing over Naruto, who had sometime during his rant fallen back down onto the couch. He waited for his rage to subside something, but the sight of Naruto's startled, innocently confused face made it boil over even more.

"Geez, what's got your panties in a bunch?" Naruto demanded.

Sasuke threw up his hands. "Nothing. Just... forget it! I'm gone. Just.... Yah. Bye."

He stormed out of the apartment without another look at Naruto and found himself halfway through Konoha Village before his rage finally extinguished a bit.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was cold.

Sasuke took out one of his hands from his pockets to run it through his hair in frustration and also because it was wet. The rain was falling faster now, and his bangs were beginning to sop in his face. The weather wasn't doing much in terms of helping out his mood. There weren't many people out right now on the street, and for that, he was thankful. The few that were there had umbrellas and were too busy getting home and out of the rain to pay him much attention. Which was nice.... Sasuke was becoming weary of the sideways glares. He secretly wondered if Naruto was going to come looking for him soon. It had been more then enough time now for him to get angry at him for such an outburst. Probably the only reason why Sasuke wasn't sporting bruises was because Naruto had been so taken back. He sort of wished that Naruto had hit him. A physical fight was probably just want he needed. It was so much similar.... almost less painful then having to deal with all these.... feelings.

It was just like that damned Naruto to make him so, well-- Sasuke supposed he would have to call it "womanly." It didn't seem masculine to him to feel such deep feelings for someone. He didn't understand how someone like him could be so pissed off at a person one second then completely attracted to him the next second. It wasn't normal. It wasn't.... easy. Weren't girls supposed to be the ones with the crazy hormones? And then there was the apartment conflict. How could that make him look anything but womanly, going off like that about some stupid crumbs, but he couldn't really help who he was. He had always grown up liking things clean and organized. Maybe it was stupid of him to clump people in categories of supposed gender roles. It didn't really cause much peace in his mind, though, when he argued that. He still felt like he had behaved a bit like a nagging housewife, stereotypes aside.

So the question was-- what was he to do now? He didn't really want to go back to the apartment. He and Naruto had only been living together for two months now, and this was the first major fight they had. Actually, after he thought about it, Sasuke was somewhat surprised he had lasted that long without killing Naruto. However, he still couldn't stand the thought of facing Naruto. Him and that mess.... Sasuke shuddered against both the cold and the thought.

He would spend the night somewhere else, he decided. He and Naruto could always make up in the morning.
Sasuke knew he was just avoiding the issue, but what if he was? Neji owed him a favor. He could always crash there for the night, no questions asked. Sasuke steered himself around a large water puddle and headed east, going at a slow pace. His mind continued to be occupied the whole way to the Hyuuga residence.

When he got there, he was half-afraid that Neji wouldn't be there. Worse, that Hinata would answer the door. It was no secret that she adored Naruto, and he could already imagine it -- the stuttering questions, that nagging look of worry.... Well, he was relieved when it was Neji who answered his knocks. The long-haired ninja's cool gaze was level and emotionless. They stared at each other for a while. Neji's eyes swept over Sasuke, taking in the wet clothes, dripping hair, and shoe-less feet. Sasuke felt an annoying pinch of embarrassment in his stomach.

"Figured you'd show up," Neji said at last. "Took longer then I thought it would."

He stepped back and held the door open. Sasuke walked in wordlessly.

"I'll get you a spare futon and some clothes," Neji offered.

Sasuke scowled once Neji was out of sight.

- - - - - - - - - -

It made sense that Sasuke couldn't sleep that night. He spent most of it tossing in his bed and thinking about what he was going to say next time he saw Naruto. Toward morning he hadn't really reached anything decision, though he was now thoroughly convinced that he was too womanly for his own good. He had planned on sneaking out of the house before Neji was up, but he woke up to breakfast already made. Surprising, since it was only four thirty in the morning. Sasuke kept his face blank as Neji handed him a plate of eggs and waffles.

"You'll need this," Neji stated.

The meal was good, Sasuke grudgingly admitted to himself. He made sure to glare at Neji before getting seconds, daring him with his eyes to make a comment. He didn't speak nor did he say anything when Sasuke got up and left the room with a grunt of "thanks" after depositing his plate in the sink.

The walk back to his apartment wasn't very long. Sasuke contemplated taking a longer way, but he instinctively took the old, familiar roads in the end. It wasn't cowardice, he argued to himself when he slipped through the window in the bathroom instead of using the front door. He just didn't want to wake Naruto up. The blonde was even more unreasonable when he was woken up unwillingly.

Sasuke silently walked over to the front area to deposit his shoes. The bedroom door was cracked, so he was extra careful to avoid it. When he had safely put his shoes in their proper spot and slipped on some house slippers, he noticed in surprise that the mud stain from the night before was gone and that Naruto's shoes were in their proper space for once.

Sasuke turned around and surveyed the rest of the room, taking in just how clean everything was. Grant it, the tv remote was in the wrong spot, and the dobe had left the coffee table crooked. But it was a surprise all the same. Sasuke suddenly felt an even greater sense of shame for getting angry with Naruto. The orange clad idiot was curled up on the couch, knees tucked up toward his chest like a restless child. Sasuke sighed and went over to his rival's sleeping form. It was such a sweet, innocent picture, really.

Then he noticed the kunai clinched tightly in his fist. Sasuke felt the smirk come and didn't bother to subdue it or the small chuckle that escaped afterward.

Naruto woke up to the sound instantly.

"FUCKING HELL!" he yelped. He swung his legs down and pressed up against the back of the couch, his held kunai flashing in a familiar pose of defense.

Sasuke dropped into an instinctive post of defense as well but fought down the urge to dodge out of targeting range. "Calm down, dobe."

"I cleaned! I cleaned! Look! See, asshole?"

"I see! I see! I'm not angry anymore, okay?"

The kunai didn't move. "This isn't just another one of your tricks, is it?"

"No. It's not."

"So.... you're not acting all psycho anymore?"

"Nope."

"Oh....." Naruto lowered his knife at last. "Well, that's good."

Sasuke rested his hand on Naruto's hand, not sure how best to proceed now. "I, uh, appreciate that you cleaned the apartment some."

Naruto's eyes shot from Sasuke hand to his face. "It was no problem."

"Peace?"

"Whatever."

- - - - - - - - - - - -

It was two days after Naruto's and his fight before Sasuke felt things were completely back to normal. At least as normal as it had ever been. Then he discovered something peculiar in the fridge. He blinked.

"Hey, Naruto, whatever happened to that gallon of chocolate ice cream we had? I thought we were going to save that for Sakura's birthday party this Friday."

Naruto popped his head into the kitchen and looked guiltily at Sasuke, who was standing at the refrigerator with the freezer door open.

"The ice cream? Oh, right. Well, I, um, sorta ate it all."

"All of it? When? I never saw you...." Then it dawned on Sasuke. "Naruto, did you eat all the ice cream while I was away?"

Naruto's face reddened. "I got hungry."

"So you ate a whole gallon of ice cream?"

"I crave chocolate when I'm depressed."

Sasuke rolled his eyes. "You are such a girl."

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you are," Sasuke insisted. He pinched Naruto's butt as he walked past just to prove it to him.

Naruto glowered. Sasuke smirked, feeling an uncanny sense of self-satisfaction.

dissolving as i speak

Wed, 25 Jan 2006 03:30:17 GMT

sand castles
it was in that moment when our eyes connected
and your words found their mark that i realized
how little space i had to move in your room
that smelled of cigarettes stale beer and sweat
it then made me wonder how long had i been picking up
the crumbs of our fallen friendship, anyway
trying to get a taste of what it used to be like

maybe we both knew i was playing the pawn
falling prey to open strategies i was too blind to see
because i needed this somehow
i needed that hand that only rises up in bitterness now
to hold onto in the hopes that when all is said and done
and the tide has swept through
i'll have just one little sand castle that never went away
but you're dissolving as i speak

Heroism - Harry Potter (One-Shot)

Sat, 14 Jan 2006 21:45:20 GMT

Title: Heroism
Author: jiffy_pop
Rating: PG (for mild swearing and references to alcohol)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: N/A
Spoilers: Yes, especially the sixth book
Summary: Rumors have been flying through the school about the mysterious disappearance of Harry, Hermione, and Ron. No one in the wizarding world has seen nor heard of them in some time, so it is with a great deal of surprise when Dean stumbles into Harry near the Quidditch Pitch of Hogwarts.

Quote: He wondered how it was that Harry was so different-- how he could survive an attack by Voldermort while Cedric Diggory, a model of what heroism was supposed to look like, died in the first few seconds of their encounter. Was it bravery? Chance? A prophecy? All Dean knew was, at that moment, he was never more thankful for being who he was and not Harry Potter.

It was by chance that Dean spotted Harry Potter by himself outside of the Quidditch pitch late one fall evening. He had just returned from locking his broom up in the storage closet after taking it for a spin with Neville and Seamus and hadn't expected to run into anyone on his way back to the dorms. At first he had thought Harry was only a shadow against a tree, but the glisten of a fire whiskey bottle next to his hip told him otherwise.

He came up to Harry, making enough noise to give him clear warning. The former student of Hogwarts turned his head to him, green eyes unfocused and the familiar red scar vivid between the black locks of his disheveled hair. Nothing about him had changed, except possibly for his demeanor, which was a bit more unsteady then usual.

"'lo," Harry greeted in a voice that sounded like it hadn't been used in a while.

"Hello, Harry," Dean said back. "Long time no see. Been well?"

The contents of the bottle in his hand swished around as Harry shrugged. "I'm alive."

"That's good." Silence. "Does Professor McGonagall know you're here?" Dean asked.

"Hermione and Ron are with her right now."

"Oh." Dean watched Harry take a swig from his bottle. "Why aren't you with her too?" he asked when Harry finished.

Harry grimaced at the taste of the strong drink. "Didn't.... want to face her right now. You know how it goes. Too much talking can drive a person insane."

Dean felt it safest to agree. "Sure."

Harry caste a sideways glance at him through his slightly smudged glasses. "How have you been? How's Hogwarts?"

"It's fair," Dean said truthfully. "The Quidditch team's been shit since you left us, though. Don't know who'll win the cup this year. With so many missing from the Houses this year makes me wonder sometimes what the point of it all is."

A bitter smile spread on Harry's face. "Guess the school's trying to maintain some sense of normality right now."

"Dunno if it's working," Dean speculated. "People are talking about leaving, talking about how-" he swallowed, "it'd be better to spend their time with their families then here at Hogwarts not knowing what'll.... who'll....you know....."

"Yeah." Harry's face was a cold mask Dean couldn't read as he took another drink from his bottle and sank down against the trunk of the tree and onto the ground. He patted a patch of grass next to him, and Dean sat down with him. "So what are you going to do?" he asked. "Are you going to leave or stay?"

Dean chewed the inside of his mouth. "Oh, I reckon I'll stay. There's no real point in me going home right now. I haven't told my parents much about what's going one, figured it'd be better not to. Didn't want them to worry, see? Mum and dad never quite got much about the wizarding world."

Harry nodded. "Neither did the Dursleys," he said. "Never wanted to hear mention of the wizarding world, them. They felt that anything outside of their own lives was dangerous and possibly evil. The least I ever said about the wizarding world to them the better. Didn't want the neighbors to talk, see. Didn't want to appear abnormal."

Dean stared hard at the glum expression on Harry's face. He could tell the boy had been drinking for a while. "Harry-" he hesitated, "can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"The whole school's been talking," Dean said, “-about how you, Ron, and Hermione left like that. There's been some crazy rumors flying, and I was just wondering what the real reason was."

"The real reason?" Harry repeated. His eyes were fixed on the left field Quidditch hoops towering high above them like giant bubble blowers.

"Yeah, the real reason."

"The real reason..." Harry paused, weighing the whiskey bottle in his hand and examining it. He handed it to Dean, who took it automatically, unscrewed it, and had himself a healthy swig. "The real reason for me and Ron leaving was.... well... something I can't tell you."

"Why not?" Dean asked.

"A secret."

"Oh." Dean took another drink, savoring the feeling of warmth spreading through his stomach and down to his toes.

"Sorry," Harry said automatically.

"S'ok," Dean muttered, handing the bottle back to him.

Harry layed the bottle between them and breathed in deeply.

"Did you tell Ginny?" Dean asked abruptly. His face flushed slightly. "About the, uh, secret."

Harry looked at him curiously. "She kind of already knew. It's a bit complicated, really."

"Of course." A lingering pinch of bitterness caught in Dean's throat. It was no secret that Harry had stolen his girlfriend last year. He hadn't minded that much, but the sting that she knew what was going on while he didn't.... well, it was to be expected, but for some reason it didn't sooth some inner part of him that suddenly wanted to lash out against Harry.

Harry seemed to sense some of what was on his mind. "Listen," he started. His voice slightly slurred. "Sorry about Ginny. I didn't mean to, you know, snatch her from you or anything. Things just sort of happened. We're broke up right now, in case you didn't know."

"Yeah, she told me." It gave Dean a small amount of pleasure to see Harry look a bit put off by this.

"Good," Harry mumbled. He unscrewed the bottle again and drank alarmingly fast from it.

"Hey, hold on there, mate!" Dean warned, grabbing the bottle and pulling it back down from Harry's mouth. "Don't go trying to get yourself smashed, okay? It's not a good idea, especially on a school night."

Harry and Dean both caught onto the wrongness of his statement at the same time. Harry gave Dean a mirthless smirk. "You're probably right, Dean. Ron n' me aren't even staying here for long tonight. Don't know what I've been thinking, drinking so much. I just...."

Harry tried to stand up and Dean caught him as he staggered. "You're just bogged down is all. Too much going on in your head, I think...." He caught a good look at the redness in Harry's eyes and the haggard paleness of his cheeks. "You look like serious shit, man."

"I feel like shit," Harry stated, leaning heavily into Dean and making no show of supporting himself.

Dean allowed it while stroking Harry's shoulder in what he hoped was a soothing way. The alcohol in his system was making his ears feel tingly. "I can tell," he said.

The whiskey bottle was curled into Harry's arm protectively as if it were his lifeline. His arm was draped around Dean's back as they drifted back down to the ground. "I was doing some thinking tonight," he said.

"Yeah? About what?"

"About how different life would be if I hadn't come to Hogwarts."

It was weird hearing a secret thought being spoke out loud by someone else. Dean pried the bottle lose from Harry's hand and drank from it. "Do you regret it?" he asked after making a face at the taste.

"Dunno," Harry admitted. He banged his head back against the base of the tree and stared up blearily at the sky. "I didn't really reach any sort of conclusion."

Dean nodded silently.

"It's just...." Harry's head lifted then fell back again. Dean winced at the impact. "I feel so tired all the time now. Ever get that way?"

"Sometimes," Dean admitted.

"Sometimes I feel like I've got this really heavy blanket over me and it makes my chest feel so.... tight. When that happens, all I want to do is to just lay down and sleep, you know? Sleep it all off, but.... I hate to sleep. I absolutely hate it." Harry took the bottle vehemently back from Dean and unscrewed it. "I don't know what I saying."

Dean watched helplessly as he downed a large portion of it. The boy was clearly set on getting tanked. Almost half of the whiskey bottle's amber contents were gone. He took the bottle back when Harry was through. The black-haired Gryffindor screwed up his face in disgust and ran the back of his hand over his mouth. Dean couldn't help but grin slightly as he pressed the foul tasting drink to his own lips and drank from it.

"Are you sure you're okay, Harry?" Dean asked carefully, once the bottle was sealed and placed between them again.

"I think.... I'm getting there."

"You know," Dean said, trying his best to sound casual, "drowning your sorrows away in booze isn't the healthiest way to handle things."

Harry smiled hazily. "True. But it's a pretty good substitute."

Dean chuckled and shook his head. "You're not going to tell me what's wrong, are you?"

Harry shook his head. It rocked back and forth like a dead thing in a tide. "I've had enough of recounting my stories to people tonight." His jaw hardened. "It seems like all I ever do is tell people what happened. It makes me feel like such a...." He broke off with a vague way of his hand. It dropped like a stone by his side after the gesture.

Dean kept quiet and just looked at Harry. The intoxicated boy closed his eyes for a long moment, his arms dead weights against his sides. A vague thought surfaced in Dean's mind.... This wasn't how a hero was supposed to look. But, then again, Harry had never really played the part of the hero-- Not like how he was supposed to. He wondered how it was that Harry was so different-- how he could survive an attack by Voldermort while Cedric Diggory, a model of what heroism was supposed to look like, died in the first few seconds of their encounter. Was it bravery? Chance? A prophecy? All Dean knew was, at that moment, he was never more thankful for being who he was and not Harry Potter.

"Hey, Harry, just so you know...." Dean waited until Harry looked over at him, eyelids half raised. "I appreciate what you're doing - whatever that may be."

Harry stared at him funny. Dean wondered if this was even registering. "It's just that you've done so much, and no one's ever really given you much appreciation for it.... The Philospher's stone, the Chamber of Secrets.... Shit, you've really done a lot, come to think of it." Dean scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "I guess what I'm really trying to say is thanks, and um, cheer up! Even if we kind of treated you badly before, the Wizarding World.... we're behind you now."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled.

"Harry!" said a disapproving voice somewhere to their left.

Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley appeared under the tree in a fast walk. Hermione's face was lit with disapproval. "Harry, are you drinking?" she demanded, eyeing the glisten of the bottle reflected by the moonlight.

Harry shrugged. "Yes. Yes I am."

Hermione's mouth lowered into a deeper frown. Ron looked worried. "Listen, I realize you're upset about what happened, but breaking school rules to alleviate your guilt isn't going to help you any," she lectured.

"Shows what you know," Harry retorted.

Hermione's mouth opened to no doubt deliver an even more scathing response, but Ron intervened, looking positively frightened to do it. "Let's just drop it right now, Hermione," he squeaked with a darting glance at Harry. "We've got more important things to worry about then Harry drinking a bit."

"A bit?" Hermione said derisively. "He looks like he can hardly stand!"

"Right, as I was saying," Ron said nervously. "McGonagall wants us to stay at Hogwarts tonight. She says it's too dangerous to risk a trip back to the Headquarters, and she also asked that we should avoid being seen by anyone...." He trailed off as he looked at Dean.

Dean looked back with blinking.

"Right, well..." Ron moved his feet a bit. "Dean's all right, I guess. You won't tell anyone you saw us, will you, mate?"

"Of course not," Dean agreed.

"We'd better get indoors then," Ron suggested with a glance over his shoulder. "Harry, can you get up okay?"

Harry looked offended. "Of course I can." He pushed himself up off the ground, being caught right in time by Dean when he swayed a bit. Harry shrugged him off. "See. Standing."

Dean caught him again when he swayed. Hermione was quick to take Harry's other side. A pitying expression was etched on her face. "Here, Harry. Let me help you," she offered.

Harry mumbled something Dean couldn't understand, but Hermione seemed to interpret it as a yes. With his help, they half carried Harry away from the tree.

Ron came forward and took Dean's place beside Harry. Dean backed away from them.

"Thanks, Dean," Hermione said as she slung Harry's arm over her shoulder for better support.

"Yeah, thanks," Ron agreed.

Dean put his hands in his pockets and forced a smile. "No problem. It was good to see you guys again."

The trio departed in a slow trek back to the castle of Hogwarts. Scattered glows from the school's candle lit windows outlined the ancient building. The familiar view gave Dean a feeling of home, almost, and yet, in the same way, as the tiny figures of Harry, Ron, and Hermione got dimmer and dimmer, swallowed up by the darker shadow of the castle, he feared it a bit too. His stomach fluttered with a feeling of deep premonition, and he suddenly broke out into a run toward them.

"Hey, guys!" he shouted out to them. They turned and looked at him. Dean stopped in his tracks and took a few deep breaths. "I just, um, wanted to say.... Good luck. Don't go getting yourselves kill or anything out there, alright?"

Hermione smiled. "Right."