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 A book of my thoughts, which may or may not actually be written at midnight. |
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Hi! I'm Amber, sometimes known as MissTique. This is my book of things that happen in my brain. Thanks so much to the WDC Angel Army for the upgraded membership!  Someone posted this on the newsfeed a while back, and I thought it was a good thing to keep in mind: "Write a short story every week. It's not possible to write 52 bad short stories in a row." - Ray Bradbury |
| I don't know how I feel about this one. It took me a while to write. I think I like it. Maybe. Day 12 Prompt: October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy drafts that bit at exposed hands and faces. It was beautiful. Snow, as far as the eye could see, and just in the first week of November. The weather really had no right to turn cold so quickly, but I and the other children were grateful for it all the same. To them, the sudden winter meant staying home from school, drinking hot cocoa, and having snowball fights. To me, the snow meant something a little different: building a snowman. It might've seemed strange to some, even a little childish: a 15-year-old sitting out in the freezing cold, carefully crafting a snowman in his front yard. But this wasn't a game, or a hobby, or a fun activity to occupy my spare time. This was sacred. I pulled on my gloves, coat, and boots, and headed outside. Selecting a suitable place for the frozen fellow was the easiest part, but also the most important. It had to be easily visible from the living room window, but also somewhere that got little sunlight throughout the day. Between the bushes by the porch worked well the previous year, so it would work this year as well. The harder part, I think, is trying to build by yourself. I struggled with it now as I always had; the snow seemed to get heavier every year. Still, I pushed through it, shoving the bottom third of the snowman to its destination. The middle part was even more difficult. It was heavy and fragile, and it needed to be lifted. I found my strength, and soon I had two-thirds of my project finished. The top piece was neither easy nor hard. It was higher up than the middle, but lighter, and while I wasn’t strong, I’d grown a few inches since last winter. Now a completed snowman, it was just a bit taller than me. Perfect. I wrapped my own scarf loosely around its neck, and placed my hat upon its head. I found some sticks for arms, a few small stones for eyes and a nose, and a long piece of grass, which hadn’t yet died from the cold, that I twisted into a smile. “Always give him a smile,” my brother, Noah, once told me. “He’s a snowman, he’s got every reason in the world to be happy!” Every year, Noah and I had built a happy snowman together. Every year, until I was 9, when I was told that my big brother had been killed in an accident while driving on an icy road. That winter, I built alone, and named my creation after him. I have done the same every year since. I leaned down and traced his name in the snow. This was the sixth “Noah” I’d built, but none of them were as good as the original. I stood and admired my frozen monument to my brother for a moment longer, before trudging up the the porch steps and back into the house. End ~Amber |
| Day 11 Prompt: It unscrews the other way. Harry stood outside the door to the Weasleys' shed, and took a deep breath. He really shouldn't be nervous. He knew Mister Weasley quite well; the man was very much like a father to him. But this.... This was scary. He knocked. A voice called from inside, "Come in!" Pushing the door open, Harry saw Mister Weasley standing at the far end of the shed, handling a dimly-glowing table lamp. He looked up briefly to identify his visitor. "Harry, my boy! Good to see you. What can I do for you?" "Er," Harry started. Really, this was ridiculous. "I had a, erm, question for you, Sir." "Please, call me Arthur. We fought in a war together, for Merlin's sake!" He frowned at his project, pulling and twisting, trying to remove the stubborn light bulb. "Right. Arthur. I was wondering... Whether I might..... haveyourpermissiontomarryginny." He was the Boy Who Lived, dammit, yet he couldn't even manage to ask a simple question. Arthur looked up, confusion written across his face. "Say that again, lad. I didn't quite catch that last bit. You wanted to know what?" Another deep breath. "Whether I had your permission to marry Ginny. Your daughter, you know." He stared for a minute, then chuckled a bit, as though Harry's request was somehow funny. He put the lamp on the table and pat the young man on the back. "As far as I'm concerned, you're already part of the family, though I don't see why we couldn't make it official. So, yes, you have my permission to marry Ginny." Harry's smile was brighter than the old lightbulb, whose light had slowly changed from white to the deep orange color of fire. "Thanks, Sir. Er, Arthur. I'll be good to her, I promise." The older man had already resumed his work with the lamp. "I know you will, Harry. You're a good man." Harry nodded, and turned to leave. "Oh, and Arthur? That light... It unscrews the other way." He left the shed and shut the door quietly behind him. End ~Amber |
Catch-up part 2.  Day 10 Prompt: "No," she said, her voice quivering with anger, "but I will write to your mother.” Algebra class was going horribly. Everybody else was writing out long and complicated equations with all kinds of letters and strange looking symbols, while I still couldn't figure out how to solve for 'x'. Of course, this didn't really matter to me; writing was my true passion, and I'd never met a novelist who'd used the Pythagorean theorem. One day, Miss Allison, the algebra teacher, pulled aside after class. "Thomas, are you aware that you're currently failing my class?" "Yes, ma'am," I answered calmly. She didn't frighten me. "I don't think you're putting all of your effort into learning this subject, are you?" I considered for a moment. "No, ma'am." The truth was, apparently, not what she wanted to hear. She looked as though she'd been insulted. "Well. Well, I'd better start seeing some improvement in your grades very shortly, Mister. Do you understand?" I wasn't sure I did. "Exactly what will you do if I don't start "showing some improvement"? Will I be removed from your class? Expelled from the school, maybe?" "No," she said, her voice quivering with anger, "but I will write to your mother.” Ah. She hits right where it hurts the most. "I see. I suppose I had better put my best foot forward, then. Wouldn't want dear old Mom finding out about my failures, would I?" My casual tone did nothing to improve her mood, but it was certainly amusing. In truth, I was rather afraid of my mother finding out, but Miss Allison didn't need to know that. She fumed silently for a minute, then snapped, "You're dismissed." For a week after that, my math textbook was the only thing I read, and soon, I was fluent in the language of numbers. I passed my class with a B-. Mom never suspected a thing. End ~Amber |
| I'm catching up! Hopefully. Day 9 Prompt: Quote: Well, we were always to fail that one Context: Ron and Harry have just taken their Divination exam (a subject that neither boy has taken seriously), and Ron is discussing what happened during his exam. I suppose we had no chance, Never would advance. We would never manage, Even with our advantage, Of subjective claims, And study “games” To make it better. It didn’t matter. We threw our time into the flames, And even now, The day of the test, I can’t bring myself To feel stressed, Because we knew When it begun We were always going to fail this one. End ~Amber |
| Blog City Prompt: One of my sons came home from the second day of his Kindergarten career and announced, “I learned enough.” Taking your whole life into account, have you learned enough or at least as much as you’d like to have learned? Short answer: No! Slightly longer answer: Of course not! The day I stop learning will be the day I die, and not a moment before then. There are so many things to learn and ways to learn them. There's so much knowledge to be had, you can't just have "enough". I live to learn, whether through reading, writing, communicating with other people, experimenting, or experiencing. I don't need, or even want, to know everything, but I want to learn as much as my brain can handle. I'm about 2 weeks away from being 17 years old, and I've barely scratched the surface of all the things I want to learn about. Math, science, history, literature, art, and music all fascinate me. This is also, I think, why I have no idea what I want to do with my life (you know, like, a job. A career.) Everything is amazing. Learning is fun. (Yup, I said it. Fun.) So... Nope, I definitely have not learned enough. Great prompt for the day. I'm supposed to be catching up on Invalid Item  , but I couldn't avoid this. |
| Day 8 is quite late (rhymes are everything), but I had an idea, and I wanted to make sure it turned out alright-ish. Day 8 Prompt: What if I don't care? Jason is the best internet-friend a girl could ever ask for. I met him on Twitter, of all places, about three years ago. He commented on a post from one of my favorite indie rock bands, I replied to him, and we were instant friends. In the time since, we've expanded our communications to emails, texting, phone calls, and even one Skype call that I didn't chicken out of (which was a terrible idea). Thing is, I always worry that I act differently online, that I'm less interesting in real life. Jason tells me not to worry, but I do anyway. I'm a terrible worrier. Our conversations usually go something like this: "I really would love to meet you one day. Face to face. I feel like we've known each other all our lives. I mean, I know you, but I've never met you. I don't even know what you look like." He doesn't mention the Skype thing, as per my request. "I want to meet you too, but, you know, what if I'm different? What if I'm not what you thought I was? What if we've already exhausted all possible conversation topics during our years of friendship? It could happen." This is me, with my normal arguments. And he responds with the usual. "And what if I don't care?" This never fails to stump me, as he knows. That portion of the conversation typically ends with some brief acknowledgement of his point, quickly followed by a subject change. But in the past few months, we've been seriously discussing a face to face, and the prospect is both thrilling and terrifying. And today, on a Monday in a cold month (which is all my frozen brain can remember), I'm meeting him here, at the city park. Meeting him. My best friend. A stranger. I drive to the park an hour ahead of schedule. Just to be safe. I find myself eyeing the parking lot, looking for his car, which is ridiculous; I don't know what he drives. I only know that he lives a 4-hour drive from the park, and that he's making this trip specially for me. I'm touched. Then it happens. A shiny white car pulls into the lot, and suddenly I can feel my heart in my throat. This is it. He approaches the swing set where I sit, goofy grin worn proudly upon his face. "Melissa?" he asks. He sounds just like he did over the phone. "Yeah," I say, and then nod my head, to make sure he gets the point. I stop nodding. I feel like an idiot, but he doesn't even seem to notice. "I'm Jason." I stand up from the swing, either to embrace him or just so I don't have to look up at him. He's awfully tall. I open my arms for a hug, then wonder if it's maybe a little soon for all that. He doesn't seem to think so. As he wraps his arms around me, I feel a bit awkward. How do you hug someone you've just met? That you've known for years? Again, it doesn't matter to him that I have no idea what I'm doing. After a minute he pulls away, and we just stare at each other quietly. I break the silence. "Sorry. I don't really know... what to do, I guess. I'm nervous, and I feel like I'm messing everything up. Am I?" He chuckles. "Maybe a little. But what if I don't care?" And he doesn't. He never does. End I wasn't sure where to end this one. I think I could've just kept writing for days, but it's already late, and it had to be done somewhere. Oh, well. ~Amber |
| This is all I could come up with for today. Oh, well. Day 7 Prompt: Just because it’s taken you three years to notice, Ron, doesn't mean no one else has spotted I'm a girl! Senryu-type-thing first. Took you long enough. Ronald, you're an idiot. Yes, I am a girl. Then this thing. I'm a nerd, a bookworm, A brain that knows all the answers To your potions homework. Smart. Studying and reading, Exams; That's not all I am. Yes, Ron. Thanks for noticing. Finally. I am a girl. And not a last resort. End ~Amber |
| So, I had some fun with the poetry yesterday, and I wanted to do it again today. This is the result. Day 6 Prompt: I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for. First, a haiku (actually, after some researching, I think this is closer to a senryu, which I don't think I've ever heard of.) Traitorous ex-friend Landed me in Azkaban, I will have revenge. Also... Limerick-ish? He betrayed and murdered our friends, Who I tried my best to defend. Though I didn't kill Peter, The snitch and the cheater, I wish I could show him his end. I don't even know what this one is. If I could muster up the courage, and figure out how, I would get out of this hell-hole, with the remnants of my sanity, and commit the murder I was imprisoned for. And last, because I had to, an acrostic. In My Past, Rats Involved Some Other Nefarious Magics, Effectively Nullifying Trust. End That was very satisfying. ~Amber |
| Celebration by Kool & The Gang. Oh, my. It's been quite a while since I've heard this song. Listening to it again for the first time in probably a few years, I'm reminded, strangely enough, of my aunt's wedding, a number of years ago. I imagine I was six or seven years old at the time, so it was probably about a decade ago (saying that makes me feel really old  ). I don't recall any of the actual wedding, but I do remember part of the reception afterwards. Tiny Amber in her tiny dress spinning in circles in a corner of the dance floor, spinning until she was dizzy, then spinning some more. It was such a surreal experience for me. I got to stay up way past my bedtime and twirl around in my pretty dress in a room full of strangers. I feel like it should've been frightening to me, with all those people I didn't know, but it was probably one of the happiest nights of my life. It was certainly one of the most memorable.I don't even know if Celebration was played that night, but that's what the song reminded me of. Maybe because weddings are a great time to celebrate things: life, love, friendship, togetherness. It's a new year now, and I feel like now is a good time to find things to celebrate. ~Amber |
Heya! I didn't forget about Promptly Potter! Just got a little distracted, is all. Did you know that books are amazing?  It's true.Day 5 Prompt: I’d worked that much out for myself. I was not to be trusted in a kitchen. That was all there was to it. I had burned toast, coffee, eggs, various meats, and once, a plate of Skittles (please don't ask). I'd under-cooked, over-cooked, re-cooked, and sometimes un-cooked foods I tried to make. Salt and sugar looked identical to me (but tasted much different), and I always confused baking soda with baking powder. Needless to say, my attempts at preparing meals were often unsuccessful. Take yesterday, for example. I was standing in the kitchen, minding my own business and peeling some potatoes, when my sister waltzed right in and scared the daylights out of me. I jumped, and in doing so, sliced my finger on the peeler, and dropped my potato to the floor. I watched as it rolled away under the table. Glancing down at my hand, I saw a line of blood collecting on the wound on my finger. "You're bleeding," my sister said, helpfully. "You know, I think I'd worked that much out for myself. Thanks for pointing it out, though, in case I'd missed it." I rolled my eyes in exasperation. Sisters. I ran into the bathroom and grabbed a bandage out of the first aid kit that we keep for incidents like these. Wrapping my finger up nice and snugly, I wondered about the fate of my poor potato, and whether it would be retrieved from beneath the table any time soon. I decided that I'd better leave the cooking to my betters. To avoid disaster. End I don't really know what that was.  Based on a true story, maybe. My brain is fried from too much reading.Also, I saw Showering Dutchessbarbie.  writing some acrostic poems for her entries, and they looked like fun, so I decided to try it out. Orating Blatantly Visible Incidents, Ostensibly Understanding Something New, Especially Something Simple End ~Amber |
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