Mother of 2-Writer-Crafter-Dreamer-TV binger-Movie lover-Space nerd-dinosaur connoisseur
Does anyone else feel like they are living the same day over and over and over again? I get up. I go to work. I come home. I'm exhausted. I go to bed.
'Don't tell me what to do, Gray. I can handle this myself!' I spat at my longtime friend who was just trying to make sure I didn't end up killing myself. He grabbed my arm to hold me back, but I swung it up and caught him on the chin hard enough to break his hold on me. That was the last time I saw him.
My boot hit the dock with an echo as I climbed down from The Winchester. This boat had been in my family for decades. My Grandfather inherited it from his Uncle who was somewhat of a family legend. Gramps would always make a whole event of telling us kids all about the great sea adventures Uncle Henry went on, and all the mysterious creatures he encountered. Gramps was a little eccentric, so we all knew to take the stories with a large grain of salt. Sea monsters were a staple of mythical folk tales around our town, so we weren't strangers to the lore, but we also knew better than to believe everything we heard.
Let me tell you about the goodest boy you'd ever meet. His name was Zip. Zip. The Myth. The Dog. The Legend. Zip was my family's first Australian Cattle Dog (Blue Heeler), and the dog that would forever change our lives. My Dad saw the breed in a movie and fell in love, so my parents took a road trip to Tennessee and adopted him as a young pup. He was bred to be a show dog, but didn't have a 'winning' stance, so was returned to his birth home. I don't recall how my parents found his adoption listing, but I can tell you that regardless of his inadequacy to win trophies, he was definitely always a winner in our eyes.
You are in the same house, but I am alone. You are in the same room, but I am alone. You are inches away, but I am alone.
End of The World
Trembling, I hid under a paper-thin blanket trying hard not to emit a single decibel of sound...trying hard not to move a muscle. If they knew I was here, my life would be over. Would I make it? Would they let me live? Or would they end my life as I knew it? I sure could use Harry Potter's invisibility cloak right now...then there'd be no chance they'd find me...
A house can be a home, and a home can be a house, But not all houses are homes, and not all homes are in a house. A house is where you lay your head, your clothes, your bed, your things,
Why can't I just be a writer?
In my heart- I've always pictured myself as a story-teller...a 'writer'...but when I sit down and put my pen to paper, I never seem to be able to formulate anything worth being proud of. I have SO many ideas, and storylines, and plots, and characters just swimming around in my brain, but there's something stopping those imageries from reaching my fingertips.