Seminole Fraley
Bio
Word's aren't always pretty but they'll always make you feel.
Stories (5/0)
The Great White Unknown
Tuma said to himself, "Why must I follow in their ways? Look at how far they've gotten me." The sarcasm rolled through his words like a fully loaded tanker looking for its next victim. "Trust in the process young one." He snarkily mimicked his grandfather's words as he angrily threw the small, once soothingly cold, jagged stone that had been forgotten in his hand over the precipice in front of him. The stone had warmed during his existential outcry, making him even more upset that he had forgotten it. "How can I trust in a process that I just don't understand?" he pondered. After another moment or two Tuma extended his right hand out once again to grab another stone, only to be met by a soft, yet moist, tuft of grass. The feeling sprung him back to reality with a jolt. He had thrown all of the rocks in his nearby area, and was unsure of how long he had been sitting in this spot. The early May rain that blessed the land that morning, had caused the path of the mountain to be untrekkable due to the icy mud patches that had formed. At first Tuma was angry at the rain, because it meant he had to stay on the peak of the mountain until it passed. However, the storm was long enough gone now that Tuma was finally able to begin his descent down Rainbird mountain, back to his village.
By Seminole Fraley3 years ago in Fiction
The City of Eternal Light
Naraiah had been walking for quite some time, she thought to herself. She vaguely remembered passing that distinctly large patch of moss about 5 minutes ago, but she was surrounded by patches of moss of all sizes, so it was really anyone's guess. She sighed, letting out a small cloud of steam that gently made its way through the crisp October air. She had just moved to Gresham this past summer, and she has been revelling in the beautiful scenery. Her favorite place to hike as of late has been the rainy daydreamers paradise they call Oxbow Park. Before this, she had spent her whole adolescent life nestled in a small suburb in the midwest. Her life began flashing before her eyes slowly, but although slow moving, the emotion was coming at her like a tsunami. She closed her eyes tight and shook her head. She balled up her fists and finally rid herself of her past again. It had a tendency to creep up on the most in opportune moments. But that was then, this year things were different. Naraiah made sure of it.
By Seminole Fraley3 years ago in Fiction
Mrs. Pelfrey
Start writing...Okay class, today's free writing exercise has no prompt. I want you to write about whatever feels good to you at the moment. I want you to describe whatever you choose to write about with as much detail as you can muster. That is my only requirement." Third period Language arts wiith Mrs. Pelfrey was one of my favorite classes in junior high. Every morning at 10:15am I would slide into my desk eager to see what she would throw at us today. My desk was in the front row, three over from the teacher's desk. It was a typical school desk, all one solid structure, with an open cubby to stash books, pencils, snacks, whatever a 7th grader might need during class. There were a few students missing today, which wasn't out of the norm for a heavily rainy day in Ohio, so Mrs. Pelfrey decided to make today easy and just let us free write, with minimal supervision or guidance. Call me a nerd, but I LOVED free writing, despite how much I would criticize my work afterwards. No matter how much I loved writing about a topic from her prompt list, nothing compared to how I felt when there was no prompt. I have always had a knack for descriptive writing, "sometimes a little too much knack," Mrs. Pelfrey would say as she gently reminded me that there is such a thing as over describing something. I couldn't help it though, I was a person that noticed everything, and I wanted to help people see what I see. Feel what I feel. Mrs. Pelfrey gave us anywhere between 30 and 40 minutes to write, some light airy stimulating music playing softly in the background. For the next few moments I watched as we all pondered individually about what we would write. I watched as matt chewed his pencil eraser in thought. I noticed how Sierra fidgeted with her sleeves with anticipation and anxiety trying to find the perfect writing topic. I sat in my desk quietly watching my peers for a few more seconds and then it clicked. I would break the norm, I would write about what I was seeing in this moment. I chuckled under my breath in gloating satisfaction. "Everyone is writing stories, noone is going to expect this!" I thought to myself as I began scribbling. I first wrote about myself, how I was feeling, what I was wearing, how I was breathing etc. Nothing was too small or too big of detail to leave out. Then I moved on to the classroom. I wrote about the almost silent ticking of the analog clock on the wall above the murky blue classroom door. The same clock that is in every classroom in this middle school. After I felt I had covered all of the details of the classroom, I started to write about my peers. One by one, I wrote down small tidbits of what each person was doing, or how I thought they were feeling based on the emotions they displayed. First I wrote about Cora and how she always dressed to impress, but also how in this moment she looked lost to me. She looked as if she was trying to decide which of her coach purses was her definitive favorite. Next was R.J, who had maybe three words written on his paper, and was falling asleep in his hand. A small snore sneaking out of his lips every few minutes, causing him to startle and repeat the cycle. I had written about more than half of my classmates when Mrs. Pelfrey stood up and announced that it was time to share what we'd written, if we felt comfortable of course. Being more eager than before, I quickly raised my hand to share. She motioned me to begin, and I did with no hesitation, still feeling a bit egotistical about the work I'd completed. After I had read what I wrote down, I looked up to analyze the faces around me, and what I saw was not what I expected. I felt disheartened that I didn't blow everyone away as I'd thought. I slunk back into my seat and zoned out over analyzing everything that had happened. Should I have just written another short story? Is that what they would have preferred? The thoughts kept coming until I heard my name, and I jolted back to reality. Kerri was reading her paper now, and I was shocked when I heard "Seminole is busy writing, she must have a great idea. Her face shows determination and self satisfaction." After Kerri finished, I was still perplexed and trying to deduce how it could have happened that she thought of doing the same as me. A few more students shared their work, and out of those few, a small handful of them had all done what I did. They all wrote about nothing, and yet so much, just like me. I couldn't help but stare in shock, and Id bet my mouth hung slack just a bit too. Mrs. Pelfrey must have noticed because she stared at me with a smug, but warm and kind, smile. She was pleased with what was happening, but why? After those of us outgoing enough to share had said our pieces, Mrs. Pelfrey stepped into the middle of the room and thanked us, as she always did, for sharing. She expressed her joy for how "present and expressive" all of our writing was, and gave us all a big thumb of approval before the bell rang signifying the end of third period. To this day, I had never questioned it much. The way she seemed so pleased with how our writing had gone, how it seemed planned, yet I knew it wasn't. I am 27 years young now, and it's taken me all of this time to realize what that wonderful woman had done for us. Though we didn't know it, she was instilling mindfulness practices in us. She was teaching us to let ourselves know that it's okay, and even praised upon, to let go of constraints and simply do what feels right in the moment. She was showing us that if we just apply ourselves in another way, we can see that we can gain more from every situation, every interaction. She showed us that life was more complex than just a series of thoughts in our heads, proved that we are not alone with these thoughts and that everyone has them, and she provided a safe outlet for us to harness them and maximize their potential. I have used her technique for years. I would turn to a notebook when I felt out of place, or like I needed to be doing something with idle time. I always thought it was a fidget tactic to minimize my ADHD, and I didn't know until now, but I have been practicing mindfulness my whole life thanks to Mrs. Pelfrey.
By Seminole Fraley3 years ago in Education
Getting grounded
"If you want to be creative you have to learn how to do stuff that has no purpose. Art isn't made by working all the time, first you've got ro go out and live - the art will come" - Rupi Kaur Creativity is a word that has no limitations, no conformance, no exclusions. We have the ability to be creative in any way we choose, and that is a beautiful thing. While to one, being creative may be as simple as combing your hair slightly different this morning, as opposed to every other morning. To another, it may be as complex as creating a new algorithm for a commonly used phone app. There is no way to define what is or isn't a creative outlet. Limitless. During my lifetime I have tried many different types of creative outlets. I have fluctuated through the mediums more than Cleveland, Ohio likes to change its mind about the day's weather. Throughout all of this change, the only constant has been growth. Yet, another abstract concept to fumble around with in the mind. In my time trying to conceptualize what creativity is, and how to "be" creative through growth, I had thought of a new creative outlet. One that doesn't plague my guilt with the wasting of canvas or paints on projects unfinished or that turned out "not quite right". An outlet that sustains not only my love of creating, but also my thirst for knowledge, understanding, and of course my hunger. I had finally decided to harness the power of the earth in all it's glory. I would be a plant mom. The summer of 2016 I dedicated my life to those that grew in the soil. I worked tirelessly with my partner to create a space that was fit for any HGTV enthusiast. After about a month of grunt work, we finally had it made in the shade. We had created 4 raised beds, soon to become home for our various types of tomatoes, basils, lettuces, corn and much more. The bed dimensions varied but each was roughly able to hold 32 square feet of soil. Each foot of soil can sustain as many as 4 plants! Dependent on circumstances, of course. All I could see was how much potential I created, that I knew would soon turn into reward. As my garden grew that summer, from all of the warm rain and golden sunshine caressing the leaves and roots daily, so did I. My partner and I amicably came to the decision to part ways after many months of growing apart. My garden now became not only my joy, but also my comforter in solace. My tears fertilized the soil, and their strength became mine. As my plants grew, so did I. Now from a basic point of view, a garden grows as follows: Plant seeds, plant grows until mature, harvest, repeat. But from an inside perspective, you can't even list all of the immeasurable changes that happen. I watched as those seeds, planted not so far under the surface of the soil, grew into seedlings with their adorable tiny leaves. Then those leaves turned into buds or flowers, that in turn changed into fruits and vegetables, and back to seeds to be reborn. As each day passed with the setting sun, I too was undergoing immeasurably small changes. I was learning to find peace in myself and the world around me in ways inexpressible. Towards the end of the summer, as the leaves changed into those welcomed oranges and reds, the garden and I had let out a deep shared breath for the storm was over. The growth period was coming to a close, and it was time to harvest our hard work. As I harvested my bountiful fruits and vegetables, I thanked each plant for it's fruit, and for its support. I had weathered an emotional storm, and I had grown from it, with their help. In my time in the garden, during my personal growth, I was reminded daily by those beautiful plants, that even through growth isn't always outwardly apparent, it's always happening and it will always bring you beauty if you put in the work. It's been 5 years now since that garden has come and gone, but the seeds I planted there that year, are still growing deep inside of me.
By Seminole Fraley3 years ago in Humans
Beneath the surface
"Put that down dear..."She trailed off. "Lost things from before..." I could see her pondering her next words, turning them over in her mind, analyzing them carefully, as to choose the best ones. Right as I was about to put my unwanted two cents in, without skipping a beat she jumped right back into it, " ..Simply are not meant to be found. That's why they're called lost things. Isn't that right, dear?"
By Seminole Fraley3 years ago in Fiction