Kate's Stuff...

[Kate]

This is where my work will go. What do I do? Mainly I write stories, poems, just interesting stuff, as well as doodle. I'll put up all of that stuff, as they come. I have to find my first poem book, as some of my better work is in there, and I have to look up an essay I did way back when that I'm very proud of.

All of it will go in this thread. I hope you'll read it and give me input on everything. Something written is never done, it's always being worked on. Alrighty!! <3!

[Aurora]

Wrote this about a year ago. My favorite Essay I've ever done. So, input would be nice.

The Flat Line
Hours were spent, painting the red lines onto the white walls. Up and down, full of life, representing a heart monitor. Representing the life of the youth group. Even if the floors were bare and cold, the chairs seemingly frozen in rows that no one touched, the life was shown in the care the teens put into the walls. Look to the left, and it begins. Up, down, up down, steady rises and falls. Past the odd, broken pieces of furniture, past the ping pong table that one end is lower than the other. The red is the blood life of this group. It still goes.

Past the drums on the edge of breaking, the microphones everyone has spoken in, everyone has sung in. Past the screen that barely fits the music videos we play on. It keeps rising and falling, living for what seems forever. But at the end, where it should still go, connecting with the end and the never ending heart of god… they painted it flat. Dead. A flat line for the youth. A place that no life is at the end. In the end, everything dies.
Here is where kids come to cry, to tell the truths, and be accepted no matter what happens. The flat line sucks in everything and waits. Waits for the end of the youth group, even now it keeps sucking out people, telling them in whispers “These people are just fake. They were once full of life, but look, stay here and you’ll end up just like me. Dead. Flat, nothing left but a line straight and steady.”

The sins of the youth are cried into the cold floors, barely covered by the thin carpet. It doesn’t keep out the cold, and merely offers the sins back to the owners. There is no true place here to find peace. All there is…is the red death of a flat line. Broken games, and broken souls.

The fooze ball table that went everywhere now lies next to the line, men missing. Score keeper falling apart, pieces dropping to the ground as it is used. Only a few dedicated to it, even touch it. Other than that, it is a resting or leaning place for people as the gaze at the frozen smiles of people on the wall behind it. It is dead, as dead as the flat line.

Once they joked about how it would be flat line café. A place where they would sell their candy and joke and laugh. All there was…was the red death, hanging over the window. Everyone goes around, and pays at the door. No one stays for long under the crimson flat line. Anyone standing there, staring at it feels their own heart begin to stop. If not their heart, then their broken soul stops breathing.

Even as it all began, as they painted, the jokes and laughter lived through out the painting. Kids spilling, painting on the white, rubbing it off. Paint all over clothes, on the tarp, painting on each other’s face. But the lively youth grew silent as they painted above the window. Said they wanted to keep it clean, but really their own souls died as they were locked in the red paint. Never to be let out, even if they scrape it off. Even if the building burns. Forever tormented in the eternal death of the flat line.

The plastered on smiles of those that know, draw in the newest victims, their own lives laid before the red demon paint. Once entering the cold metal door into the colder room, there is no escape, only death to the flat line.

Everything here had such life, laughter ran sweet and pure. Now the laughter is tainted by the sin this room holds, tainted in knowing that their final breath will be claimed by a flat line that is already written in their heart, in their mind, and on their souls. Beating on and on, only to die suddenly, with out a moments notice. The perfect place before the sudden death.

Yet, that room can still hold life. Don’t get sucked in, as most did. Don’t cave to the flat line, even if you find yourself no where else, except by yourself here, crying till your eyes can no longer see. Speaking out your anger, or even just cleaning the frozen rows of chairs that stiffly wait this week’s youth.
Life turned to death.
A soul broken.
Blood life with the grim reaper met.
With nothing left as a token.
A single heart beating.
Up, down, rising and falling.
Before its last greeting.
The final stalling.
The end, the flat line.

[Aurora]

Instead
My life is nothing grand.
Yet everyone has a demand,
Of me, and of my time.
Leaving my soul in slime.
Rushing back and forth.
Doing something not of worth.
Not worth the hours at night,
When I should be sleeping tight.
But instead I spend endless hours,
working with my writing powers.
With my head hurting so.
Even when my tears flow.
Because for them, I think
and do not let my head sink
into the softness of my bed
where I should be instead
of this desk in front of me.
Working so others could be
Happy instead of sad.
Yet it is driving me mad!
No time for myself, for I!
Barely time to sigh.
And my poor head hurts.
As I go through all these works.
So others could be happy with me.
So they won't be sad, you see?
I've about hat it with them!
No breaks! Only to write again and again.
Just once I'd like the happy one to be me.
To put down the pen and be free!
But the happy ones are always them.
They always, always win.

~October 15th, 2004.

[Aurora]

Last Drop
Walking slowly I trudge onward spurred.
On to a goal most call absurd.
All around me it down pours.
And yet all I want is more.
For the rain seems so pure.
In this world of the unsure.
As I am wondering if I should continue on.
Wondering if my last breath has been drawn.
Because my blood gushes forth.
With nothing to bar it's course.
But onward I go.
Even if my blood does not flow.
For my duty always calls.
Onward until my last drop of blood falls.

~October 26th, 2004

[Aurora]

Marriage to the Sword
Step after step, on and on.
Not waiting for the answer, because it is wrong.
Onward to my life, onward to my death.
Onward to charge, and hold my breath.
Into battle, thickly spilled with blood.
Swing the sword, up to my knees in red mud.
Ever to fin their faces, in my dreams at night.
Step after step, wave after wave.
Battles rules me, I am it's slave.
It is the only remedy, to my pain.
I lie awake at night, solely in shame.
The tears that flow, ever down my face.
Looking with blurred eyes, at my lace.
I call myself a lady, yet I act more like a man.
It's just something, I will never understand.
I fight instead of dance, giggling with the rest.
I am the worst kind, they are the best.
It's just how I feel, I've felt all my life.
The sword, battle, and death, to these I will be wife.
For no other has made me forget, my pain.
No one else, has done the same.
As these have me, always there.
And so with these, my life will share.

~Jan. 29th, 2005