Proud (The Echo Chronicles)

The Echo Chronicles: Volume 1: Letter 2

Dear Person,

Where do I belong? My heart is torn in two, and my needle and thread are gone. I can’t watch as my dreams are crushed, and my hopes are flattened to extinction. How can I stand tall when the whole world mocks me? Why even bother to get out of bed?

If they don’t want me to be myself, why would I want to either? But no matter how many times I change my cover, they always see through to the real me. Who am I kidding? If I can’t even truly be myself, how can I be someone else?

It’s really all an act. Like Shakespeare said, it’s a play, and I am merely doing my part. Pushed around by painted faces and wooden arms… I can’t move, though. How can I defend myself?

The other puppets don’t like me. They think I’m too different. I’m the Hunchback of Notre Dame, I’m Hester Prynne. No one dares talk to me. No one dares interact with me. Why would they? If I wasn’t me, I wouldn’t either.

I wish for sunny skies and bright days, mended wounds and newfound ways. I wish for people to like and accept me. I don’t not wish for the impossible. Only for happiness.

“There is only one happiness in this life- to love and be loved.” – George Sand

Hall of Kings

I lie amongst the brave and true
And listen to the wind
For somewhere in the ocean blue
Are the graves of the evil and sinned.

Amongst the journeyed and weathered fair
Where music forever sings.
Dance forever where the valiant care
And dine within the hall of kings.

My soul is crushed by dreams of revenge
And hopes that happiness will die.
Someday my heart will be avenged
By those who cheat and lie.

Stories Untold

What is out there?

A whole other world.

Beyond the eye’s seeing capacity.

A world so different from mine.

I’ve never seen it

Before in my life.

So fragile, a touch could break it.

Dare I…

Approach?

Speak?

How will I remember this beauty

After I leave?

The Echo Chronicles

This is the story of a girl who’s struggling with her life’s meaning. It will be divided into many “letters” that will be posted individually.

The Echo Chronicles: Volume 1: Letter 1:

Dear Person,

What do you think would happen if I committed suicide? Is death beautiful? Dare I embrace it, and take it in stride? If I died… Would it hurt?

I don’t think anyone would care. I’m always a third wheel with my friends- if they’re even my friends at all- and the rest of them just don’t like me. Do you ever feel that way? The feeling that your friends… aren’t really your friends? Friends are supposed to support you, whatever you do. But my friends are never there for me when I need them the most.

They say they will be, but they never are. I can’t talk to them, and I have to think before I do something because I’m so scared they’ll judge me. And I think they do anyway.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I can’t just let it go by like there’s nothing going on, but I can’t just tell them and lose my friendships anyway.

It’s all so confusing. Do they hate me, like me, or just tolerate me? Why do I care?

“I’m selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.”  – Marilyn Monroe

Clock

Life is like a clock-
Tick, tock.
Life goes on steadily-
Tick, tock.
Until someone pulls out the batteries-
Tick, tock.
Every hour ends-
Tick, tock.
Bells chime-
Tick, tock.
My walls are down-
Tick, tock.
Where is my breath?
Tick, tock.
Bring me a mouse.
Tick, tock.
And the mouse ran up the clock.
Tick, tock.

What is Freedom?

Marionette, a puppet on strings
Dancing uselessly up and down.
Bobbing neck and sagging limbs
Marionette, a puppet on strings.

Binded to life by strings of light
My glassy eyes seeing only children and furniture polish
No future
No freedom.

My old, worn strings will never be cut
But if they are, I’ll fall to the ground.
Marionette, a dead useless lump-
Marionette, a puppet on strings.

Now my strings have been cut and I fall down, down.
Strangely enough, it doesn’t hurt.
I’ve fallen into a pit
And it’s deep, and dark, and I can’t get out-
Marionette, a puppet on strings.

Cut now, with no strings to help me back up
I’m free, but am I really that free?
If I was- why can’t I climb out?
Marionette, a puppet on strings.

Those strings were my life-
I can’t live without them.
Marionette, a puppet on strings
Bring me back to life if you can.

Endless Circles

There are spoken reactions, and unspoken ones-
A refusal to speak, a gape, or a frown
Some a short distance away-
And a million miles between us.

Do you see that I work in endless circles?
That I can never stop?
Do you see that nothing ever really changes?

Stars precede us, and never die
They roll down hills, they spread to the sky
Like a bird, we must fly
For like all things, we all must die.

The Boxtrolls

The Boxtrolls is a charming, hilarious tale that is sure to become a family night movie in years to come.

In danger of a Boxtroll-hating town, Eggs, a boy who was adopted by the Boxtrolls long ago, attempts to reconnect both communities. In his journey, he discovers more about himself than he knew before, and more about people than he perhaps wanted to know.

Amongst the evil and ignorant lies Lord Portly-Rind, a cheese-obsessed father who doesn’t listen to or understand children. This leads to several unfortunate events, and the classic line: “I regret so much now…” And of course, there is Archibald Snatcher, the main villain, who is intent on killing every last Boxtroll in town, a feat driven by cheese and ambition.

Though comparable, it’s no Coraline, although there were, as usual, slightly disturbing and, for lack of better words, creepy scenes.  Another Laika achievement, The Boxtrolls will definitely be a movie to watch and look fondly back on in the future.

Don’t Close Your Eyes

Someday I’ll fall into the arms of sleep
And when I wake, I’ll see
The world is different from in my dreams
But it’ll always be there for me.

I sit in the car seat and listen to the radio
My friends singing along in the back.
But now no words come out of their mouths
And the song the radio plays is gone.
I see colors and words that swirl about me
I try to catch them but they dance out of my grasp.
Outside the car, the sky is dark
Illuminated by eerie lamp lights
I see white and red and orange and yellow-
I see a perfect day.
Then… nothing at all.

It’s too late to take back what happened
My heart, it aches for the days that it’s lost
My deep, dark slumber, a spell that has cost
And now, when I look upon the ruins and decay
There’s nothing more that I can say.

Don’t close your eyes. You’ll miss something. And then everything- gone in a flash.

Music To My Ears

I started playing violin when I was four. Throughout the years, I’ve gotten better, and I’ve also learned a lot. But if there’s one thing that I’ve realized from my experience (and seasons of being placed in the back of orchestras), it’s that your seating doesn’t matter. Sure, you might get noticed more if you’re concertmaster or principal, but it’s not all about how your music sounds. It’s about how you play it and why.

If somebody forces you to play the instrument you play, then you don’t feel as if the sound that you produce is yours. You may play well, but you won’t play with the same sentiment as someone who plays music because they want to. Music is conceived as an emotional art. Like writing or painting, you can convey your feelings through the way you play- with happiness or with anger, with abruptness or with charm.

You can’t play well until you really feel the music, and you can’t feel the music until you enjoy to play. A beautiful sound factors into playing well, but also the emotions that you convey into the music. The composer provides the dynamics and tempo, but you have to provide your heart and soul.