New Year 2015

2015, a new year (obviously), how pathetic does this beginning sound to you, at a scale from one to ten? It is ridiculous how clique the new year has become to me and we’re only on day five. “New Year” it sounds old (2015 years old 😉


Anyways, everyone will soon become another year older, the dead wont be any deader, and the sun will probably rise just the same, and it will set as glorious as it did the last time it was glorious. This year I have realized the severity of my indifference, gray has become my favorite color and the bla bla bla of the boring and seemingly endless hours of Westlake trail on. Maybe my light gray attitude is due to the Monday gloom or maybe its because eat didn’t eat breakfast. Either way, the fresh opportunity of the new year smells like water.

Be who you want to be.


What I like.


Brown paper packages


Being alone





Laughing at long assignments

Laughing at tedious things

Laughing in general

The Planet earth and The Milky way galaxy


Specifically steak



I dream a dream that I will graduate high school with flying colors. I have a dream where I can do what I want to do with my time and take classes I will enjoy and want to attend to. I dream a dream of a free world where I experience joy when faced with a challenge. I dream a dream of knowledge and adventure. I dream a dream that one day I will come home and not smell like a dirty high school, that i will be able to come home and sleep in till 9:00 am and stay up till 11:00 pm. And on the next morning I will feel like a champion. I dream a dream that one day I will buy furniture of my own, that I can go places and do things without being chained by shackles of high school!


I used to suck at driving a stick. I practiced for a long time and sometimes I avoided trying because I was afraid to fail. Drivers ed made me granny cautious and super suspicious. From the “you’re going to crash….” talk and the videos of heart broken parents and drivers wallowing in self loathing, I found myself believing every time I got in front of the wheel it could be my last or some innocent bystander will parish. Every pedestrian I saw instantly had a back story. Example: His name was Danny. He was just on his way to buy flowers for his girl friend! It was their 2 year anniversary and they just got in to a fight the day before. He was going to apologize and surprise her with dinner reservations where he would ask her to marry him, but-

I was a paranoid noob who sucked at diving because she was too afraid. I had to get over it, I had to take the challenge and figure it out. It took a month and involved countless tears, sweat, and stress but I forced myself to learn for Danny and numerous others.



I fear heights. I discovered this fear but a year ago at lagoon. As a child I was fearless, I wasn’t afraid of bugs, or public speaking ,or dying, especially not heights. I was a wild dare devil that loved anything that would freak my sisters out and strike fear into the hearts of mothers. I was my aunts go to girl for roller coaster riding. My aunt took me to lagoon frequently as a child, she was my coaster buddy. But she moved away.

A year ago was the first time I was able to return to that blessed place that had been the home of so many of my favorite memories. When we finally past the border from mediocrity to adventure we devised a plan, we would start with the fairs wheel.The swaying motion when you stopped was what got me. We were at the very top everything small and beneath us. A cloudless day and a perfect day to be hanging at the top of a giant wheel of death. I couldn’t breathe, the pathetic gondola swinging, the empty long space between me and the ground taunting me, monologuing my demise. I was done I needed off and all of the sudden I had the sudden urge to get out. I was prepared to climb down myself if I had to.

And just like that my riding days were over.


Hasty Allegations

Billy stood on the edge of the table, this nonsense had gone on too long. The people of the lunch room were segregated. Geeks, jesters, and even the beautiful separated like oil in water.

“Can this be?” Billy yelled grabbing the attention of no one, “I said CAN THIS BE?” now everyone was staring even the gladiators of the social food chain were quiet with tension between the soundless-ness, so Billy continued. “Is this what we have resorted to? Instead of judging an—“. What was he saying? he thought, why was this happening? This is ridiculous. “You know what who cares” he yelled making everyone giggle as he stepped down on to the dirty school tile, putting his hands into his pockets.

Billy had been undercover so long he forgot that none of this mattered to him, and apparently to no one else ether. He walked outside and the day had met its midlife, it was afternoon. Out of nowhere the beast he was hiding from came barreling out from the sky. This was it, Billy thought. He held his arms out letting his head drop closing his eyes. He didn’t care if this is how he died or what he still hadn’t done, he didn’t want to go back to school. He had a tests tomorrow anyways as well as several projects none of which he had done. Breathing in what was his last breath he slowly let it out enjoying the air that curled up so comforting in his lungs. Good bye.

The air was stale with the thick feeling of disappointment. He was writing for hours, days even. The cursor blinked mockingly at the blankness of his mind. He had ran out of ideas, mid-story. He read over the pages, what seemed before a work of genius, now had revealed its true self, hogwash. He took his glasses off with great esteem combing his hair back with the force of his young fingers. What was he thinking? A boy of his age being able to create a story, no, it was supposed to be a master peace. That in itself was hogwash. Sitting frustrated in his father’s study he leaned back in the leather chair, as he’s done before, thinking. “Inspiration!” he exclaimed that is what he needed. But he had been inspired before it took weeks! He didn’t have weeks, he barely had days. This called for extreme matters this called for him to live. And not just the life kind of living but the dyeing kind.

His name is Devly, Jimmy Devly. He lives on petruckevitch drive. His hair is usually spiraling out of control and unless he did something to it, which isn’t likely, it is blond. The kind of blond that should belong to a halo, but most things are deceiving. Mischief is a word that does not suffice for the type of genius he gets into. When people use the word genius in this town they mean Devly. Raising from the comfort of the leather, he spins to the left and with a second he jogged up the small mettle stair case, spiraling to a balcony creating access to yet another long set of book shelf’s. Taking the walk to the end he drags one hand across the spines of the books he passes as if to be consoling them in their years of waiting, till he found the section in which he came for. Stopping he stood facing it, one hand resting over his mouth as he searched for the single book out of the hundreds set before him.

 ~Ann Cost~