Sad News

Hi all. I’m back again. Sorry for leaving again, and for a longer period of time! Life has just been hectic. So, we moved again. I’m not going to go into detail on why we keep moving, but it’s basically my dad’s work. I didn’t move that far, just to another city.

Anyway, I’ll probably make a few more posts today with some of my writing, but I wanted to update with some sad news. I’m not over it, but I can think of the incident without crying.

One of my lovely cats passed away on September 23rd, at about ten PM. I say about because we don’t know for certain.

Her name was Klara, and she was about six when she died. She has been an outside cat for ages, since she first turned into an adult. She just loved being outside and eating the grass, looking out the window, and chasing birds and bugs, sometimes even bring dead prey into our house (ew~).

When we got a new kitten, however, her demeanor sort of changed. I mean, Klara was always shy and timid, but for months she was withdrawn and mean to everyone. Klara did not do well with other animals. I felt so bad for her, but we couldn’t just give away the kitten now after we bonded. Thankfully, Klara grew used to her. She didn’t fight with her anymore-sometimes they would swat paws, but they got along peacefully. But I knew inside she was still stressed because of the new addition. She started going outside everyday, for longer periods of time. In the morning when I got up for school, there she was, sitting at the door meowing her head off to be let outside. She would then come home for a little while when I was at school, to eat food, then went out again, coming back at eight-nine-ten pm.

Looking back, I wish I had given her enough attention. I always tried to, but she grew into a more secluded cat.

So on September 23rd, a Sunday, at ten PM, I was looking for her. I opened the door, called for her, she wasn’t there. We had a large tree in front of that house, that blocked a large part of the road from me. A little later I went outside again, with my mom this time, and walked a little to the side. There, I saw a small animal’s body laying in the middle of the road. (As I am writing this, my heartbeat started racing.) It was Klara.

The feeling I experienced there was honestly the worst I have ever felt. It was a mixture of dread, guilt, helplessness, sadness, and regret. It washed over me completely. I had never experienced a death. I ran inside for my dad, who got her off the road and inspected her injury. My mother and I stayed inside, crying.’

He came back in and said she died due to trauma. She was hardly hurt at all. It was one side of her head that was affected, and she was laying on it. No broken bones or mangled parts at all.

We aren’t sure exactly how she died, and my dad was confused too, but we settled on a car. It was the only think that made sense. My dad said she was stiff and cold, which meant she died quickly. I hope it was painless.

A lot of why I cried is  because I felt guilt. I was out earlier, and maybe could have seen her. She always used to cross the road, as the neighbour across from us apparently had the best backyard ever. We think she was crossing the road from their house to go home.

There had been so many close calls with Klara. She’d never been hurt before, except for a few fights with cats. But at times she didn’t get home until the next day, or very late, or I couldn’t find her.

It didn’t feel real.

We drove to our new property which we would moving into soon, and buried her there in the backyard. My mom didn’t want to see, so she stayed in the car. I buried her with three things.

Her favourite pillow case she would use to sleep on a pillow that was in my closet.

A green bandana my best friend had given me when we lived in Canada that she used as a blanket.

Finally, an orangutan toy that she would sleep with. I actually have a picture of her cuddling with it. I may upload it later.

I also placed a rose I carelessly picked from a bush in our backyard. Normally my parents would be annoyed that I tore it, but at that point we were just shocked. I kissed her a few times, with her slightly bad part of head facing down. She was really cold. Her arms and legs were stiff.

My dad told me that I would have to experience more deaths like this, and it’s just how life goes. So we buried her, and placed bricks on that spot so we would know where she was.

We plan on making a special area in that garden for her. We’ll place a tile or something with her info on it, like her name, and date of birth, and date of death on it, with a little sitting place nearby, along with a fountain or bird bath, with steps leading up to the little spot for her.

My other cat, Feela (if you’re wondering why we name our cats such strange names, it’s because we’re Russian), is sort of lethargic now. It’s the only word I can describe her as. She is eating less, which is a big surprise as she is a fat kitty, and is searching around our new house looking for her. She meows at night, which sounds like crying. She misses her friend.

I’ve written and explained everything I wrote here so many times, but not to this much depth. It feels good letting it all out.

Sorry for the absence guys, and sorry if you have a weak heart or stomach, some of what I wrote may have been unsettling. Thanks for reading, and for all the new followers I got. It means so much.

Love, Evie.

Dragonflies

*Note:  Severely exaggerated*

You see them in movies, kids books, sometimes even outside. They are symbols of good luck even.

Just looking at this picture gives me shivers…nasty little things.

But I hate them.

I was a just a young lass, when I was absentmindedly jumping on my trampoline. I was readying myself for a back flip when I noticed a dragonfly, flying about aimlessly.

“Hi Mr. Dragonfly. What are you up to today?” I asked, walking over to the edge of the trampoline, closest to where the dragonfly was. I clutched the net surrounding the trampoline, which was obviously made for ruly children as myself. And my numerous scars were evidence.

The dragonfly flied majestically, soaring up and about through my mother’s garden, looping in and out through the petals. I did not know yet that it was a suicide mission.

I stopped pondering the insect’s beauty, and instead went my to spot where I before stood waiting to do a back flip.

So I cracked my knuckles, wiggled my fingers, and arched my back. And I lept.

As I contorted into an upside down ‘U’ shape, my eye caught on the dragonfly. It was once more majestically flying towards the direction of the…net?!

“Nooooo!” I yelled dramatically in slow motion, as I landed on my back, a failed attempt at the long awaited back flip.

Avoiding the searing pain (note: once again, severely exaggerated), I twisted my neck to look at the dragonfly.

And his head was stuck in the net.

I lept up immediately, ready to save the poor guy, but when I drew closer I noticed something.

It was missing a wing from the fact his whole body was stuck in the net.

Repulsed, I backed away. I unzipped the door of the net and I ran as fast as I could, not paying attention to my surroundings.

This led me to fall painfully on the concrete steps leading to my patio.

There was blood. So much blood.

(Not really. But it hurt. So yeah).

I still have a scar as a reminder of that horrid day, in fact. It is now part of my rather admirable collection.

So then I was scared of going into the backyard for days after, let alone going on the trampoline. One day however, about five days after it got stuck there, I ventured out bravily.

And, yeah, it was still there…

Half of it.

I screamed. I really did.

(No I didn’t).

We sold that house long ago, and even sold the trampoline, but I bet the spirit of the dragonfly still roams…

And his is why I hate dragonflies.

Nothing Is I

I am nothing

And nothing is I

I speak for no one

And no one speaks for me

I have not adjusted to living

And life has not adjusted to me

Love is a game

A game I do not play

Crying is for the weak

The weak is not I

Laughter is for children

Do I look like a child?

Friends are fakes and leave you in the end

I am fake, I’ll leave you first

Life is a waste

Why waste your time?

Death is horrible

But so am I

I am nothing

And nothing is I

Lover to Ashes

From lover to ashes,
my lover goes
Once a being that could breathe
until he let go
Lovely things he used to say,
that came from the heart,
a poet to be,
right from the start
but then the day came,
that his heart stopped
they gave me a vase,
that held his remnants,
but how would I know?
ashes are ashes,
they’re all the same
on the day
we joined to grieve,
i sprinkled his ashes,
and they floated over the trees,
now you’re in the air,
leaving behind,
the faint smell of smoke,
and tears in our eyes

Sleeping Beauty

Outside, the sky is plastered with stars and a full moon on a dark canvas. There is a quite a commotion going on at the Gerald Mansion.

“What a pity,” a hooded man wearing a long black cloak is saying humorously, as if he is reciting a joke at a cocktail party. “Such a beautiful girl, going to waste.” He takes a long drag on his cigarette before dropping it and crushing it with his heel.

“Ple-please,” a red-haired woman begs, dangling in mid-air, her fingers fighting to seize the rails of a balcony. She is slipping slowly, her grasp on the rails loosening. The man chuckles softly, and saunters over to the rail. He crouches down, and takes a hold of her hands. The woman looks up at the general direction where his eyes should be, silently pleading. A few moments pass, and it seems the man has changed his mind. He hasn’t.

“Good-bye,” the faceless man whispers, before letting go of her limp fingers.

The woman does not scream. She does not whimper. She down not even shed a tear. But her eyes do not bother to hide the look of hatred and betrayal.

A second passes. Only two, three, more seconds pass, but time creeps along like dripping molasses. The woman hits the concrete with a sickening thud, and what sounds like green branches breaking in half is heard. A malicious laugh erupts from the man standing on the balcony. He examines his handy work, leaning on the rails.

She is still alive.

Twitching, the girl spits out a trickle of blood, and her fingers unwrap slowly. Blood slowly stains the ground, a tremendous amount spilling from her body. Pain floods as she takes a sharp, quick, intake of breath. She exhales, her heart pounding viciously. Shocks of agony seize her limbs as she painfully crawls onto her hands, before failing, and losing the fight with gravity. The shock of hitting the cold, bloody pond on the concrete floor sends her through worldly torture.

Her limbs shake, and her rib cage rattles. Short, quick gaps of breath involuntarily escape her body, once again causing aches. She curls up into the fetal position, and her mouth fills up with the metallic, distinct, taste of blood. She weakly opens her mouth, and it floods over, sending streams down her cheeks.

Her chest heaves up and down, her blood-red lips parting slowly and softly exhaling away her life. Her once rosy cheeks and fair complexion is now pale and stained with blood, dripping from her eyes like tears. Her eyes flutter every now and then, and the heart pounding against her rib cage, wanting to be free of this tortured body, starts to beat slower.

The girl can see her life evaporating into the air around her, her soul leaving her body as she closes her eyes. The breathing slows so that she only takes a weak intake of air every few seconds. Finally, with her last exhale, her limbs go, and her head flops to her side. Her red hair, concealing with the pool of blood around her, sticks to her sweat layered forehead.

Slowly, slowly, the last trickle of blood escapes from the corner of her mouth, and creeps down. Her skin is starting to show the bruises, the patches of once untouched skin losing it’s perfection. Her green, vibrant eyes grow dull underneath the eyelids, and her skin is as pale as ever.

She was the real life sleeping beauty, and will now be the never awoken beauty.

Bucket List

 No,  I’m not talking about the movie (though the idea is the same)!

A bucket list is a list of things you want to do before you die.

Why is it called the bucket list? Well, I guess it’s because you stand on something like a bucket with a rope around your neck, and then jump(thus killing yourself). So basically, it’s a list of things you want to do before you commit suicide(but many people are oblivious to this fact).

But let’s be optimistic-you can either ignore that depressing side of it, or just call it something else!

Now, if you were to ask me what was on my bucket list, I honestly wouldn’t know what to say. There are many things: Go to Fiji, or Australia, skydive (I even hate rollercoasters so if I actually did this it would surprise me greatly *shudders at the thought of jumping out of a flying helicopter*), go on a rollercoaster (More likely then skydiving, but still ), publish a book or two, travel the world a lot, etc.

Now it’s your turn-what would be on your bucket list?