Journalling

I've been keeping this journal since September, for my Writer's Craft class, and like I mentioned earlier, I did some painting yesterday. I'm horrifyingly amateur with it, buuut really, it's the thought that counts right? Haha.





Ohoh, and these are 3 books I recently bought, and am very excited in reading.



Anybody read any of those?

Between the Wet Hay - Memories of Murder adaptation

The deep, musty smell of rotten leaves and caked soil pervaded his nostrils as Kwang-Ho stood crouching low to the ground, shuddering—the cold snaking through his shoddy clothing, and slithering along his thighs.
He snuck a glance up at the detective pacing the ground, and at once was rewarded with a smart thunk on the shoulder.
“Oww!” He exclaimed, shielding his eyes automatically, bracing himself for more.
The skinnier detective with the black eyes suddenly dropped down to his stature, a menacing physiognomy twisted with passionate hatred.
“Speak! Tell us!” He ordered, with a guttural drawl.
When Kwang-Ho didn’t immediately respond, he was prodded forwards with another hollow thump, this time against his head.
Sharp, piercing skewers grazed his mind, blurring his vision. Seemingly-random images drifted to the surface of his mind, then drowned beneath the depths just as quickly.
Wanting to say something to appease the detectives but struggling with coherence, Kwang-Ho settled his muddled mind on the image of his father—his big, brawny old man who always protected him against the world. His father, whose words rang with startling clarity. “Wipe your mind clean like a chalkboard before you speak, always listen, and let your thoughts voice themselves, not your mouth.”
And so again he launched himself backwards into that night, the horror swelling anew in his pounding consciousness.
His thoughts began to divide themselves up neatly in his head, as he recalled the drizzling wet, forlorn night that everything first occurred.
“Beside the railway…in that field…” Kwang-Ho began, eyes widening in excitement. The memory began to adjust itself with slow progression, as the hazy lens of a camera is tuned to sharpness. Each flashback then collapsed into place with surprising ease.
“Her neck…” he hissed. “Hyang-Suk’s neck…” A pause.
“He was strangling her…” he spit out, finally.
At this point in the memory, fuzziness replaced the vividness with which Kwang-Ho could remember. He tried desperately to embody himself as he was that night, sandwiched between the wet hay, but it was no use.

The air was full of the smell of wet asphalt; the rain screamed in ecstasy as it clapped against the broken rows of wheat. Tucked around Hyang-Suk’s neck was a cherry-red collar that stood out like a drop of bright blood amidst the black belly-folds of night.
Her eyes, fluttering haphazardly against the beating water, shrieked in despair. Moans, which rose up her throat, died halfway before reaching her lips. Oh, how pretty she looked, even when her hair was in clomps of dirt and her cheeks were brazen with bruises.
The man’s nimble fingers moved in succession, tying knot after knot—methodically weaving around Hyang-Suk’s legs, up her arms, and across her pretty visage. Kwang-Ho was surprised when it was all over in a matter of seconds, the girl motionless, still glowing with the aura of recent human life. Before long, the man was running off into the darkness, letting the thick fog swallow his fading figure into oblivion.

The Joys of the Fairer Sex

Dramatis Personae

Mr. Tibs

Man (that sits next to Mr. Tibs)

Girl #1

Girl #2, a.k.a. Darlene

Girl #3

Girl #4

Announcer

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Mr. Tibs, a lonely, mild-mannered middle-aged man stuck in a dead-end office job, arrives at his local community centre for the monthly Speed Dating Challenge, eager for companionship and curious about the concept. He sits down at his first station number. A librarian-looking girl with owl glasses stares at him perplexedly.

Mr. Tibs: "Hi, I'm—"

Girl #1 (angrily): "Shhh! The bell hasn't rung yet."

Announcer: "Contestants, are you ready? On your marks, get set, go!"

Mr. Tibs: "Hello, they call me Mr. Tibs—”

Girl #1 (looking contemptuous): "When, I first saw you, I thought you were handsome. Then, of course, you spoke.”

Mr. Tibs (anger rising): "Well you bootless tardy-gaited strumpet, you aren't a looker yourself."

*DING!* The bell sounds for the contestants to move on.

Mr. Tibs pushes himself out of his seat gracefully and moves on to the next lady. She is bubbly, blonde, and wearing a low-cut v-neck sweater.

Girl #2 (talking speedily): “Like oh my god, my name is Darlene, who are you? I’ve never been to one of these things before, this is sooo exciting! I hope I meet Mr. Right, I’ve had so many Mr. Wrong’s, like oh my gosh, I swear my luck is so rotten. You look like a nice guy, are you a nice guy?”

Man next to Mr. Tibs (whispers): Crazy!

Mr. Tibs (leaning over): “Well, I’m sure she’s not that bad.”

Darlene (glaring at the man): “Hey! You yeasty reeling ripe hugger-mugger. You better not be talking about me!”

Mr. Tibs: “Darlene, don’t you think you should take it easier?”

Darlene: “Oh-ho-ho, no, fasten your seatbelts, ‘cause we’re in for a bumpy night!”

*DING!*

Mr. Tibs: “Lord help the infectious full-gorged haggard! The women here aren’t very friendly.”

Girl #3, a young timid-looking brunette with blue coveralls and khakis, spontaneously bursts into tears.

Mr. Tibs: “Oh, oh, no, don’t do that. I’m sorry. Those two other women were just awfully bad.”

Girl #3: “Well I’m not bad; I’m just drawn that way!”

Girl #3 runs out of the room sniffling and heaving sobs.

Man next to Mr. Tibs (whispers): “Crazy, all of them!”

Mr. Tibs sits at his table alone, awkwardly, waiting for the next bell to signify rotation. Two long minutes later, it comes.

Girl #4: “Hello, you.” She bats her eyelashes playfully.

Mr. Tibs (warily): “Hi, how are you?”

Girl #4: “Okay let’s just cut to the chase, here. You want sex?”

Mr. Tibs (uncomfortably): “Uh, well, not really—”

Girl #4: “What’s your name?”

Mr. Tibs: “Tibs. Greg Tibs. What about yours?”

Girl #4 (ignoring him): “Well, Greg. I hope you can handle me.”

Mr. Tibs (beginning to feel exhausted of options): “What do you mean by that?”

Girl #4: “I’m very fantastical. I have fantastical fantasies. I mean, I have nipples, Greg. Can you—would you—milk me?”

Mr. Tibs: “Oh, sweet Heavens! Woman, you are a churlish boil-brained boar-pig! You disgust me!”

Mr. Tibs storms out of the Speed Dating room, tired than before, and feeling more melancholic about his love life than ever.

Mr. Tibs (roaring with anger): “Oh dear God, you are a ruttish pottle-deep flap-dragon! You fool with me! Do I amuse you?! AM I BUT A PUPPET?”

As if in response, the rain suddenly begins to drizzle wetly, and thunder sounds overhead. Storm clouds have closed in, and the thumping of rain gutters is loud and hollow. Mr. Tibs—defeated, and head hanging low—begins the slow trek home.

Chapter 1 - Who Am I?

Sid Meyer is a 15-year old boy, of Scottish and Irish descent. He lives in a decent, fairly middle-class neighbourhood, and attends a high school just five minutes around the corner. Therefore, he has lived in his own community since he was a child, and has never had any experience with lower-income people or communities. That all changes however, when he meets a new friend—somebody who broadens his tiny microcosm of the world, and gives him a peek of just what it’s like on the other side.

“Mom! You got my PB&J ‘wich ready?” Sid shouted unceremoniously as he rattled down the stairs on Monday morning.
“Sweetheart, inside voice please! Yes, I have. Would you like a snack as well?” his mother—a stay-at-home mom, tall, slim, with soft brown curls and a face that seemed to reject the onset of age—stood zipping up her son’s brand new lunch bag.
“Chips and cookies, thanks. Mmm, this bacon is delicious.” He licked his lips as bits of bacon fat dribbled down his chin, and onto his collared shirt. He hastened to wipe it off as his mother came over to pour him a glass of milk.
“I smell scrumptious pig meat,” boomed Sid’s father’s voice. Still clad in a bathrobe, with a belly just barely restrained in his undershirt, Mr. Meyer the successful real estate agent came ambling from the hallway into the kitchen to join his family.
It wasn’t but ten minutes that Sid was out the door, walking on his way to school, starting what would be an eventful day he was still unaware of.

***

“Jamie, ya see where I slugged that ball? Went over the goddamned school roof!” Sid said loudly, to his best buddy in the seat next to him.
“Yeah, man, that was awesome. Seriously.” Jamie nudged him with a wink in the direction of a girl that sat a few seats ahead. He figured Sid’s loud blabbering could be attributed to impressing Layla, the cute blonde who wore skimpy t-shirts.
In walked a stocky, messy-haired boy, clutching a torn red backpack that looked held together by dust molecules.
“Check out the new kid,” Jamie’s elbow jabbed Sid in the side painfully.
“I’m not blind, you idiot!” The two boys jeered and sniggered as the rest of the class filed in from lunch.
“Alright, everybody! I’m pleased to announce a new project. Well, group project that is.” Miss Marshall clapped her hands together excitedly, long black hair projecting down to her shoulders, eyes glowing with brightness.
The class groaned in unison.
Ignoring her students’ reactions, she began assigning pairs.
“Sid, you’re with Marvin. He’s new here at East Bay, I’d like you to give him a good ol’ welcome alright?” She grinned broadly.
Mumbling with annoyance, Sid nodded blandly in acknowledgement. After class, he went to find Marvin to discuss when they would meet up to work on the project.
“My house, 4 o’clock?”
The other boy nodded wordlessly.
Not affected, “Okay it’s the big red house over on Pine Street. Won’t miss it. See you then,” and he ran over to find Jamie, leaving Marvin standing there awkwardly alone.
Ding-Dong.
Sid slipped and skidded through his front foyer in anticipation of finishing his project with Marvin—as soon as possible.
“Hey Marvin,” he greeted the boy, who was carrying an armful of project supplies. He managed a half-smile at Sid.
He beckoned him in, and led the way upstairs into his room. Atypical of an average teenager, everything in the entire room was in perfect mother-adorned neatness. His bed was matching blue and white, made with the sheets tucked underneath. His computer desk, with small folders lined up and pencil holders in a single file, matched the colour of his room and the rug that was laid across the hardwood floor.
Marvin’s eyes glared open in wonder.
“So, what did Miss Marshall say was our topic?” Sid sat cross-legged on his rug, motioning for Marvin to do the same.
Thus far, Sid had not even heard the sullen boy even speak a single word yet. Therefore, when he opened his mouth and a voice that was deep and composed came out, Sid was surprised.
“Poverty. We’re looking at its presence in today’s society, and its change over the years.” Zipping open his pouch of supplies and scattering them over the floor, he began arranging his papers and stretching out a big piece of white Bristol board.
“So, I’ve already got a bunch of statistics and information. We could talk about various poverty groups or the difference in poverty rates across the globe. We could focus on Canada even; I’ve got a lot of stats for that. Here,” he slowly began attaching little pieces of scrap paper with scrawled hieroglyphic-writing on it, to the Bristol board in a haphazard fashion.
Wow, Sid breathed. He looked on quietly in fascination.


..To be continued.