Crash (Inspired by Millennium Photo)

It’s rare for everyone to survive a plane crash. It’s eerily rare. Impossible even. After we crash landed into the sea, everyone swam to the shore. Some were dragged. Some were injured, but after the chaos died down and the pilot took roll, it was evident that we all survived. Every passenger. Every stewardess. Every single one of us.

I stood on a lump of sand, clutching my doll to by chest. The air was salty, as the tide washed up wreckage of the plane. My father stood beside me, his toes bloody. He had taken me into his arms and he plunged for the shore, his feet scraping against sharp shards of metal, and rough tropical rocks.

I watched with awe as the sand turned a cold crimson around my father's feet. There were two doctors on the plane, both in their early forties, and married to each other. They were a cute couple but with seemingly opposite personalities. My father's injuries were minor, he was toward the end of a moderately long line to be inspected for infections by one of the two.

By nightfall, my father and I were sitting on the sand around a fire with the rest of the castaways. I sat on his lap and stared vacantly at the makeshift-masking tape bandaged toes. I ran my fingers through my doll’s headful of sandy yarn. I began pulling her red locks into a long braid, slowly going strand by strand. I attracted the attention of a little girl with pigtails. She was much younger than me. Her wide brown eyes watched me diligently as I patiently braided my dolls hair.

In that moment I was very content. Too content for the trauma that I had went through that day. It was as if I was just sitting in the waiting room at the dentists office, without a care in the world.

I didn’t even feel blessed.

I was too young to know what that feeling was.

End~

The Cowboy Doll: Part one

Author's Note: This is only part one of three. This is for the post we had to do about the old photographs. The main character is inspired by the little boy on the left. Enjoy~

Lizabeth did not have a lot of time to play. She was the oldest of the five of us, so suitably she had more responsibilities. But after Pop passed, she became like a second parent to my three other sisters and myself. Mother tended to the house, laundry, our clothing and ourselves, while poor Lizabeth fell into the role of Pop. She took over the farm, abandoning her studies to tend to the livestock and plow.

Being the second youngest, as a child I did not fully understand the situation. I was only a toddler when Pop passed. I remember running barefoot across the dirt toward my sister many times over, as she bent to feed the chickens. I clutched my toy soldier to my chest, as I shielded my eyes from sunrays with a chubby hand.  I would ask Lizabeth if she would play with me. She always sighed and wiped her furrowed brow, sometimes a bit of chicken feed would stick to her sweaty forehead. She always gave me a stern “No” before turning back to her work, her ragged cowboy doll hanging out of the back pocket of her dress. I would always eyeball it before huffing and running back into the house, hopefully out of Mother’s notice.

Mother always spoiled me. I guess it was because I was her only boy. Margaret, the second oldest, born 2 years after Lizabeth, once told me that mother babied me because I was all she had left of Pop. I never got the chance to ask mother if that was true but I didn’t have to. Looking back on it now, it was evident in the way she treated me. She practically coddled me. As a young boy she wanted me to stay away from the farm and my sister. When she found dirt caked into the plastic crevices of Private Green, she would scold and whip me for playing outside. It may sound a little drastic but her fears, while extreme, were not ill placed.

Pop passed from a heat stroke.

This is...

This is my mother,

bright in her youth

her dark curls cascading,

contrasting her red lips.

The pink silk fabric,

a mirror to her heart.

The familiar dress,

I once almost ripped,

the summer before

seventh grade. 

This is my father,

young and tan,

his shirt tucked in,

his mustache thin. 

He holds me close,

between himself and Mom.

The familiar arms,

that still hold me,

and give me the 

support I need. 

These are my parents,

posing together

for my grandmother's click.

This is their wedding day.

And this is me,

a chubby baby.

in the middle of it all. 

Keeping it Real Questions

I honestly think it is really important to write about what you know. Anytime I write, I make sure and pick a topic I know about, whether it be fictional or not. I always do research on the things I write about. That is actually one of my favorite parts of the writing process, the research and planning.

Despite all of that, I know that I would never work for a newspaper. I feel like writing for me is just a creative outlet. I don't think i could go through the processes of it if what i was writing wasn't very fictional. Maybe I could do a few opinion based columns but even that feels like a stretch. I am not sure i can handle my opinion being attacked and criticized in such a public way. In my life, I have learned to keep my opinions to myself.

As far as life goes, I kind of agree that it can be full of disappointment. There are ways to deal with it though, positive ways. I feel like too many people these days let life get them down. Honestly it's all about perspective, like that "glass half full/empty" argument, I'm a glass half full type of person, or at least I try to be. I have had to learn how to deal with disappointment. I feel like people who don't learn how to deal with it properly are weak at the core.

I don't remember my parents really giving me a lot of nicknames. They often shorten my name to just Cass. My grandma used to call me "Little". I ended up accidentally giving my dad a nickname, and later my mom. Honestly it is a long story that I don't want to write out, but I call my dad Gig and my mom Mig.

I have had trouble getting over a few people in my life. One was a loss, the other a relationship. I lost someone really close to me a few years ago. My aunt DeeDee was like a grandmother to me. I still miss her everyday. Honestly I am not completely over her.

I actually stole a friend's "mate" once, it's also a long story that I would rather not get into.

A perfect day in the life of me would be quite a dozy. It would be a day of adventure. I wouldn't want one thing to go wrong. The weather would have to be nice. I'm not sure exactly who i would want to spend it. Maybe a lone would be better; i tend to be really introverted. I'm not sure if a perfect day in the life of me would even be possible. Maybe everyday could be a perfect day if I let it be. Maybe everyday is a perception issue, like the day is half full of goodness, not half empty. Or maybe it is half empty, but of badness. That's probably not even good grammar. I feel like a perfect day would only consist of good grammar too.

Photo Hunt

Something that irritates me:
Football is really annoying to me. I am not trying to bash people who are involved with it, but it irks me to see it being favored over other activities.
#footballcausesconcussionsanyway

Something that is beautiful:
Trust me, when you have been at rehearsals for all hours of the night, nothing is more beautiful than the sight of a pair of vending machines.
#foodgloriousfood

An interesting angle:
This is an interesting angel of a painting by one of our students who graduated a while ago. I've always really liked this painting.
#interestingart

Something from Nature
There isn't a lot of nature around campus. These trees are a lot prettier in the fall...I promise.
#sadtrees

Something Round:
I have always like these floral chairs we have in the library. One day I might steal one.
#stolenchair

Something a Child Might Notice:
On the Class of 2016 panel, I drew one of my original characters; a little mouse who doesn't understand. We probably weren't supposed to do that but I couldn't help myself.
#derpmouse 

Something that brings back an important memory:
I took a trip to the Kickapoo library to photograph the title page of my favorite book. This book is one of the many things that have gotten my through high school.
#bookbegettingmethrough

Something that makes me smile:
In the theater classroom we have posters for every musical Mr. Butcher has ever done. Lucas Grabiel played Ryan in High School Musical and he also played one of the leads in a Kickapoo production of Footloose. 
#pubescentdisneystars

Something handwritten:
This is painted over the mirror in the girls dressing room. 1999 was the first musical that our drama director Mr. Butcher, did here at Kickapoo. I like to look up at the inspiring words from girls who graduated form our theatre program all those years ago.
#thetop

Something Square:
This is a square window over by the theater entrance to our school. I have looked through this window many times during rehearsals, waiting on buses, etc.
#specificwindowsbelike

Someone I would like to be more like:
This is a promotional poster for FCA. It is a Christian club here at school. I can honestly say that someone i want to be more like is Jesus Christ.
#praiseHim

Something quintessentially American:
Room 112 is the most American place in Kickapoo High
school. This is the place where "history comes alive."
#'merica

Something that will always remind me of being at KHS.
My sophomore year, our theatre production put on a production of Monty Python's Spamalot. I got to play as the role of the Head Ni Knight of the Knights Who Say Ni. Every time I see anything Monty Python, I will think of one of the favorite roles i played in High School.
#Ni!

"Reel" Life

One of my all time favorite movies is Disney Pixar's Toy Story. It has been my favorite movie since before I could even form words properly. As a kid, the animation fascinated me, along with the story line. The idea that all of our toys are really alive seemed like an excellent theory to me. Sometimes I still find myself staring into the glossy eyes of my favorite stuffed animals and wondering. I love most of Pixar's films and Toy Story alone may be one of the first things that sparked an artistic interest in me. I still really enjoy the movie as an adult, maybe even more so. Watching it is comforting almost, reminding me of when life was simpler for me.

I don't watch movies as often as I used to. I find it difficult to go with my parents, because when my Mom wants to go, my Dad doesn't and vise versa. I don't really have a lot of time to go myself. Usually when I am at home, I don't have time for Netflix. Maybe one episode of something before bed or during dinner. I find myself often missing new releases that i really want to see, and that really irks me.

Another one of my favorite movies is Dumb and Dumber. The movies itself is really stupid, but the humor is clever. I really didn’t care for the sequel, I feel like the humor wasn’t the same and Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels just seemed too old to play those roles. The first movie is a family favorite. My Dad enjoys it more than my mom. I feel like me and my Dad have similar tastes in movies. Dumb and Dumber is quoted between us regularly, along with the Back to the Future trilogy, Will Ferrell's Elf, and a few of Adam Sandler’s movies.

I took the movie quiz, and I feel like it was pretty accurate to my motives for watching movies. It is very correct when it says that I don’t watch movies as a way to get rid of my boredom. I don’t usually watch movies for artistic value either (believe it or not), and i am not one for most mainstream movies (I never enjoyed Harry Potter. Books or movies. Sorry everyone).

I wish i could watch more movies when they come out in the theaters. I’m trying to go see Batman V Superman here soon. Fingers crossed that I will have time.