One. Two.

i wrote this once {something vaguely like it} in a facebook chat, and shall henceforth share it with you all...hope you enjoy.

Arnold's careful eyes roamed around the splendid room. Men and women adorned in fabulous colors spun around him cheerfully while butlers waltzed in between them carrying silver platters of tasty bite-sized delicacies. A great chandelier stared down at the guests from below a painted mural on the ceiling depicting angels and demons in a storm-clouded sky. Arnold's eyes flickered down to his watch and then up again at the occupants of the ballroom. All of them wore masks. How strange it was, that this vital information worthy of the president's notice should come up while the president himself was hosting a masquerade ball.

Footsteps behind him caused him to casually turn around. A short, stocky man who was both well-groomed and well-dressed eagerly stuck out his hand. He pushed up a pair of spectacles, introduced himself, and immediately led Arnold down a hallway to one side and into a smaller, more secluded room.

"The President knows of your arrival, sir," the man was stammering to Arnold's half-listening ears. "And apologizes that you were so inconvenienced as to have to come to the ball."

"The inconvenience was my fault," Arnold rumbled in a deep voice, nodding slightly to a butler who passed by with an empty tray. The man avoided his eyes and walked quickly past. "But this is an urgent matter that could not wait."

The man hastily opened a door to his right, which swung upon without a noise. Inside Arnold instantly perceived that the president and his daughter were standing around a cozy fireplace on one end of the room. A table and a pristine couch decorated the other.

The president, a man well in shape for his age, motioned for the man to leave Arnold with him. His daughter, adorned in a slimming green dress, smiled up at Arnold almost in wonder. As soon as the servant left them, Arnold shook their hands in turn.

"Mr.President, I'm terribly sorry to inconvenience y--" Arnold trailed off as he met the president's daughter's eyes. "Jenny?" he asked, incredulous.

She flicked back a lock of her chestnut-colored hair and let out a light laugh. "Hello Arnold! I never imagined I'd see you again!"

The president looked at the two young people, at a loss. "You two know each other?"

Jenny smiled at her father, revealing a set of pearly white teeth that contrasted well against her tanned skin. "We went through training together." Arnold smiled. She smiled back. They both knew that wasn't the whole truth. They both knew things were much, much more complicated.

"I seem to have missed quite a lot, Jenny," the president said in a matter-of-fact way the way someone would report the weather.

Jenny's eyes narrowed only slightly as if to imply a layer of meaning he would never understand as she replied, "Father, there are many things you have missed about me."

Arnold studied the two relations. Their eyes were the same except for the emotions portrayed in them. Jenny's eyes were full of spirit, and life, and rebellion. Her father's were distant and serious. Arnold's memories shifted back to when he had dated Jenny in college. The President had never cared for his daughter. The only reason he seemed to mildly take interest now was undoubtedly because of Arnold's presence.

Arnold, suddenly composing himself, turned to the president with a quickly sobering expression. "Mr.President, please listen carefully to what I have to say. I'm with a counter-terrorist agency and we have reason to believe there are in fact at this moment five potential assassins in this building. We believe they are all connected to an attempt to take your life tonight."

The president's face melted from one of wonder to one of alarm. Jenny sucked in a breath, but Arnold continued to speak in a low, level tone. "I myself passed a butler in the hallway bearing a firearm and branded with a tattoo on his forearm he had tried to cover up with stage makeup. Do not panic; the agency I work with has a car outside waiting to take you and your daughter to safety."

Jenny's hand flew to her mouth, her ability to suppress her emotions less practiced than her father, who stared at Arnold with a clenched jaw. Arnold continued after a pause, "Mr. President. I suggest you follow me."

A second flickered by. Two. Arnold slowly pulled his gun out of his tuxedo's jacket pocket. The wizened leader nodded stiffly. "Lead the way."

Arnold nodded, gut clenching. "Stay close."

He walked to the door, gun held at the ready, stomach churning inside his body as he placed a tentative hand on the doorknob. Counting to three in his head, Arnold listened to the short breaths of the people behind him whose life he held in his hand. He pulled open the door.

Stepping into the hallway, he raised his gun up so that he could align it with his eye. He swung it down one side of the hallway, then the other. "Clear," he said softly, waving the two figures huddling near the doorway forward. The second the president had stepped foot in the hallway, a flurry of motion attracted Arnold's eye.

Something down the hall moved and immediately the sound of muffled shots could be heard filling the air. Arnold's weapon proved true as he hit one butler and then another who jumped around the corner. A third replaced the first. A body hit the ground behind him, followed by a muffled scream. Arnold felt a bullet whiz past his ear as he shot the last assassin in the neck. Whipping around, he saw the president bleeding on the ground.

Jenny had covered her face in her hands and her eyes seemed to be accumulating tears. Arnold swore under his breath and dropped to the ground. Trembling, his fingers reached out to take a pulse. "He's alive!" Arnold repeated, relief trickling through his rapidly beating heart.

Footsteps behind him signified Jenny drawing closer tentatively. Arnold began to slide the president out of his jacket, working quickly in an effort to stop the bleeding. "One thing's for sure - all of the butlers were after one thing; to make your father dead."

The sound of a gun cocking clicked behind Arnold. "They have failed me," came the harsh reply. Arnold felt his ears grow red in anger. He had time for no more. The trigger was pulled. Arnold fell across the president's body, hand clasped against his chest. Another shot was fired. Both bodies lay still.

Jenny's eyes observed two men she had claimed to love lying dead on the floor before heartlessly staring at the dead butlers. She pulled the gun to her lips, blew gently to cool the heated metal, and stowed it back in the holster she wore hidden on her calf. Without a tear, without looking back, she slipped on a mask that went perfectly with her emerald dress, and slowly walked down the hallway, into the ballroom full of people, and away.

New Post, guys!

Hey guys!
How are y'all?
How's life?
...
No seriously, how go things?

So, I suppose I should post something new...does something new that's old count? Like...I wrote this a long time ago for an English assignment "to write a symbolic story". Props to anyone who figures it o-- wait, have I posted this befo?
...hm...
ANYWAYS! I'll post it again, and if I've already posted it before, I'll just take if off soon. {Implying someone had best tell me...otherwise this isn't doing either of us good. come on now, guys. come on.}

...IN OTHER NEWS {this is like previews before movies, ok?}
I've been writing this kind-of-analogous story, similar in style to "crossroads", and perhaps it shall one day appear.
Also, in art, there's this competition thing they do every year, and for the past few weeks we've been working to come up with concepts and ideas to do - basically, just sketches of general composition before we actually get to work drawing out the actual image.
SO! For my idea, I'm trying to kind of illustrate "Crossroads", and if it comes out well {we'll know in about a month...}, I might possibly put it up here. Maybe.
Alright, you guys are pretty patient and enduring, so...without further adeau, hoohah, or koalas, ladies and gentlemen, here's an analogous story! Have fun! Bring popcorn! Hey, you, down in front!

Four silhouettes snuck across the shadowed doorway. The figures hesitantly entered the art gallery, unsure of what they would find ahead. Dark, empty walls enclosed them, bearing no decoration except for the wall facing them.

An aging man with hair as white as sheep’s wool gasped in alarm, for on the wall he saw a painting. The image sent a chill throughout his blood and froze him where he stood. His wrinkled face beheld the artwork while his lips moved as if mouthing unspoken cries of terror. Faces and eyes stared back at him, lifeless yet moving; dead yet stirring. The emotions depicted in the painting seemed to jump out of the canvas and encircle him – pain, horror, and a dreadful feeling of unfamiliarity – the feeling of walking into a pitch black forest without knowing what would attack.

Beside him, a teenage boy asked, “What are you so afraid of?”

The man stared at the painting. “Don’t you feel it? It’s like looking at a black hole – it’s like the opening of Pandora’s Box.” And he turned his face away; he could no longer bear to look at the awful picture.

The teenager glanced at the painting, a lazy smirk finding its way onto his careless countenance. He didn’t understand why the man was so flustered, for all he saw was an empty frame embracing the black wall behind it. There was no painting or portrait or landscape to fill the empty void of darkness. The boy uneasily diverted his stare from the simplistic frame, and tried to shrug off the nervous feeling he got with a comment to the woman standing next to him.

“Strange for an old man to be afraid of such a simple arrangement.”

“A simple arrangement?” The woman repeated. “That’s an understatement.” Her blue eyes were locked onto the wall, for on it she saw the most beautiful sculpture she had ever seen. Vines and butterflies entwining golden flowers seemed to breathe with life. Light danced and played upon the shiny surface of the sculpture, giving the models twinkling eyes and playful moods. The woman almost wanted to touch the piece of art, for it was so overwhelmingly wonderful she couldn’t hold back a smile from spreading across her face.

“I wish I knew what the artist was thinking,” she murmured.

The teenager stared at her, and then stared back at the painting. Its dull simplicity met his searching look, and he said, “It’s not very beautiful – it’s a terrible conclusion to the art gallery.”

The woman shook her head. “I think it’s the perfect ending. They saved the best artwork for last.”

All of a sudden, the last member of their group, who had until now been silent, asked innocently, “What is it?” He was a child no more than six.

The woman gently took his hand and pointed to the work of art. “It’s life, dear.”

Confused, the child lifted his head for a moment, giving them a glimpse of his perplexed face. Curiosity shone in his naïve eyes. “I don’t understand,” he stammered.

“Look at the sculpture, dear. What do you see?”

“That’s what I mean,” the child persisted. “I don’t see anything.”

Crossroads

Two notes, first of all.
1. Without Render, I probably wouldn't have thought of an analogy this wood, so props for that and I hope this isn't considered plagurism, however u spell it.
2. The moral of this story is NOT to hop into cars with strangers. Props to anyone who can figure it out {hopefully u can cuz it's not supposed to be that hard...}
Enjoy.

You tremble as you stare at the quivering choice before you. On one side of the splitting earth is a road that leads to a familiar path you have come to believe is real and exists, though only because of what you have heard. The other is a path you cannot clearly see, and the quaking ground beneath you does nothing to sharpen the twists and turns you can faintly make out past the crossroads sign.

The clouds above you swirl around as if they were a dark, thick batter being stirred slowly with a spoon. Your hands lifelessly seek each other and you clasp them tightly, eager to hold on to something as the earth tremors underneath you, sending you stumbling forward to the fork in the road you have just arrived at.

It’s time to choose…the earth is erupting beneath you, the sky is groaning above you, and the wind in the air around you sends a chill throughout your body, over your skin. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for your whole life – to choose your fate; to choose your destiny. What to do, what to do…choose the path you exist and believe is real, though you haven’t actually seen it yourself…or choose the path that is hidden to you, which has a few visible turns before it escapes into shadow.

You don’t have to make the choice. Well, not by yourself, at least. Another factor comes into play. A factor you have forgotten. Between the two roads, vibrating softly with each tremor sent through the ground, is a truck. Its hood is bent and broken, and mud covers the sides of the wheels and coats the bottom half of what once used to be sparkling chrome. A few broken mirrors and windows suggest something has deliberately attacked the car, but your attention is drawn to one thing: The figure inside.

With painful steps, you stumble over to the car and limply grasp the edge of one broken window. The form inside turns toward you and says gently, “Climb in.”

“I don’t know you.”

“Look into my face. Look into my eyes. You know me. You’ve heard my voice. And I have heard yours. Look at me…you know my name.”

There is something familiar in the corner of his lips…the curves under his eyes…the small hint of joy that somehow permeated onto his face though he wasn’t smiling. You frown, gripping the metal of the car harder as the earthquake causes you to jolt to the side. “You’re here?”

“As I have always been.” The man in the car looks at you and leans back slightly in his seat, inclining his head toward you as his eyes gaze into your face. He leans over and opens the car door, which creaks open like it hasn’t been oiled in ages. Firmly, he says, “Let me drive you.”

“But…I don’t know where you’re going. If I choose my path, I know where I’ll end up.”

“If you ride with me, I know where you’ll end up.”

You shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I want to go on my path. I have heard of its end: that it is wonderful. With all of me, that is what I most desire. Security. Safety from the shaking world around me. With every beat of my heart, I yearn for control. I want to go down the path I know has no difficulties, has no turns, has only an easy, controllable route; a path I have made for myself with my dreams and ambitions…You will say … that I should not cling to what I do not know is truth.”

He says nothing, only looks at you because He knows you have more to say. Patiently, as a father listening to his child offering up excuses for a deed not done, he places a contemplative hand on his chin and rubs it slowly as you speak.

“You will say…that I cannot control anything at all if I am to go with you. You will say…that the safest and most secure place I will ever have is in the seat next to you. I want to believe this…I want to trust you with myself…But…I can’t see down the path. The shadows conceal it, and it twists out of my sight.”

His eyes gleam through the darkness created by the storm clouds, who have grown closer all the while. “You may not be able to see down this path…but I can. I know exactly where you will be if you ride with me.”

“But…I know what lies on my path. It will be wonderful, I just know it.”

“You do not know that mine will not be even more wonderful than anything you can imagine.”

“But…what if it’s terrible? What if I get in your car and we end up going somewhere I’ve never been?”

“Look at me. Do you know me?”

“Yes.”

“Have I ever led you astray before when you have followed me?”

“…no.”

“Then is there reason to doubt me now?”

“But I’m scared that your path will not be my own.” Your voice seems weak now, as you’re rattled where you stand as lightning tears through the sky and the car is illuminated for a brief second.

In the brief flash of light, the man inside the car lets out a deep, joyous chuckle, as if he honestly thinks something is funny. “Of course it’s not your own. But, it will at some points cross over yours or run parallel to it. Just because you choose my path over yours doesn’t mean the things you desire on your own path are not on mine.”

“But…your car…it doesn’t look safe.”

He lets a smile spread across his mouth which is well-accustomed to speaking words of wisdom, of truth, and of love. “Have I ever looked safe? Yet have I ever led you astray? Sometimes what is best for you does not look the most attractive.”

You look at him and say slowly over the sound of your pounding heart, “You’re not safe…how can I trust you to take me somewhere safe? How do I know we won’t get lost, or stuck, or killed? How do I know that you know where you’re going?”

The man looks at you for a moment. It is obvious that many thoughts are spinning around his head, and that there are a million things he can say to you. Yet only a few words come to His lips that He speaks to you. “Trust me.” These words are utterly impossible. These words call for utter abandonment of any hope of getting to where you want to go. These words are more than you can absorb.

“I can’t,” you stammer out, your white knuckles moving from the window of the car to the door. “I can’t. How do I know you’ll take me where I want to go?”

He tilts His head slightly, and replies in the voice you have heard so many times before, “Would you rather have me take you where you want to go…or where I want you to be?”

Your eyes dance from his tender face, wise and faithful, to the dark world shaking around you. You have plans for where you were going to go…what would you become when you got there; what would you do when you first arrived…if He wants you to give up those hopes, to give up your plans and allow Him to make His own…

He continues, “Is your love for me greater than your desire for your own comfort?”

The earthquake rattles the mirrors on his truck, and the wind picks up in speed, causing you to blink rapidly because it stings your eyes.

Unsure of what he really means, you ask out loud, “You want me to give up my life? In order to follow you? You want me to sacrifice my dreams and instead travel down the path you have made for me?”

He says nothing, but a glimmer in His intense eyes confirms your statement. Your breath comes rapidly now as you feel your chest constricting inside you.

“You want me to turn away? To walk away from my own path, these dreams I have had my whole life; you want me to let them slip through my fingers; to let my path grow overgrown by foliage until no one even knows it’s there?” Your voice grows tight with emotion, and a wave of sorrow passes over you.

He leans back in his seat once more, eyes on you, and says with absolute clarity, “I want you…to give me your heart.”

Another shake; you’re on your knees, clutching the only thing stable in the shaking world: his car. “I…I don’t know if I can do that. If I give it all up…I might break my heart in giving it to you.”

He extends his hand, as if He already knows what you will decide. It is a calloused hand, like that of a farmer. Scars decorate it where nails have pierced His flesh. Veins stand out against his muscles, telling of His strength, like that of a carpenter. His skin is well known by the sun from its olive shade, like that of a fisherman who spends hours outside. But the way that He holds out His hand…like it would be of a comfort to your troubled mind, to your aching heart…is like that of a father.

“Trust me.”

Noticing He did not reply to your last comment, you state, “You will break my heart.”

“This may be true…it may not be. I may have to break you down in order to build you up the way I have designed you to be. But take comfort in this; whatever pain is necessary is only for the moment, and there is something much more wonderful waiting for you, where we’re going. You must know you need to rely on my strength and my knowledge and my plans for you. Stop trusting yourself. Stop convincing yourself you know where you’re going.”

Surprised, and eyes watering, you ask in a quiet voice, “Will it hurt?”

“Yes. In order to give up everything, it may hurt. But the joy you will receive for following me will overshadow any sorrow I will help you to endure.” His hand hasn’t moved, and He meets your moist eyes with eyes of love. “Do you trust me?”

You lick your lips, your heart quivering inside your ribs with another tremor through the breaking ground. Is your love for Him greater than your fear of being left with a broken heart? Are your dreams greater than His unknown plans? Is control over your life greater than trusting the writer of life itself?

He remains, patient, hand extended…waiting for you to give Him your dreams; to give Him your plans; to give Him your life; to give Him your heart.

Belated Afterthoughts

{of a mind scorched by marshmellows}

Hopefully by reading the title you have guessed what this post is to be about. {Sorry to shine on your rainy day, but, NO, you're not phsycic; you're just smart.} Ok, so after I got off a few days ago from being completely confused and weird, I prayed about my whole "trusting-God" issue, and guess what.
BAM! REVELATION!!!!
And usually it seems like getting an answer from God like takes a while, ya know? Like I have to endure and be patient and everything, but God is amazing, and these are some verses that just randomly out of nowhere HAPPENED to be in my devotional.

Jeremiah 17: 7-8
"But blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in Him. He will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream; it does not hear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit."

To me, that was like God was telling me to trust Him and trust that He has a plan. And the part about not worrying when drought comes, to me, is like how if I truely want to do His will and I'm not following my own selfish desires and plans, and rely on his strength {the whole bit aout the roots}, He's got me. He's got me. :)

:)

I forgot the other verse someone showed to me...but anyway, WILL, I hope this encouraged you the same way it encouraged me! :)

And, also, I remembered another story I have runnin about in me mind. It's about this chick, one of many, who grows up in a world where the gorvernment runs like everything. It's like in a future, hopeless, dreary world, where few have the courage to do anything. Just an idea.

SO ANYWAY! There you have it.

And now I am through.

~ Cap'n B

Updatedness!

Well...hey guys. I know it's been a while since I had a non-chapter blog post. ... so hey! :) How y'all doin? Be honest wit me!
Anyway...the point of this message will be just venting/news/whatever pops into my head like the popcorn in Mrs. D's room's microwave cuz our microwave is stupid.

I got my SAT scores, and Chair and Will {one of whom will probably never read this} always pester me about what I got, so now I can finally tell them something. Most likely I'll forget by the time I see them Sunday and shall direct them here. I'll bet anyone reading this two bucks that Chair won't read this but Will will. Observe the usefulness of predicting one's friends. :)

The three main category thingies were critical reading, math, and writings skills. In critical reading I scored 59, which means I scored higher than 92% of sophmores. In math I got 48. lol. I omitted 9 questions and got 9 wrong. I scored higher than 68% of sophmores. Figures. As I once told my chemistry teacher when told that chemistry was as easy as math, "Math is not my strongpoint." And, lastly, I got a 65 on my writing skills, which means I scored better than 98% of sophmores. So there you have it. Now that all the numbers are out of my head...

*sigh*

Is it just me or does it seem like now, more than ever, people my age are supposed to have their live planned out? Maybe it's just who I surround myself with, but it feels like everyone around me has some inkling of an idea of who they want to become or what they want to do with their lives. And it's not that I don't know what I'm NOT good at. Obviously I'm never going to be a mathmetician or chemical engineer {may I direct you to paragraph 3, sentence 3 of this very blog post}. It's just....arg....

Somehow, in my own mind, I've come to the conclusion that they don't teach the things I need to know in school, and life is too short to do everything that I have on my list to do before I die. {Yes, I do indeed have a Bucket List. ... Yes, driving on the autoban is one of them.} It seems like it's not going to be possible for me to become an animal cop, photographer, comic book artist, writer, journalist, circus freak, makeup artist, selfdefense instructor, volleyball player, singer, creative writing teacher!! I mean how can I possibley do all of that in one life? And which one of these is what God wants me to do? What does He have in mind for me? What if His plans are completely different from my own and He wants me to surrender even my dreams to Him?

...

Can I give it up? Can I let it go? I dunno....I dunno.... the right answer is yes. Just as I'd say "Sure, if someone held a gun to my head and asked me if I was a Christian, I'd say yes" easily, but the moment someone with a pistol approaches me everything starts to get a little fuzzy and my determined resolutions of a moment before seem to blend together. Black and White mix around in their pait pots and turn into one, uniform, sickening grey... I don't think I'll ever know unless it happens - unless my fears are confirmed and I find myself staring down the barrel of a gun. I don't know if I could give up all I've hoped for.

But I sure hope I can. Because, you see, God works in myseterious ways, and it would be so like Him to completely shake me so that all I can hold on to in the world shifting and rumbling around me is Him, because He is the only constant security that I have. When my dreams shatter around me, I'll be forced to cling to Him like a child and trust Him to take care of me, instead of pretending to be tough and strong like I usually do. You see, {and it's strange I'm admitting this at all...perhaps I'll delete this post quite soon} strength is my favorite masquerade - my favorite mask to hide behind to show the world that I'm strong while I quiver in my boots and hope they can't see through me.

What would I do if my hopes were ripped away from me, my strength gone, my world shaken?
I don't think I'll know until it happens, and knowing my God, it just might. Because that would mean He would be my strength. And that's the way it should be.

Wrapping up this ventage-like-post-thing I suppose I shall one day delete....um...I forgot what I was going to say. Woops! Who knows? Perhaps I won't delete it. I guess it's pretty personal, but...I guess I don't mind. I guess I'm an open person. I guess, I guess, I guess because, you see, there's a lot I don't know about me.

ENOUGH ABOUT ME! What about y'all? Did anyone read this? Did anyone care? If you didn't, it's ok; it was more of a self-benefitting get-my-thoughts-out-type-of-thing, ya know?

Well...if anyone did read this and likes to read my blog for some strange reason...I have a few more story ideas running around in the twisted head of mine that I have. {what an odd sentence.} Obviously, the one i am writing now, Jessica...
I also am thinking about this one set in our world where this kid finds this portal cuz he's part dragon or something and he can travel to this other world.
Also, u know how I write like random scenes and stuff? Well, my friend wrote a story about this chick with cancer and that kind of inspired me to write a scene where this chick tells her best friend she has cancer and they like cry together, so I might turn that into something, and who knows - it might bless someone somewhere...I should pray about that one.........
NEXT! um........one that i haven't quite developed but I had the idea for this one time, is an alagorical story about this boy who wants to become a knight and the journey he goes through {symbolic to us, in our jouney as Christians}.
Next on the list would be the one about this guy in medival-magic times who goes on this journey to find this flower to save his dying sister and he meets this spoiled princess on the way and they travel together and stuff.

...that might be it......hm....yeah, i think that's it!

OH ONE MORE THING!
I saw Avatar recently, and I TOTALLY WANT TO BE ONE! I think it would be utterly amazing to be able to jump and climb and run and all that cool stuff like they do. I want to have a tail! i want cat-eats! I want to live in a world where the flowers go "blip!" and shrink into the earth! That was so funny. I want to live in their world so bad. AND OH MY GOODNESS I WANT ONE OF THOSE DRAGON THINGS THAT YOU CAN PLUG YOUR HAIR INTO!!!! Those things are so cool, they're like totally part of you, but they're....not..... I WANNA BE AN AVATAR!!!!

So, conclusively, your pants are on fire because the marshmellows licked them.

~ the slightly delusional Cap'n B! :D