Only In Utah

Luckily, the glass was there. Behind it stood a man. Early 40's, dull, combed over brown hair, somewhat chubby, and white & pale. GANT glasses, jaw gaping wide open, shouting blasphemies of some sort. *Sigh*, only in Utah.

A Gift I'd Like to Give

I've always wanted to be a superhero of some sorts. You know? Spiderman, Batman, Superman, The Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers, you name it. Even still do this day, I wouldn't mind flinging webs and swinging through the cities around here, or flying sky high to save a crashing plane. But, I'm just your average everyday normal guy. I'm not a Humanitarian Aide, Firefighter, Policeman, or Doctor, I'm just, me. I'm a 17 year old, high school teenager, who has not yet matured, or reached his potential. But, I am a 17 year old, high school teenager, who shows compassion, is respectful, and appreciates the well being of others. Now, some of you may be questioning why I'm rambling on like this. You're waiting for me to reveal "my gift". "A Gift I'd Like to Give", is the gift of service. I'm not a hero, and nor will I ever be. But, I can open the door for a friend of mine, help an elderly lady across the street, climb a tree to retrieve a neighbor's cat that got stuck up there, and so on. There are plenty of opportunities to help out with an act of service. All I need to do is reach out and lend a helping hand. How hard is that? Not hard at all. From picking up turkeys, to aerating in the rain, I remember it all. I remember the pain, the cold, and just about everything else. But, it was worth it, completely worth it. There's been plenty of service given to me, and I think that it's time that I return the favor. I'm going to be a better brother, son, cousin, friend, student, and so on. And on those days when I am put down and what not, I always say, you don't need to be a superhero to lend an act of service. Just be yourself.

Excitement is a Blue New Pair of Kicks

They arrive,

Your heart skips a few beats.

Fresh out the box.

Air Jordan 1's.

White,

Fresh,

Hightop.

You can't help but stare,

The old school logo, the laces, and everything.

You just fell in love.

You reluctantly pull them out of the box,

Treating it as if it were a new born.

Smiling, chuckling a little.

You put them on,

The mold fits your foot perfectly.

You tie the laces, cherishing every minute of it.

All of sudden, you hop up,

With a little bit more enthusiasm.

You stride towards the door,

Thinking of the perfect day that it is about to become.

You open the door,

The sun beams through, it's shining brightly.

It seems to smile at you,

And you can't help but smile back.

You jump down the steps,

Feeling like a child once more.

"This day couldn't get any better".

Then,

They're scuffed.

Confusion is a Red Pen

The clock keeps ticking.

Your glance around the room, frustrated, yet relieved.

The stack of papers accurately organized next to you is all done.

Except for one.

Sitting there, motionless, in front of you on the table.

White,

Pristine,

Clean.

You glance at the paper,

Somewhat intimidated.

You pull out the red pen out of your pocket.

A look of uncertainty masks your face.

Your eyes show a gaze of bewilderment,

Confusion.

You slowly pluck off the cap,

Tossing it offhandedly to the side.

The pen touches the paper,

It starts to trickle.

Let the bleeding begin.

Love (Part 2)

Love,

Your eyes meet.

Childhood.

Her teasing you,

You teasing her back.

Cooties,

EWW!

Animal Cookies,

Elementary School.

Best Friends Forever.

You start growing up,

As does she.

More school,

Junior High.

You part ways,

Wondering what happened to her.

Years pass by,

You enter High School.

You're at this party,

You meet "her".

She looks familiar,

Then you realize, it is HER.

She realizes it is you.

You reunite,

Hanging out, reminiscing about all the good times.

First Date.

Her.

You're nervous.

You pull up to her house.

Knock on her door,

Her father opens the door,

You see the "if you do anything to her look" on his face.

He reluctantly invites you inside.

You sit on the couch,

Nervously awaiting.

She walks down the stairs,

Stunning.

Gorgeous.

Beautiful.

You sit there, uneasy.

Asking yourself whether you look "okay".

She giggles,

You're speechless.

You take her to the movies,

She's just sitting there.

You make a move reluctantly,

With the fear of being rejected.

She accepts it.

Cuddling,

Has never felt so good.

The movie ends.

You drive her home,

Walk her to her door,

Mesmerized by her beauty.

You both stand there, waiting for that "moment".

"Make the move".

You kiss,

Your first kiss.

Each other's first kiss.

Love.

Just to think this all started when you're eyes first met.

Love

Love,

Is a b***h.

It decieves you,

Smiling at you,

Giggling,

Teasing,

Winking,

Until you turn the other way.

Then it stabs you in the back.

Tearing your heart into pieces,

Leaving you standing there, uncertain, bewildered, depressed,

Empty.

Life Story: Shadows

I've always been in the shadows.

From the moment of birth, to the present of today.

Anytime, anywhere, everywhere, anyone, everyone, everytime.

Shadows.

I can't get rid of them.

Shadows of my past, still haunt me to this day.

Mistakes, anguish, dismal, failure, and so on.

I cannot escape.

They are bound to me as long as I live.

I've always been in these shadows.

Once having potential.

An actual bright spot.

Luster to my grime.

Forseeing that the future would have a better outlook.

Then, it just stopped.

Everything fell apart.

My life, it shattered right before my eyes.

I fell into depression, contemplated suicide.

At times, I wonder why I'm still here.

I, am an outcast.

A derelict, a castaway,

Exiled to remain eclipsed from the World.

Embarrassing my "friends", cousins, family.

Causing shame.

I reside in these shadows behind my sister, a bright and shining star.

My younger siblings will soon join her.

Me?

I'll never reach that plateau.

I'll never attain any plateau.

Never...

I, Storm Gray, dwell beneath shadows,

And I will never escape.

I Remember

I remember this little thing called love.

You know? Where you fall head over heals for this "certain someone".

I remember how dumbstruck I was over you.

I remember that one night,

That night when I met you.

It was during the Summer of '09,

When our eyes first met.

How we were both shy,

Okay, I remember that it was just me, not you.

How gorgeous you were, and still are.

Your black, silky hair.

Your red, luscious lips.

Your deep, brown eyes.

I remember how you caught me off guard,

How I just stood there speechless, not knowing what to say.

I remember how we became good friends,

How we started hanging out,

Getting to know each other better.

I remember our first date,

How we cuddled watching "Nacho Libre".

We both knew that it was a stupid movie,

But it was the only movie we had at the time.

You didn't care though,

You just giggled.

I still remember that,

Wondering how we even managed to cuddle.

How I felt the warmth of your body, brush the cold off of mine.

I remember the night we almost kissed,

How you teased me,

And ended up hugging.

I remember how sarcastic you were,

With that glimmer in your eyes.

How you always made me laugh,

Even on those "days".

I remember how everything was great,

Thinking it would stay like this forever.

Then, Summer came to an end.

We both went back to school.

I wondered what had happened.

I wondered if you & me were still "we".

I remember getting invited to your friends Birthday party.

How I was so happy to see you again.

I remember wearing your favorite color, purple, just for you.

I remember the look of your face when we saw each other,

How glad we both were.

We started dancing, and time seemed to stand still.

Then, I saw how the look on your face changed.

It was brighter, giddy with more joy.

But, it wasn't towards me,

It was towards "him".

I remember how you started dancing with him,

Leaving me, standing there in bewilderment.

I remember how you came back to me,

We started to dance again.

I thought he was just a friend of your's.

I remember seeing that look in your eyes,

There was no glimmer.

There was uncertainty.

I remember how the party ended.

You ended up walking off with him.

I remember that one night,

That night you broke my heart.

What, Me Panic? (Entry #10)

"Holy shi-!" Carl's profanity was cut short. Free falling. No parachute, no landing, no nothing. How he ended up here in the first place, he doesn't know. The last thing he could recall was that he went out to a bar with his friends. He faintly remembered how hammered he was, thinking the beer bottle he was holding was a microphone, and that he "knew" he was Sanjaya Malakar, performing on American Idol. After that, he didn't know. He just, blacked out. Thoughts of bewilderment raced through his head, contemplating about the possibility of how this happened in the first place. But who? And why? "If I was actually taken sky diving, wouldn't they have made sure that I had the proper equipment on, and that I knew the safety procedures?" He mused to himself. He then slowly, yet surely started to panic. "Could it have been?", he questioned. His friend, Jeff. He's a licensed pilot. He does own a plane, and he has took his friends sky diving before. "But why?! Why!" He cried, yelling toward the sky. "What did I do to deserve this!?" Carl slowly came to realize that he wouldn't be able to "make it". Unfortunately, he couldn't do anything. The impact of his free fall would result in immediate, and an unavoidable death. Gazing up at the sky, towards the Heavens, he sighed. Then he closed his eyes, thinking about his life. He considered that it was practically a jig saw puzzle that would never be solved due to the "missing piece". "Maybe, just maybe, this is the final piece to the puzzle.", he pondered to himself... "Oh well, at least I finished my Bucket List."

Coffee Shop

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Tuesday, Dunkin' Donuts, 10:25 A.M. Two of the owners of Paddy's Bar, Charlie & Dennis, discuss about the situations that are going on over at Dunkin' Donuts. (Based off the show, It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia.)

Dennis: You're such a cheapskate.

Charlie: Pshhh, what?

Dennis: You heard me.

Charlie: Well... Well! Sor-ry that I got robbed last night!

Dennis: You, got robbed? When did you get robbed?

Charlie: Last night!

Dennis: What were you even doing last night?

Charlie: I was! Well, I was walking through Woodland Park.

Dennis: Woodland Park?

Charlie: Yeah! Woodland Park!

Dennis: Charlie, there's no such thing as a park called "Woodland".

Charlie: It was late last night! You know, I was just walking through a park! And some guy just ran up to me with a loaded gun! And I gave him my money!

Dennis: Alright, how am I supposed to believe that?! "Woodland" Park? And, who was this "guy" that robbed you?

Charlie: He, I don't know! He's hard to describe!

Dennis: Then why don't you describe what you know.

Charlie: Fine! He had, um...

Dennis: So, I'm taking that as a no?

Charlie: No! He, he had, um, black hair, red eyes, he looked, well, I don't want to sound racist...

Dennis: Charlie, you are racist.

Charlie: Pfff! What!?

Dennis: Continue.

Charlie: He looked German, had huge hands like the Incredible Hulk, and smelt like kielbasa!

Dennis: Mhm... You're lying.

Charlie: What!? No!

Dennis: Charlie, that description sounds like, if anything, the Terminator's Nemisis!

Charlie: ...

Dennis: And besides, I bet you don't even know what "kielbasa" is.

Charlie: I do too! It, it is, um... It is a type of animal! You know, it's um, related to the walrus family.

Dennis: Noooo, it's a german sausage.

Charlie: Oh. Ha, ha, you're right. I must be thinking of "keilbasa". (Wink, wink.)

Dennis: No! There's not even a word that means something called "keilbasa"! You just switched up the "I" and the "E"!

Charlie: So!? What if I did!

(Awkard Silence)

Dennis: Charlie! Honestly, what were you even doing last night.

Charlie: I...

Dennis: Were you with that homeless man again!?

Charlie: What!? No! I was hanging out with Frank. We went out and got a couple beers at the new bar, ya know? Just to see if they had the competition, and what it takes to run a bar in the streets of Philly.

Dennis: Promise?

Charlie: Yes!

Dennis: Well, I have to disagree...

Charlie: Why! I just promised you didn't I?

Dennis: Well, you did, but lets get real here for a minute, you're a terrible liar.

Charlie: Okay, Mr. "I'm so good that I don't have to tell the Truth"! If that even was me, how could you tell?

Dennis: Seriously.

Charlie: Yes.

Dennis: First off, you were completely hammered, and we all are after we close up the bar. And you were the one who was closing that night, so it's a given. Secondly, you're always wearing that same, stupid, old, and utterly pointless, "St. Bernard's Jr. High Wrestling" t-shirt, which you bought for ten dollars at a garage sell five years ago. I mean, it's pathetic. It was the biggest rip off that you bought something like that! You even have to keep sewing it so it won't all tear apart. And last but not least, you're Charlie. It's not hard to tell whether its you or not, even if I was standing one hundred feet away.

Charlie: Hey! That shirt is awesome!

Dennis: Not really.

Charlie: Okay, well that proves that it wasn't even me.

Dennis: Nope, I'm pretty sure it was you.

Charlie: Prove it.

Dennis: As if I haven't already? Fine then... Ok, who else knows the homless man on 45th Avenue named "The Wiki Man", who happens to enjoy playing a half-broken trumpet during Thanksgiving Day, who brushes his teeth with tuna paste, goes dumpster diving for "trinkets of gold", and believes that he can speak to eagles?

Charlie: Bu-

Dennis: But before you can say anything, I, Dennis, do not know him. Dee doesn't know him, Mac, he surely doesn't know him, or anyone outside of the bar, and Frank, he doesn't ever want to see him again around the bar, especially after that incident.

Charlie: But you do! And so does Frank! How do I know that it wasn't you? Or Frank!? And wait, what "incident"?

Dennis: I'll get to that, patience my friend... Because, you're the one who told me that you know him! I know him, through you. And Frank? He's like, four foot four on a good day, which means that it sure as h**l wasn't him... And besides, he would never be seen with him after he lost a poker game to that son of a gun, and ended up losing his prized "steak knife". That Charlie, was the "incident".

Charlie: Whooooa, no wonder why I never see him eat steak anymore...

Dennis: Yeaah... So...

Charlie: So?

Dennis: So, since we're speaking of the Wiki Man, I have to ask you this question.

Charlie: Go ahead.

Dennis: That couldn't have been you singing "Dancing in the Rain", and dancing to Beethoven's "Piano Sonata", with him, could it have?

Charlie: ...

Dennis: Riiight. I'll take that as a yes... So, what are you gonna get?

Charlie: I, I don't know.

Dennis: Well, you might want to buy something off the dollar menu, after all, you are a cheapskate.

Sketch

The Anaconda. Cold blooded. Ferocious, violent, heartless, deadly. Slowly lurking around through the boscage, forseeing its next victim. It seemed to take many forms, a tree, a rock, leaves, and many more objects. Its mask was shady, devious, fearful. Moving its glaring yellow eyes back and forth, striking fear in you with even the slightest glance. Its tongue, viscous, sharp, and long. Its skin, scaly, various shades of colors, camouflaging its every move. Respected among its fellow, creatures. Too hellish to be accepted amongst animals. A descendant of the prehistoric era. Colossal, verbose, inhuman.

Typical

"I'm just your typical, average guy. You know? Just the guy who wakes up late every morning, stretching while scratching my a**." He turned to his left, noticing a latina woman, she was holding in her laugh. "Why yes," he paused, acknowledging her. "As a matter of fact, I can multitask!" The whole crowd burst out laughing hysterically. Trying to hold in his own laughter, he chuckled, "well, it is true! There you go, ladies! Men can multitask!" The crowd couldn't stop laughing. They were like the pack of hyenas from the Lion King. As in, they were laughing uncontrollably. He took a long deep breath, the crowd slowly started to calm down."So you know what I learned today? I went to a check up with my doctor, and he told me that laughing helps you live longer. D**n... Only God knows how much longer we'll live after that." The crowd went berserk. People here and there were falling out of their chairs. One of the security personnel tripped over himself, and even the cameraman, who has somehow always been able to keep a straight face, fumbled, and almost dropped the camera. Noticing the cameraman's clumsiness, he turned towards him. The crowd went silent. Even the camerman did. He kept on just staring into the camera, then finally whispered, "what have you been drinking this whole time?!" CRASH!!! The cameraman just let go of the camera, falling to the floor, rolling, laughing, as if he were a giddy child. "Thank you Houston! Goodnight!" He approached the cameraman, somewhat dazed and confused, "sorry about the camera." He pulled out his wallet, withdrew a couple of a hundred dollars, and placed it on the remnants of what the camera was. And with that, he was off. Just another typical day for the life of Roger Smith.

Intro

I think I'm more of a writer... Just because I like to express myself in ways that I can't otherwise... And I express myself in that Way by writing. For example, when I am bored, I like to write because its relieving and what not. I helps keep Your mind at ease while the world just keeps revolving around, and around, and around again... If I were to say whether I'm a reader or a writer, I would say reader, but only for now. The reason is just because of the experience comparison. I started to right over the Summer because it was a suggestion from a former English teacher of mine... He told me one day that he thought I was pretty good at writing and that I should look into it. So, here I am, haha... What do I consider a writer as? Hmmm... I don't consider them as crazy, wacked out people, but neither do I consider them as the top of the totem pole... They just fit into the mix of society, going about their daily lives as we do, working at their job, etc. But then again, that's just my opinion... What I like about writing is, there is no right or wrong. (Except the grammar and spelling...) But otherwise than that, You are the one who chooses whether it is right or wrong... You have more freedom to make your own choice, and to take risks that will either pay off, or crash and burn... Its all about YOUR choice... I do not really have a favorite type of writing. All I do is write whatever is on my mind, so I guess You can say that I'm an improptu writer? Hmmm... I would LOVE to be a writer. You would be making a good amount of money, (I hope so, haha...) make a name for yourself, and have adoring fans. (Or the other way around, ha.) But yeaah, in general, I would love to be a writer just because of the doors that it opens, and the opportunities that lie ahead as You progress on your career... Well, that's pretty much it. So why don't you tell me, would you like to become a writer?