Glass Eyed Dolls

CAUTION! DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER IF YOU ARE SCARED OF DOLLS! Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Little dolls for girls…or should I say big dolls for girls? I hate them, I can’t stand them! The glow in their freakishly open eyes, the scary “I’m gonna kill you “smile, the weirdly neat dress with fringes and colors, and obviously the stories my friends tell. “My grandma has this doll with a glass eye, and it sits on a piano in the attic!” or “Once there was this girl, and she had this doll in the house right? And then it killed everyone…but it killed her first.” When I hear these kinds of stories it creeps me out, when people tell stories I can picture it in my mind which at this point, is not a good thing. Sure it’s helpful for when I read poems or pieces of literary writing but come on! When you’re talking about that kind of doll who would want to picture it?

I’ll admit that the baby ones that little kids play with is okay, but these dolls are like the total opposite! I remember I saw one somewhere (I forgot where though) and it was okay, but since my friends tell me scary stories about them I never want to see one again. I’m afraid that the doll might come to life and kill people, believe me…it’s a scary thought. If any of your friends start telling a scary story I would cover my ears if I were you.

Any More to Say?

I’m sitting at home with frizzy hair and my hands clasped on my forehead. What can I do? My backpack glares at me for forgetting my Spanish textbook at school. It’s the day I would normally be throwing my backpack down and kicking off my shoes. It was Friday. The day of happiness…but that day was the day of panic. I worry about what to do, can I ask a friend to get it and send type the page for me? Can I stop by school to get it? No…if she gets it then she’ll miss the afterschool bus. I guess I have to get it tomorrow, damn! Nobody goes to school on a Saturday! That’s just sad. Great.

My dad’s not feeling well today, my brother’s at his friend’s house, I don’t even know where my mom is. Yesterday when I forgot the textbook it was okay, because there was always today to get it. But no, I had to forget it…again. I’m a mess this year. I left my pencil in my math classroom inside a desk (luckily I looked for it and found it,) when I went to a friend’s house I brought everything back home except my thumb drive, I keep forgetting to put in the rubber band thingies for my braces, and what more can I say? I look at my blackberry and forget to reply sometimes, I lose stuff without even knowing it (especially stationary) and just earlier today I lost my headphone piece (silicon part so I can’t hear anything outside of my music) that my brother brought back when he came home. I rest my case, I look responsible and mature (maybe) but I’m really, really forgetful.

A Drive to Hell

The wheels squeak

as you pull out,

red words

flow out of two holes,

they increase in size until it pops.

You're the angriest a person could get,

you start crying

because you're that mad,

to top it all off

you mom starts slapping your leg.

In the front...wholesomely waiting and wishing,

wishing you were in the back seat,

lying down listening to music.

Blocking away the yelling and mocking her.

Lakes are forming,

birds are flying away,

deserts so dry

even cacti succumb to the heat.

The Earth shakes

in fear of a storm filled

with discipline and deprivation

from connection to civilization.

A crackle of a campfire in the distance,

you feel isolated and you can't get back.

You're on the other side,

there's no bridge,

there's no path to walk upon.

You're in the ocean...

lost.

Can you get back?

The storms are clearing,

the lakes are shining,

the Earth is stable.

People are building the bridge.

Legs are moving?

Check.

Hands are swinging?

Check.

Eyes are puffy?

Check.

Everything is coming together?

BIG check.

Dear Monica

Stephanie Huie

174 Pennsylvania Road

San Francisco, California

September 8, 2010

Dear Monica,

How are you doing? I’m writing because I haven’t heard from you for a while. This message is very imperative because you haven’t replied any of my emails, and we have lost all contact with each other. Right now I’m not sure where you are right now, so I shall ask my father to find out your location so I’ll have a place to send this to. How is the Barbie doll that I gave you? I believe it was a purple mermaid, part of the Mermaid collection. Though I don’t like Barbie anymore (and throw away all the dolls) I would like to know if you still like Barbie, so that maybe I can send you one for your birthday if you do. (Please tell me your birthday too, I most likely forgot it.)

I remember your happy disposition when we used to play Powerpuff Girls in the first grade. Our generation seems to be the newest in our family is it not? That means that we are the ones that will come up with new ideas, and hopefully we won’t be guile in our whole life. When we were playing during recess I remember the chubby guy who used to chase girls with “cooties.” I won’t say his name, because I want to keep it anonymous…and I don’t remember his name. Anyways I hope that you haven’t forgotten any of our precious time, don’t forget to reply!

Yours truly,

Stephanie

Strong or Scared?

It’s all so clear, I can remember the night so well. I’m in my car again, and I’m sitting in the middle separating my mom and Mari. We’re on the way to the cinema in Multi Plaza, where Mari and I were going to see a movie with a bunch of guys. (Obviously from our school.)We get out of the car and walk to the food court. Matthew jumps onto our shoulders and greets us friendly. The movie starts, and Mari’s holding a big tub of popcorn just like everyone else. (I’m the only one that didn’t want to buy anything…my dad’s fault.) Jacob and Max are talking and laughing like crazy, while Matthew and Daniel are laughing too. (What’s so funny about a guy being slashed?)

Obviously I didn’t want to watch this gruesome movie, but it was better than hanging out at the mall for two hours doing nothing. The movie was only half-way through and Mari’s cowering and hiding her face behind her hands. I pull up my legs and push my face into my knees; I couldn’t bare to watch that scene. Matthew had gone to buy me and Daniel a drink (mostly my fault because I asked him if he could buy one for me.) Max and Jacob were still bickering and laughing, which caused a man that was watching the movie tell us to be quite, and that the movie wasn’t funny (the man directed it to Mari because Max’s laugh was so girlish.) I couldn’t watch the rest of the movie without fear that the man would come back and kick us out or something. The movie ended and we all exited (I was so happy.) Outside the theater I was cold and scared, luckily Matthew cheered me up (poor Mari had no one to comfort her.) The guys left and Mari and I loitered around the mall buying smoothies and window shopping while waiting for our ride.

What’s my confession? Sometimes when I’m acting strong, I’m actually really scared (I had nightmares!)

My Own Phoenix

I sat in the basement working on my wooden phoenix, with my brother pulling my arm and my hands numb from all the splinters I must have gotten. The legs were crooked, the arms weren't even pulled out of the rectangle of wood, the body was all mixed up and placed in different layers, and the head was cracked with pieces of wood sticking out. Everything was a mess. My brother’s phoenix stood next to my cracked and shattered phoenix. It was all perfect, spic and span, not a thread of wood in sight, it all looked so graceful and well…perfect. I stared at his amazing phoenix and wondered “How did he do that? He didn't even want to do it.” I pouted and crossed my arms; I was comparing my crappy little chicken, and looking into his honorable majestic fire. All he had to do was paint it, paint it in the color of fire I had in my eyes. I continued with my chicken, and eventually I gave up.

The head was still shattered from the pull of force when I tore it out of the rectangle, the body was somewhat put together but most of it was still lingering on the table, the feet were like chickens. Not like birds (even though the feet still look the same) not like anything but a little chicken…maybe even a little chick. I stand up and start to pick up the shreds on the floor, small excluded extra pieces, the crying empty rectangle frame drenched with loneliness. What have I been doing all this time? Chasing my brother’s footsteps in the sand? No, I need to do this my way. I got back to the wooden block, and carved a beautiful phoenix. I realized I can’t follow my brother’s footsteps; all I can do is do it myself.

Stop Yelling at Me

I absolutely hate how people always yell at me. My dad, my mom, and even my brother!

I walked into the living room with my some-what muddy shoes stepping on my pants. (My pants are really long) My bag goes boom onto the couch when there's impact and I take out the shiny-silver circles. Some are in mint condition, some are in the dulling stage, and the rest are barely even silver. They're all mixed with each other shuffling in my pocket all day. I take out the stack of nickels and hold them in my hand.

"Hey! Look! Haha I have a stack of nickels!...Hello? Look at the nickels. Look at the nickels!" I shout at my brother while he's fidgeting with the belongings he has in his backpack. "OKAY LOOK! NO ONE GIVES A FLYING FAT ABOUT YOUR NICKELS OKAY? I. DON'T. *BEEP*. CARE! God." I walk away frightened and trembling to my laptop that's charging.

"Wow. Did I annoy him that much? He didn't have to yell like that. I mean I know he yells when he's on Skype, but that was soo different." I thought to myself. Walking to the desktop was the last thing I wanted to do (my desktop is near my brother's laptop and that's where he was) but I didn't want to go upstairs or move my laptop. A friend on BBM asked for my cellphone number (not anything special) and he called me soon after.

We talked for a while until my only sibling told me to go upstairs, and of course I listened.