A Few Poems

A house of ages, one may say,

Where the withered come to lay rest their exhausted days

And fill the remaining with melancholy.

To reflect and relive the moments that left their grasp

Aids them in freezing their dwindling present hours,

Blessing them with temporary, yet eternal, life.

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We seem to forget that

We are not fragile --

Porcelain-bodied entities,

Where futility fills the hollow in us,

Seeping through the cracks of our mistakes.

Instead, we are malleable,

Like the carbon that rests in the earth.

Our undermined bodies are meant to endure;

To metamorphose failures into experience

And our imperfections to potentials.

Life’s trials mustn’t shatter,

Yet, instead, strength us.

Through encumbers we shape

Our inadvertent minds with accuracy,

Our gossamer bodies to stone,

Our existence, to diamonds.

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Years ago, a heart danced in her sketched world,

Where Prince Charming existed, yet never came.

One day, another heart had joined her,

And showed her the beauty of crayons.

Together, they colored her world with hues so beautiful,

Rainbows were put to shame.

As the two hearts explored her new dyed world,

They fell into Aphrodite’s vast, surreal ocean,

It untraversed to her, yet so warm and inviting.

He and her lingered in Aphrodite’s waters, unaware of the

Labyrinthine tides that threatened to wash away

The colors of her world.

The cruel waves eroded the decorated hues

As they broke unto the white sands.

They engulfed her pencil-sketch reality

Where she once waited for her Prince Charming.

Her world now lies in monochromatic ruin

From the relentless sea.

Clairvoyance was conceived from the rubble of her innocence.

Her Prince Charming never resided in this fantasy world --

A creation made with her once childlike hands.

Her Prince Charming existed in a better world,

A world that she could never make on her own without him showing her.

The world that the two hearts remade together.

Her Prince Charming is he, he who kept her safe

From the destruction of coming of age,

And who showed her the beauty of colors.

The one who remained by her side through the hardest moments of her life

He is her knight in shining armor, and always will be.

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Impatiently looking out the window the man sees himself,

Vanishing in the fogging glass of the restaurant,

That shelters him from the world of frost and hurt.

The “Omelete and Bacon Supreme” he ordered still hasn’t arrived,

Causing a rage to fill his bitter heart as he looks across the table,

Seeing the empty void that fills the seat.

The waitress comes hastily, bearing his complex order

That is now her burden.

She places some toast and two eggs on the table,

Adorned on heavy glass dishes that made her wrist ache.

The man looks at his food and a frown crosses his bitter face;

The wrong food is before him.

As he looks up at his waitress, prepared to yell,

The waitress simply gives him a small smile.

He looks at her, then at his food,

And begins to eat contently.

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Their pristine minds

Are fated to grow in a plagued world

Where toys eventually collect dust

And innocent thoughts

Are cryptic to the corroded consciousness of the aged.

The inner light in their eyes will soon become dull

Until they, too, become blind to the purity

That coexists with the corruption.

Imaginary Trauma (2013)

           Horseback riding, to my surprise, came as natural to me as breathing. Horses never intimidated me, in fact I felt quite connected with the intelligent animals. I would fine myself visiting them during my common hour, walking up and down through the barn to be greeted by the plethora of colorful horses that recognized me by now. They expectantly walked over to their stall gate and leaned their heads over the railing, waiting for their routine pets from me. When I would pet one, the horse’s horizontal-pupil eyes would gaze at me, twitching its ears in delight. Occasionally, it would make a funny face or do something silly to try to stir a reaction in me. It worked, as I would always giggle to the horse’s pleasure as it returned to lowering its head, wanting to be pet some more. They are as curious about us as we are about them.

            The horses probably recognized me from riding them, under the instruction of my instructor, Brian. His bold, extremely open personality brought a sense of fear into the horses that the horses never felt from me. He even demonstrated his presence on a misbehaving horse, which stood still in place and straightened up when Brain walked by. I was confused on whether it was acceptable to strike fear into an animal, or for the animal to trust you and gain respect that way. Brain’s way worked fine, it seemed, but I could never bring myself to making the horse intimidated by me. “If you don’t take charge, the horse will,” Brain warned me once as I was getting off the saddle of a stubborn horse. “You got to show them who is boss, or they’re gonna do what they please!”

            I thought about his words, but never took any heed to them. I loved horses so much that I began to underestimate the fierce power of the seemly obedient animal. One day during my weekly lesson, I noticed the horses I was accustomed to riding had been already out for the day. Having no other choice, I was left with a horse named “Thunder,” who was quite new to the barn. I went to Thunder’s stall and discovered that the height of the horse was much larger than the ones I rode in the past. His sheen, obsidian coat shined in the small amount of sunlight that entered the stall as his large, heterochromia eyes looked upon me. I saddled the horse as normal and brought Thunder outside. After mounting him, I felt Thunders powerful stride in his steps. For some reason, I felt afraid. Thunder was a strong horse, and was quite smart, too, for he looked over his shoulder at me. He sensed my fear and at that very moment, I knew I was screwed.

            “Okay, Katie, let’s get a post-trot goin’!” Brain shouted, urging me to start riding. Thunder started walking around the rink on his own, which I didn’t look into too much at first, since all the horses were so accustomed to the rink that they know better now. I started shortening the reigns, preparing to make him trot, and that was when Thunder wanted to mess with me. He thrashed his head forward, pulling on the reigns and almost sending me flying over him. Used to this from the other horses, I dismissed it and regained my composure. He repeated this process, steering off on his own into the middle of the rink.

            “Katie! What you doin’? Get that horse back to the rails!” Brain shouted again, getting impatient with his cherished student. Brain always saw a lot of potential in me – he even told the Equestrian team and my own parents that. I was left feeling like I couldn’t disappoint Brian, even though I was still quite a beginner in my own way.

            I tried steering Thunder back to the railing, speaking loudly so Brain could hear me from across the rink. “I’m trying, Brian! He isn’t listening to me!”

            “Well, what I tell ya? Show that horse whose boss! You got your crop, don’t ya? Give him a smack and put him in line!” I looked down at my crop, which was a leather stick used to command the horses to run. The crop was barely felt by the horse, and in the past I had to hit horses a few times for them to realize that I was smacking them to begin with. I raised the crop and tapped Thunder on the shoulder. No response. I tried it a few more times, my swings getting a little harder with each hit, but still no avail. “Oh….Katie you better hit harder than that if you want the horse to feel anything! You think if I whacked you like that, you’d feel anything? You’re being girly!”

            Wanting to prove Brian wrong, that I was capable of commanding this horse, I did what he asked. I raised the crop over my head, which Thunder noticed. Thunder looked over his shoulder at me again, his one-blue eye glaring at me as if he was saying, “Oh, you better not.” I looked at him and gave him a whack.

            Thunder, infuriated, bucked his back legs into the air. I never rode a bucking horse before, so my instinct was to remain calm and keep steering Thunder to the railing. He trashed his head forward, trying to flip me over from the front, but I refused to fall of. It wasn’t out of pride or anything; I just knew I was safer on the horse than off it at this point. After a minute or so of him doing this, he was more irritated with me. He cantered, galloping full speed across the rink. I bounced helplessly around the saddle, pulling back on the reigns to try to slow Thunder down. Thunder remained headstrong as he jumped over the fence, successfully sending me falling off the horse. As I fell a few feet off the horse, I witnessed the massive animal complete his jump and gallop into the parking lot.

            At that point, I must have blacked out due to the fact that I woke up in a hospital, my arm adorned in a cast. A doctor told me that I had landed on my arm, breaking it and knocking the wind out of me. The impact of my head landing on the ground so viciously also caused me to faint.  There were many cards beside my bed, all having the words “Get well soon” in some way or another on them. I picked up the one from Brian, who mentioned in the card that Thunder was taken out of the barn and was sent off to become a western horse, instead of the English ones the barn has (in other words, he’d become a rodeo horse.)

            I never saw Thunder again after that, but I still ride under Brian’s instruction. The experience taught me how to handle the horse’s better without sacrificing their affection towards me. 

Imagined Future; Real Past (2013)

            “I believe adding this mechanic allows for a broader-range of player choice… I mean, what kind of gamer DOESN’T like the option of dual-wielding?” The game programmer spoke with sophistication and hint of lightheartedness, his tone alone verifying his vast knowledge of game-design, as well as his humanly passion as a gamer. His emerald eyes looked up from the cherry wood conference table, littered with papers and charts of algorithmic concepts, in an endeavor to find at least one pair of supportive eyes.  The conference room itself was slender and quite small, so he didn’t have to look too far in his search.  On the wall to his back, “Square Enix” was handsomely painted across the wall.

            The programmer’s eyes ultimately met mine, and at that moment, a subliminal covenant was forged – I’ll respond to his concept. After an earnest smile, politely scanning the men in the room first before speaking, I replied to him, “Being a lead writer for this project… I’m not entirely sure if dual wielding will fit well with some of the characters. But I can possibly rework some of their biographies to make it work, somehow!”

            As I leaned back into my office chair, I tenderly listened to the men converse between themselves about how our development team could conceivably integrate dual wielding in our current project: the next game in the Final Fantasy series. My eyes meandered over to the Square Enix logo, leaving the discord of voices behind as I drifted off into my memory.

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            I remember sitting on a standard computer chair in the digital arts classroom, the light of the enormous Mac desktop hazily illuminating my distressed, weary face. Having classes from 9:30am to 9:30pm was exhausting, but I tried my best not to let it affect me – I wanted to take this graduate “Advanced 3D Animation” course, after all. The professor of this class even encouraged me to take it. Despite my opposition, my traitorous eyes glimpsed over at the student’s computer next to mine, filling my heart with angst once again. His attempt at making a virtual room using the 3D modeling program, Autodesk Maya, was already halfway finished.  Returning back to my own computer screen to witness my own progress, all I had was a hollow, bare, abnormally rendered box that not even a homeless man would want to live in.

            “Okay, so now we’re done with the lamp, we’re going to add some chairs to place along the table,” said my professor, walking past my computer. A weight occupied my chest again as I feverishly began looking through the hundreds of convoluted menus of Maya, trying to the best of my ability to catch up with the rest of the class. Maneuvering this program felt as through I was roaming through a maze with countless dead-ends and no clear path. My heart was anticipating the answer to my problem to appear in front of me if I clicked through the menus enough, but the overwhelming new terms and phrases was enough for my brain to tell me that I needed my professor’s help.

            With deterrence, I raised my right hand from my corner of the classroom before looking over at my professor. The sudden movement of my hand raising above the series of computer monitors made him look directly at me, and then immediately away again as he continued to speak, “Alright, so everyone click on create, polygon primitives, plane and set the ratio to 40 by 30 pixels…” He turned his back to me and rambled on in this odd language of Maya-speak, which I started to believe that there was no hope of me ever learning it. After three minutes, my fingers tingled from the deficiency of proper circulation and I lowered my hand down, superficially in defeat, and upstretched my left hand, permitting my other one to rest. My eyes, once again, insisted on self-harming my confidence as observed the neighboring student’s computer again – his room was now furnished with one chair and he was already working on his second one.

            My grief quickly transmuted to frustration, and soon found my mouth forming words without my permission, “Professor, I need your help.”

           He regarded me for only a moment before turning away again, slightly annoyed because I appeared to have interrupted his class. “I’ll help you in a moment.” Some relief eased off my chest as I persevered with my project, recommencing to fiddle with this delicate, $800 animation program.

           Before long, twenty minutes went by. My attention now appeared drawn to the clock, which read “8:34pm” as my lungs let out a shaky sigh. My professor was now instructing the rest of the students in my class about how to add texture maps to the tables and chairs, which made it arduous for me to even look at my dysfunctional box. Despairing for help, I upraised my hand once again, “Professor, I still need your help.”

           “Right, I’ll be with you in a moment,” he retorted once again, his tone plummeting from an upbeat amiability to a passive irritation whenever he spoke to me. It was as if he felt like I was a lost cause in his class; honestly, I started feeling that way, too. After a few minutes, my professor made a wonderful proclamation to my class. “Okay, so I’m going to go around the room and check on each one of you to see how you’re doing.” At those words, I sat up in my seat in exhilaration. Finally, he was going to help me! Even though I was tremendously behind the rest of the class, I didn’t mind giving up lunch hour tomorrow to work on my project – I was accustomed to doing that by now, anyway.

           He made his way across the classroom, devoting about five or so minutes with each student. Before long, I heard his voice reverberate in my right hear as he beheld at the student’s project next to mine, helping him complete whatever he was working on. When my professor was finished with that student, I beamed and looked at my computer, prepared to explain to my professor what I was struggling on for the last two hours.

           That’s when he skipped me and went to the other student next to me.

           I looked at him in disbelief as I watched him continue to assist the remainder of the students. Feeling alienated, I rose from my cushioned seat and stridden out of the classroom. Distress and frustration filled my entire being as I ventured into the girls’ bathroom and tried to calm down. I was certain my professor was going to notice I walked out of his class – he noticed me when I did something wrong, always. Maybe this was his way of telling me that he felt as though I didn’t belong in a graduate class.

           I didn’t surrender, though. Everyday after school and during common hour, I would return to his classroom and work on my projects. Sometimes I would forget to eat while I worked, but I was prepared to sacrifice what I had to, to do well in his class. His office was right next to the classroom, so at first I thought I would be able to ask him for aid while there were no classes going on. After a exasperating amount of times of him telling me he’d “help me in a few moments”  -- where after a half hour of waiting, discovered him in his office reading the newspaper -- I gave up relying on my professor for help. With the help of Google and YouTube, I educated myself about Maya and was able to finish my projects.

           At the end, he ended up giving me a “B-“, despite my hard work and devotion to the class. His reasoning? He felt as though because I had the flu in the middle of the semester and my doctor literally demanded me to miss two classes (I had the doctor’s notes), I “missed too much class” to get a higher grade than that.

           The experience I had with my professor, despite its unpleasantness, taught me a valuable lesson: I am capable of achieving anything I want to, even if someone wants to hold me back. Seeking a career in game design as a woman is difficult enough as it is, so I couldn’t permit this professor to stomp all over my dream.  After that class, I continued taking graduate Game Design courses and received exceptional grades in all of them. If I allowed my professor to fully discourage me back then, I wouldn’t be where I am today. 

Red Balloon in Brooklyn (2012)

           It was quite a common September afternoon – soft, tranquil, with a hint of autumn dampening the rhythmic breeze that waltzed down the streets of Brooklyn. Occasionally, the children, a young boy and girl, would jadedly look up at the greying sky from the brown-bricked stoop they were perched at.

            At their backs was the orphanage they grew up in. It was their home, despite the few strict Nuns that resided beyond the shut door, currently keeping them out. In fact, one of the nuns placed them out here to begin with. For what reason? The children don’t remember – probably was from the argument the boy and girl had a few minutes ago.

            Then again, the two children did fight often. The boy, who often fashioned mischief that personified his immaturity, was intolerable to the clever, sensible girl that was often referred to as “the goody two-shoes” of the home. In fact, the only reason the girl gets into trouble to begin with is for when she tries to criticize the boy for his actions, which tends to erupt into an exchange of name-calling and yelling.

            The boy’s playful eyes eventually caught sight of a bright red balloon, drifting above the buildings in its descent to earth. It was quite noticeable against the ashen sky, yet the girl paid no mind to its existence. The balloon drifted past them, making it’s way to the tar surface of the street before the autumn zephyr scooped it up. The balloon’s journey seemed to repeat in this pentameter.

            Adventurously, the boy stood up and declared for the both of them to chase after the balloon. Before the girl would respond, the boy was already making his way off the stoop and down the road. Looking behind her, the girl witnessed that the nuns did not notice the boy’s quite audible announcement of his escapade. Frustrated and feeling somewhat responsible of the boy’s wellbeing, she pursued after the boy.

            The balloon took the children throughout the streets, down an alleyway, and eventually across a park.  All the while, the girl was yelling at the boy, attempting to falter his determination. It was all for naught; the boy’s mind had tunnel-vision on the alluring, floating red sphere that drifted over a black iron, spiked fence.

            While chasing the balloon, the children suddenly stopped. In their wake lied the entrance of the land of the dead, where the deceased attempted to rest in the taciturn, pale city of mausoleums and tombstones -- the neighborhood cemetery, Resting in it’s heart was the red balloon, hitched upon the broken wing of a stone angel statue.

            Hugging himself slightly, the now uncertain boy made his way into the cemetery. His once adventurous thoughts became warped with fear, corrupted by the memories of scary stories he was told. The wind howled in his ears as the cold bit at his cheeks and fingertips. With each step, the angel seemed to back away from the boy as the red balloon beckoned him forward.  The girl hurried behind the boy, so afraid to be alone that she left her mature demeanor behind.

            As they stepped in front of the angel, they peered up at the apple-colored balloon that loomed over their heads. The stone angel, who gazed upon the children through praying hands, seemed to keep the balloon just out of reach. Despite the angel’s attempts to keep the forbidden balloon out of his grasp, the boy reached up on his toes. Grabbing the string, he was able to pull the balloon down.

            Suddenly, a hand fell upon both of the children’s shoulders, turning them around aggressively. It was one of the nuns, adorning an anger-stricken face that was more crimson than the balloon itself. The startled children looked at their nun as they released the balloon out of fear, returning it back to the sky.

            The pilgrimage home consisted of the nun pulling along the children, scolding them each moment she could for running off. The girl sighed and looked at the boy with blame as she tried to convince the nun it wasn’t her fault. The boy, however, stayed silent as he thought about his day. He didn’t understand how something he desired, a playful red balloon, so easily led him astray from his home and into a eerie cemetery, only to get reprimanded for it after by one of the nuns.

            That night, the boy found himself staring out the window by his bunk bed, surrounded by dreaming orphans. Looking at the white stars and serene moon, he wondered where that balloon ended up; and, what child the balloon would tempt next. 

The Boy Who Vanished In the Night (2012)

           I remember sitting on the front lawn to my home, the grass warm from the summer sun and the saccharine breeze lightly wafting my back. My sister, Tara sat beside me as our next door neighbor, Johnny, sat across from us, forming a triangle that cradled our innocence in the center. Our juvenile fingers grabbed the white clovers and dexterously knotted the stems of another white clover around the bulb, fashioning flower necklaces in the tranquil taciturnity. Perhaps the silence was an understanding that the summer was fading away with the setting sun, which usually meant that the days of playing outside together would come to an end. It never bothered us, though – we knew that once the air was warm again, we’d continue our fun outside in the sun as if we never stopped. Time couldn’t hinder our friendship.

            “Girls, it’s dinner time!” My mom shouted from the window, which was always the guillotine to our fun. My sister and I dreadfully stood up and frowned at Johnny, who didn’t want us to go as much as we didn’t want to go, either.

            “Aw, man!” He said with disappointment, standing up and wiping the grass off his shorts. “Let’s play again tomorrow!” We smiled at him and agreed before scurrying back into our home, thinking about the adventures we would have tomorrow as we sat and ate dinner. It seemed silly for him to ask, as we played together everyday. If we weren’t sitting outside his door in the morning, he was sitting outside of ours.

            But, that was the last time we saw Johnny.

            Every morning, my sister and I would take our short, thrilling routine walk to his home, playfully arguing over who would ring the doorbell. I can’t recall exactly who rang the doorbell, but the chimes that filled the white house were so accustomed to us. Tara and I waited, but Johnny never greeted us like he always would. On the second day, my sister and I once again returned to his home and pushed the button that sat beside the white door. We waited longer this time, sitting outside in the drive way and trying to peak through the window to see if we was on his way. When the familiar ding-dong rang again on the third day, Tara and I simply sat outside in his driveway. We sat there for a while, as if the weight of despair from the abandonment of our friend kept us tethered there.

            It wasn’t until the next day, as my mother drove my sister and I to elementary school that she shared with us the knowledge that was recently given to her. Her words went something like this: “I spoke to Artie this morning... Johnny moved away the other night. His parent’s are getting a divorce.” The words felt like pliers yanked an embedded part of my sister and I away from us. We didn’t know how to react – our best friend left without even saying goodbye. It was such a agonizing moment that my sister and I were heartbroken the rest of day.

           I recently asked my mother how difficult it was to tell us that our best friend, almost our brother, was gone. She said not only was it challenging, but we were too young at the time to know the whole story. Johnny’s older sister, Jen, was secretly suffering from bulimia and her mother was partially to blame. Her mother was giving Jen dieting pills that drove her to bulimia. Artie, the father, found out the night we played with Johnny last, as he found bags of vomit that Jen was hiding in her closet. He went into a rage, which caused mother to pack everything up and take Johnny and Jen with her. Apparently that night, Johnny was inconsolable, too, because he wasn’t allowed to say goodbye to my sister and I.

            The days continued on, however, feeling so void compared to what they once were. My sister and I sat on the front lawn, looking at Johnny’s house from a distance. The games we used to play felt so different without him, so we just stopped playing them. Instead, we grew up keeping Johnny still close in our hearts, as if he never truly left. The nights that we played hide-and-seek amongst the fireflies, played “Spud” until we grew tired of it, poked the squishy, rotting pears that fell off the pear tree in his backyard and sat on the curb for hours, waiting for the ice cream truck to come by, remain as vivid in my mind as they ever were. 

The Glade (2012)

           The honeyed aroma of fallen leaves wafted with the algid wind, accompanied the crisp rustle of perished leaves as they scampered down the street. Summer had departed a few weeks ago, leaving the modest town of Havenwood in Autumn’s company. A gradient of colors loomed overhead in the sky, shifting from soft cobalt to a vibrant rose as morning transcended into dusk.  The leaves aforementioned soon found themselves waltzing past a young girl, causing her lengthy chestnut hair to momentarily dance with them. She brushed her hair behind her ears, revealing beautiful emerald eyes and freckles on her cheeks. What she also exposed was some dirt on her face, which oddly complemented the dirt on her dark jeans – as if she fell on the ground somewhere recently.

            Her name was Esther Everett – a nine-year-old girl attending third grade in Havenwood Elementary. Reaching her house, she began her ascent up her driveway, looking down at her hands as she did so. Her palms were enflamed and stung, making her painfully remember how her hands were the only things that prevented her face from getting scrapped on the concrete when Rosa Brennan shoved her. It was during recess, as usual, when Rosa decided to propel Esther off her bench and onto the ground, laughing at her despair as she left Esther there. What seems like an abysmal, rare incident became a ritual part of Esther’s school day; being bullied by Rosa.

            Esther stepped on the porch of her house, reaching for the doorknob as she approached her front door. Stepping inside, she was immediately in her kitchen. Her house was above average by normal standards; three bedroom, two bathrooms, a beautiful living room and kitchen, and a decent size yard large enough to eventually place the swing set Esther’s father promised her in.

            Speaking of her father, he was sitting in the kitchen, typing away on his business laptop while he simultaneously ate a ham sandwich he threw together. Esther approached her father, placing her white backpack on the chair across from him. Not looking up from his work, he began to say the words he always greeted Esther with after school.

          “Hey, sweetie! How was school?”

          In return, she responded the same way she did every day.

          “Horrible. I hate it here, Dad… Rosa always picks on me! Everyone does!” Esther wiped the dirt off her face with her sleeve, wondering if today would be the day her father would finally help her be rid of Rosa. Or, better yet, if this was the day her father decides to move back down south to Belham, the country town where she grew up. Being too engrossed in his work, he once again failed to notice the severity of Esther’s situation.

“Don’t worry, Esther. It’s just because you’re new. Things will get better.”

          Things will get better… 

            That’s what he has been telling her everyday for the last five months, when they moved to Havenwood and left all of Esther’s friends behind in Belham. He even told both her and her mother that when they realized they faced financial difficulties living here in Havenwood Instead of moving back to Belham, her mother and father wanted to stay in Havenwood for “Esther’s sake” because the education offered here was better. So, her mother took on a full-time job to help her father pay the bills, leaving both of her parents too busy to even notice that Esther is in fact miserable here in Havenwood.

          The doorbell rang, cuing Esther’s father to rise from his seat, closing his laptop. “Thank god! The babysitter’s finally here. I was afraid she was going to make me late for work!” He hurried over to the door and opened it, more ecstatic over seeing the babysitter than speaking with his own daughter. Esther sighed and grabbed her white backpack off the chair and made her way to the steps, passing the front door as she did so. She peered past her father and saw Jennifer Bell’s familiar face, smiling at her father. Jennifer is their seventeen-year-old neighbor who babysat Esther when they first arrived in Havenwood, and has been doing it ever since. While Jennifer was nice, she tended to stay downstairs and watch TV while Esther remained upstairs in her room. Turning her back on the both of them, Esther made her way up the steps and into her room, closing the door behind her.

          The night seemed to blur by, shaping into morning sooner than she wanted. Before long, Esther soon found herself sitting under a tree during recess, away from the other children.  The school itself sat on a spacious piece of land that ran alongside the forest in which the town was named after, Haven Woods. During recess, the children were able to play outside on the field, where a small jungle gym stood away from the fence and tree where she sat. They were all watched over by the “Lunch Monitor,” an older woman who ironically had cataracts, which forced her to remain closer to the jungle gym to be able to see all the children without difficulty. On Esther’s lap was a book, entitled All About Birds, which she used as an excuse to help convince the Lunch Monitor to give Esther permission to sit far away from the noisy children, under the illusion that she is allowing Esther to read in a quiet place. In reality, Esther hoped that being away from the playground would prevent her from running into Rosa today.

          The book was actually given to her by her old best friend in Belham before she moved, as they both found birds fascinating. They used to walk around the farms and try to find all the birds written about in the book, like the mockingbird and cardinal.

          As Esther watched the children, she made a horrible mistake: she locked eyes with Rosa, who was searching for her from the top of the jungle gym. Rosa began her descent down the slide and towards Esther, causing Esther to hold her book and clench it slightly out of nerves.

          Its okay…Maybe she won’t shove you today. She thought to herself as the gap between her and Rosa closed. Rosa was an overweight child, with short, unruly and frizzy copperwire hair. Her clothes tended to be disheveled and ragged, making her appearance almost as frightful as she was herself. With each step Rosa took towards Esther, Esther’s heart pounded.

          Rosa’s eyes narrowed as she reached Esther, towering over her as Esther sat on the plush grass. Esther slowly stood up as Rosa glared at her, hugging her book slightly for comfort, waiting for something to happen. At this moment, she wished was able to magically turn into one of the birds in her book and fly away.

          “Whatcha got there?” Rosa said, pointing brutishly at Esther’s book. Before Esther could respond or react, Rosa pushed Esther aggressively on the floor with her large hands, making her fall into the cold dirt. The book flew from Esther’s grasp onto the ground beside her as Rosa looked over her shoulder, making sure the Lunch Monitor didn’t see. Some children came to witness what was happening, and out of fear of Rosa, they laughed at Esther’s easy defeat. Esther tried to stand up, but she was shoved once again with Rosa’s bodyweight, causing her back to hit the tree painfully. Rosa grabbed the book off the floor and looked at it before she laughed. “Really? A book!? During recess? Are you THAT much of a nerd that you actually WANT to read during recess?” The children laughed as Rosa ripped the book in half down the spine, obliterating Esther’s cherished momento. To add insult to injury, Rosa took the remains of All About Birds and flung it over the fence into Haven Woods. “There, this is where your dumb birds belong!”

          Rosa left Esther leaning against the tree, departing with the group of children that chose to stand by and watch Esther’s misfortune. Tears filled Esther’s eyes as she hurried over to the chain-link fence, seeing some of the pages of All About Birds get picked up in the wind and blow away. In a desperate attempt to save her book, she slipped her hand in one of the holes in the fence, reaching for the book that remained just out of her reach. Giving up, she removed her hand from the fence and wiped her eyes. Out of a burst of frustration and hurt, she kicked the fence, causing it to rattle and creak. Unintentionally, Esther’s kick on the rustic fence caused the bottom corner of it to detach slightly from one of metal poles it was attached to. At first embarrassed that she broke the fence, she immediately turned around to see if the Lunch Monitor noticed. To her luck, the Lunch Monitor was yelling at two of her classmates for one reason or another, resulting in her shrill voice masking the sound of the creaking fence. Esther faced the corner of the fence and pushed on it slightly, making the fence bend further away from the metal pole until a gap formed. Carefully, she successfully squeezed through the gap, making sure the rusted metal didn’t cut her while doing so. Esther hurried to scavenge the remains of All About Birds. Eight of the twenty pages were missing.

          Tears began to roll down her face as she looked back at the school. Recess would be over soon, but she didn’t want to go back. Why should I? She thought sullenly. No one cares about me. Not even my parents would know I’m gone. With that thought, she walked off deep into the woods, leaving the school and Havenwood behind her. Her roaming led her to come across a massive fallen tree, forming a tree bridge over a three-story fall that was carved into the earth by a river hundreds of years ago. Wanting to persevere and flee her troubled world, she courageously climbed on top of the mossy, decaying tree. Walking slowly, she crossed the tree, making sure she didn’t look down all the while.

          Past the tree bridge, she came across a glade. It was silent and spacious, which complemented an enormous tree that sat the glade’s edge. Towards the base of a tree was a tree hollow, which was small enough for a child into comfortably. Esther ran to the tree, as curious towards the tree’s grandeur as she was upset. Looking at the tree, she began to hear the laughter of other children. Startled, she turned around and looked through the wall of trees surrounding the glade from where she stood.

          What if Rosa followed me? She immediately thought, turning back to the hollow. Instinctively, she crawled inside, trying to hide from her offender. The inside of the hollow was damp and cold, but large enough that she could sit inside comfortably. Esther looked through the hollow hole from the darkness as she brought her knees up to her chest, hugging them as tears began to fill her eyes. The laughter deluged her ears again, causing her to tense up, dreading that the school kids were closing in on the hollow. However, instead of hearing it from outside the hollow, the sound emerged from beside her. She looked over to her right, at the back wall of the hollow. To her amazement, the bark of the tree seemed to shift, changing into something else before her eyes. Afraid, she slid back, away from the wall as she watched it turn into a small door.

          She stared at the door for a moment, trying to process in her mind what she just witnessed. Am I imagining this…? She thought, slowly reaching out to the face of the door. As her palm touched the wood, streams of amber light appeared in the grains of the wood, making their way through the woodwork and to the center of the door, forming three words: The Asylia Glade. The amber doorknob illuminated softly in the same golden light, as if beckoning her to open it.  Esther’s curiosity soon overcame her, driving her to open the door.

          After making her way through the door, she found herself blinded by sunlight. Once her vision adjusted, she took in her surroundings with awed eyes. In her wake as a vast glade, filled with children laughing and playing together. The grass was plush and warm, and what seemed to be magical clouds drifted overhead, changing their shape to different animals and objects. At the center of the glade was a playground, consisting of swings, slides, bridges, and monkey bars. It shone beautifully in the sunlight, appearing to be made of pure silver.

          “Hello,” said a mysterious voice from behind Esther. She turned around and saw a boy, slightly older than her, leaning on the bark of the tree. He had short, golden shaggy hair and cerulean eyes, making him appear lion-like as he looked at her. “Welcome to Asylia Glade, my name is Leon Brandt.”

          Esther smiled at him, but felt awfully confused. “Hello….Uhm, the Asylia Glade?” She briefly looked over her shoulder, studying the kids before looking back at Leon. “Are these kids from Havenwood Elementary…? I don’t know any of them.”

          “Havenwood Elementary?” Leon raised an eyebrow, standing upright off the tree. “I never heard of it.”

          “Aren’t you from Havenwood? Or Belham?”

          “I’m from Altenroth, Germany.”

          Esther looked dumbfounded, staring at him with no response. Germany? Leon noticed the confusion on her face and decided to continue speaking.

          “Let me explain. This glade is a magical place that children can access from all around the world… For me, I can come here by crawling into a rock crevice by my house.” A shadow of a kite darted past them, causing Esther to instinctively look up at it in the sky. It was a Chinese dragon kite, making it seem as though a red serpent was waltzing against the clouds. A young Asian girl, about six years old, was holding onto the string of the kite as she ran around, being followed by three other children – attempting to catch the kite they knew they could never reach.

          Leon pointed to one of the dragon’s pursuers, a brunette boy slightly older than the Asian girl. “See that kid? He’s from Australia. Supposedly he comes here by entering a closet in some abandoned house near his school.” He shrugged his shoulders, “Regardless, this place somehow allows us to all understand each other, and we all come here when things get tough back home.”

          That’s when she noticed it. Whenever he spoke, she could very faintly hear the German pronunciation underlying his English, as if the glade magically translated his words so she could understand. Leon pointed up above the door where she emerged from, making Esther realize that the way out of here was back through the door, which was connected to the front of the enormous tree she saw back in Haven Wood. This tree, however, had words written in its trunk, written in the same amber light that engraved the door before. As she looked at the words, the letters constantly shifted languages until they remained in English, allowing her to read.  It appeared to be listing three rules, which the first one mentioned the glade allowing the children to understand each other. Before she could read the others, Leon already started explaining them.

          “These are the guidelines of the Asylia Glade. The first one I explained but, not the other two. Simply put, time flows slower here, so you can stay here for hours and only minutes will go by back home. It allows us to kind of enjoy our time here without having to rush back home… and the last one is the most important. ‘Only those who are child at heart may enter,’ meaning, well… Eventually, we won’t be able to come back here anymore.” He walked up to Esther and smiled warmly at here, “So, why not go have fun here until then?”

          Esther returned a smile once again before looking back at the glade. The children with the dragon kite were far off in the distance now, near another group of kids playing Duck Duck Goose.  Colored balls flew into the sky occasionally, as a result of a few British youths playing kick ball.  Esther wanted to play with them, but her shyness kicked in. “Sure, but… I don’t know anyone here besides you.”

          Leon took Esther’s hand and began to lead her deeper into the glade, away from the tree. “That’s okay. I didn’t know anyone at first, eithers.” A few moments later, she found running around the playground, playing tag with two Mexican sisters, a Russian boy and Leon.  As they played, their friendship grew, as well as Esther’s happiness. She felt safe here and a part of her didn’t want to go back home; this place was a paradise to her. After playing for what seemed like hours, meeting kids from all around the world and enjoying their company, she knew it was time to return home. With Leon following, she made her way over to the door.

          “This was fun!” she announced, spinning around and facing Leon. “I think I need to go home now, though… I think recess is over by now.”

          “Aw, really?” Leon frowned, putting his hands in his pockets with a playful pout. “You sure? It’s probably only been five minutes in actual time…” Esther nodded her head, frowning a little too. It was difficult enough to leave already; now she definitely didn’t want to leave, knowing Leon couldn’t come with her.

          “Well…you’ll be here tomorrow, right?” Her voice was hopeful and slightly curious – what if she couldn’t see him again?

          “Of course. I come here all the time. But, remember that last rule, Esther.” He removed a hand from his pocket and pointed at the guidelines again. “Only a child at heart may enter.’ So, you know…Try to come back a bunch, okay? So we can hang out more.”

          “Durr! I’ll come here all the time!” She smiled and waved at Leon, saying her goodbye as she turned around. She left through the door she entered from, which placed her right back in the damp hollow. Just like Leon said, only a few minutes went by back in her reality. With the Asylia Glade as her escape, she felt somewhat hopeful and returned back to the school, knowing that she could always come back to the Glade.

          For the next month, she did just that. Whenever her parents left her alone with Jennifer, or when Rosa was searching for her at recess, she fled to the Asylia Glade. Her hourly adventures in the glade only existed as minutes to the rest of the world, allowing her escapes to remain unnoticed. With each visit, she grew closer with Leon, looking at him as her best friend.

          Fall soon came into full swing, causing the air to dampen as rain attempted to wash away the remainders of summer. The air became colder, making her trek through Haven Woods more difficult. Her jacket would sometimes get caught in the fence, making her almost get caught by the Lunch Monitor one time. The boots she wore to keep her feet warm would occasionally lose traction in the mud of the forest, making her slip when she wasn’t paying attention to where she stepped. With perseverance, she continued to visit the grove despite Mother Nature’s warnings.

          One morning, it began to rain. The earth became drenched with the tears of the sky, but it stopped just in time for recess, allowing the children to play outside in the puddles with their rain boots. Naturally, Esther made her way to the fence, slipping through the gap with her new, yellow rain boots. The smell of petrichor ticked her nose as she soon reached the tree bridge. Climbing on top, she ignorantly overestimated her ability to cross the bridge, as she has done it countless times by now. At about halfway, her right foot slipped on the damp, mossy tree, causing her to lose her balance.

          Frantically, she screamed and grabbed onto the tree as she fell, managing to cling to the bark just before she fell into the depths of the dried river. Her feet kicked around in the empty air as she tried to pull herself up.

          “Help me! Someone!” Esther yelled, her arms growing tired of supporting her body weight. After two minutes of clinging for her life, she realized that she was too deep in Haven Woods for anyone at Havenwood Elementary to hear her. Then, she heard someone running, approaching her off in the distance. To her surprise and bewilderment, it was Rosa.

          Rosa, instead of leaving her there, quickly climbed on the tree bridge and made her way to Esther, pulling her up just in time. As they safely climbed off the tree bridge, Esther looked uncertainly at Rosa.

          “Why? How did you know?” She said, curious to why Rosa out of all people would come to her rescue. “You pick on me everyday! You’re practically the reason why I’m here to begin with!”

          Rosa listened to her and bit her lip, “Well… I saw you a week ago squeeze through the fence. I was wondering where you were going.”

          “But, why? Did you miss shoving me or something?” Esther responded bitterly. She couldn’t believe she was finally standing up to Rosa, but it felt good doing so.

            “You won’t understand, I didn’t mean to pick on you.” Rosa looked down at her hands, which were dirty from climbing on the tree bridge. “Everyone was mean to be before you came along. I had to. It was either me pick on you, or me still get picked on. I hated it, but once I knew the other kids stopped making fun of me for bullying you, I couldn’t stop.”

          Esther looked at Rosa, who began to get teary-eyed at this revelation. “Why would they pick on you?”

          “Because, I’m dumb...” She shrugged her shoulders, embarrassed to admit it. Feeling like she had to explain herself for picking on Esther all this time, as if explaining to a teacher why didn’t do her homework, she continued on. “Everyone used to make fun of my clothes, too. My Dad doesn’t buy me nice things, though... He hasn't been the same since my Mom went up to heaven. So I just wear my old clothes and keep to myself. I never told anyone about it though...” She wiped her eyes, “I’m sorry, Esther. I didn’t mean it…”

          Esther smiled and hugged Rosa, who hugged her back. They returned to Havenwood Elementary together and used their growing friendship to help tolerate the struggles they faced at home. Rosa even brought Esther a new bird book to replace the one she destroyed. With her new friend, Esther soon forgot all about the Asylia Glade, as she had no need for it now.

          Two years went by, and Esther and Rosa were now in middle school. The days of playing on the playground were soon replaced with talking about boys and makeup. One morning, Esther woke up and oddly remembered the Glade, and went there the following evening.  Along the way to the hollow, she thought about Leon and wondered if he still remembered her. She knelt down and peered into the hollow, which was darker than she remembered. Trying to fit inside, she attempted to squeeze into the hollow multiple ways but couldn’t. Finally, she simply reached an arm into the hollow and felt the back wall, trying to find a doorknob. Nothing.

          She sat up, removing her arm from the hollow as she stared into the darkness. A twisted feeling filled her gut, remembering the last guideline of the Asylia Glade: Only those with a child at heart may enter.

          Esther smiled halfheartedly, feeling somewhat bittersweet as she stood up. Even though she could never enter the glade again, perhaps it was a good thing. It meant she was grown up now and didn’t need the glade to escape her problems. After her father was promoted about a year ago, the money troubles seemed to vanish. As for her friends in Belham, Rosa became one of the best friends she could ask for, replacing the friendship she had with her old friend. Lastly, now that she was almost twelve and proved to be responsible, her parents allowed Esther to stay home by herself, ending her days of being babysat by Jennifer.

          Esther touched the bark of the tree, whispering “goodbye,” hoping all those who may still venture into the glade would hear her. She turned around and left Havenwood for the last time, taking her memories of the Asylia Glade as she left her childhood behind her.

A Roleplaying/DnD Plot (2011)

The fall of the Creator fractured the chains of the once incarcerated world. The conflict, known throughout all the land as The Final Confrontation, connoted its place in history as the baptism of “The New World.” An unalloyed light radiated over the Earth, promising a new era for all that inhabit it. All began to rejoice and praised the planet that was finally theirs. With Lesilyia’s defeat and the Guardians return to their realm, humanity could now control its fate. This world was in their hands.

It wasn’t before long that humanity began to question the sanctum of their world. Without the Creator’s control, man soon began to feel lost. There was no guidance to herd them towards their destiny. Even though man continued to live their lives with the renewal of Earth in mind, humanity was frightened of the future; one that was no longer protected by the immeasurable power of a Guardian.

From the debris the Final Confrontation, a holy figure rose with a claim to lead all stray humans towards a future of perpetual repose.  His name was Father Calyr, an old seer who claimed to hearken the wishes of the Savior: a divine heavenly being that wished to help lead humanity into the light.  The nervous and ambiguous human race began to progressively follow him, feeling reassured by his docile and consecrated character. Before long, Father Calyr had tremendous social and eventual political influence.  Aeon, being a significantly more compelling colonel than he was in his youth, felt marginally daunted by this man’s growing clout, but supported his pacific movements. As long as Father Calyr was no threat to humankind, Colonel Kallitren could not hamper with his sermons and preaches. If he does, the consequence would be his demotion of Colonel rank and social exile for rescinding a holy figurehead without equitable cause.

To preclude his political power from waning due to Father Calyr’s popularity, Aeon commenced to work with Father Calyr. While Aeon’s headstrong and slightly rebellious personality prevents him from seeing eye-to-eye with Father Calyr’s picturesque visions of The New World, they share a communal ground with coveting to build a securer world for the benefit of the defenseless humanity. This would be done by bolstering the willpower of humanity through Father Calyr’s preaches and by purging the world of any leftover evils from Lesilyia’s rule. It is with this hope that one day, humanity will not have to depend on the “excelled beings” to keep harmony. Eventually, by the invitation of Father Calyr, Sean Laurent joined the two. This brought about the birth of the Order of the Last Light, lead by Father Calyr himself.

As the Order of the Last Light began to mature, a castle-like church was soon constructed. With its gorgeous white stone architecture with clear waterfalls and streams, breathtaking sermon halls and magnitude alone, it was named Templum Sanctulia. This became the Order’s headquarters.

--------

-On the television, a fragile priest was seen. He was inside the Templum Sanctulia, facing his many followers. Stone columns ran down the halls of the church, holding up the beautiful high ceilings.  The follower sat on stone benches made out of a smooth white stone, seeming to listening carefully to the priest’s silence.  Behind him, raised high above was a beautiful hand made stain-glass window. It seemed to leak endless bright sunlight down upon him. He gently raised his hands and spoke with a frail voice-

Father Calyr: // My people, I am forever grateful for your audience. Our Savior is pleased highly as well, and grants everyone his blessing. It is through my tongue that he speaks, and his words shall ring true and firm in our crusade against the darkness.  May our Savior declare that righteousness shall reign over any evil in our path to the creation of The New World. –closes his hands together- Let us pray for his protection as we strive forth to our bright future, made by his hands. 

A World Building Compendium

Another role-playing document, reflecting my skills of creating worlds based around plots and characters provided to me by friends. I've created a world, towns, government system, factions and races for that world that is filled with magic wielders, called "Harbingers" by those that fear them. The world is split between Harbingers, Secedians (those that split off under their own government, out of fear of the Harbingers) and neutralists. It remains unfinished.

Since the document is rather large, a Dropbox link is provided HERE.