When life gives you lemons, make lemonade

Thursday, 11 April 2013

so surreal


The trees kissed in perfect harmony and tranquility.
The swaying of the leaves was at first swift and gentle; then it became wilder and wilder as the wind contributed to its alienated rhythm.
It reminded me of a movie I had watched recently; the beasts of the southern wild. My mind froze as I begun to realize the real significance of this occurrence. The phrase every single thing happens for a reason begun to sink in…
Beyond the kissing of the trees was a guy or girl dressed in white; far on my right; walking hastily in the rain; then on my left was certainly a man…dressed in brown, walking almost slowly as if the stinging showers did not matter to him at all.
Below the love making of the trees was a black hole; some may call it a trench or drainage but to me it was a prop in this setting. It was a black empty vessel begging to be loved.
The trees continued in their less than erotic affair as the rain begun to fall even faster and heavier.
I raised my eyes back to the pavement and I saw three umbrellas carefully aligned; one was pink, another red and the other grey. The pink and red umbrellas reminded me of roses; beautiful, radiant and so full of life despite the raging rain and its delicate state.
On the other hand, the grey one reminded me of predators that always jumped at the opportunity to trample down the roses.
A new realization dawned on me and I smiled knowingly, this was my calling and if anybody was an expert at callings it was me…

little monster creation


Every now and then something had popped up in her head. An idea of what could have happened for her to create this estranged character. A lot of things ran threw her mind but the real issue that bounced back now and then was that it was her. Her ambitions and motivations had driven her so hard that she had only focused on an unrealistic outcome rather than the real issue at hand.
She had always trusted her mind to tell her what was right despite the heart’s raging jealousy to block her from her destiny. But right now trust had become an issue.
She flipped through the pages of her new book and they stared back at her, the story board was not going to be needed. The way she had visualized things could not be put into a storyboard. She studied her character carefully again.
At the beginning of her chapter, her character had been like an open book which was ironic because now she could not open the book. It brought tears to her eyes.
The character was loving, trustworthy, faithful and had absolutely nothing to hide. Everyone respected her, she was her own independent person who never cared to fit it, she intimidated people but that’s what made her special.
She blinked back tears of betrayal; so many lies had occurred; little things that seemed petty were growing into a huge mountain of lies. Esther threw the book away, why wouldn’t people scream at characters not to go there in real life; warn them of forth coming danger that could destroy them.
She slowly picked up the book again…. What was left of her was now an indecent morally corrupt individual who cared about her friends more than she did about herself or her health. People who are supposed to matter mattered least and the only thing she knew she needed in her hand was the life of a party and a bottle in another.
Life was a party they said, real people party every day and still manage to juggle life they said…
Then bits of it came back to her and boy did it….

The grass had always been greener on the other side. The people on the estate seemed to be freer than the rest on the other side of town. The business of the streets and the wild party life on the other hand had inspired her…actually more than inspired her.
It drove her to obsession; she so badly wanted that life that when invited, she did not hesitate. She quickly joined in and that is where the character description evolved…
She had lived it before and just when she though the drama was done and she could write a book, she had just begun. Her alter ego was just getting started. He had to enjoy that same life too. It was not always going to be about Esther….

Esther put down her book and lit a cigarette, sat by her window and now she knew she understood a thing or two about people; characters were never just come up with, the writer must have experienced something sometime so similar; in their previous life.
Otherwise, how else could a description be so perfect, a creation so real and very intriguing.