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The Girl with the Books

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Blog Entries posted by The Girl with the Books

  1. The Girl with the Books
    "Now little butterfly girl," called the big butterfly lady. "Don't go so near the edge."
     
    The little butterfly girl was peering over the edge of the most peculiar hole she had ever seen.
     
    "You don't want to fall in now do you?"
     
    "No big butterfly lady," the little butterfly girl called back. "It's just this hole is the most peculiar hole I have ever seen."
     
    "What have I told you about calling me that," scoffed the big butterfly lady. "I am not the the big butterfly lady; I am indeed to be addressed as Madame in your case. Besides, that isn't a hole little butterfly girl, it's a sinkhole, there is a world of difference."
     
    "A shrink-hole?" she questioned. "Does it get smaller near the bottom? Oh! Perhaps if you go into it you become smaller! Wouldn't that be something big butterfl- Madame?"
     
    "No you silly child," sighed an exasperated big butterfly lady. "A sinkhole, not a shrink-hole. A sinkhole is a hole that just opens whenever it so pleases, eating anything in its way. But do not trifle with those things, no little butterfly girl should be pressed for such matters; instead, busy yourself with your little butterfly girl chores little butterfly girl."
     
    The little butterfly girl looked at the sinkhole still however, her little butterfly girl eyes wide with wonder. Eventually though, she deiced to do as the the big butterfly girl had instructed, and busied herself with her little butterfly girl chores.
     
    As she worked on and on, the little butterfly girl's little butterfly girl mind continually crept back to the sinkhole.
     
    "How cliche," she murmured to herself. "It would be for me to fall down that and end up on some nonsensical adventure!"
     
    The little butterfly girl giggled at her own silliness, she knew that most of the readers would either be done reading at this point, driven to boredom by the repetition or by the incredibly dull happenstance her little butterfly girl story was taking place under. As such, the little butterfly girl felt that it would be incredibly appropriate to immediately exit her little butterfly girl house and set said little butterfly girl house alight with flames as she left.
     
    As the fire glistened in the randomly apparent night, the little butterfly girl decided to fill the sink hole as to prevent any cliches from bringing any interesting point into her little butterfly girl story.
     
    As she approached the hole, she was not in the slightest surprised to see it already partially filled with the deceased form of the big butterfly lady. In fact, had the body not been there the little butterfly girl would have felt the greatest of surprise, after all the little butterfly girl had been the one to place the big butterfly lady's dead bod into the sinkhole during the interlude that was her seemingly innocent little butterfly girl monologue and subsequent burning of her little butterfly girl house.
     
    As the little butterfly girl filled the remainder of the sinkhole, an interesting and new character approached from the distance. Unfortunately, as the little butterfly girl would soon learn, this was not actually a new character nor truly an interesting character, but in fact, it was just an old moth traveler.
     
    The old moth traveler introduced himself to the little butterfly girl, but she paid this no heed, because little butterfly girls have greater things to fret over. The little butterfly girl then proceeded to hug the old moth traveler, creating a slightly awkward scene, however, as said scene progressed, the old moth traveler found himself serving only the purpose of informing the little butterfly girl of some little butterfly girl moral lesson that she, or perhaps the readers were supposed to take to heart.
     
    The little butterfly girl quickly buried his body as well.
  2. The Girl with the Books
    Oh dear oh dear, you are much too silly for I!
    Pff-heh-ha!
     
    Please don't come near me anymore, you are much too silly for I!
    Heh, ha-heh hoo!
     
    Your smile so wide, your eyes so big, you are much too silly for I!
    Hahaha heh-hoh!
     
    Your nose so pointy, your fingers so short, you are much too silly for I!
    Heh-ho-he-hahaha!
     
    Your teeth so sharp, your nails so long, you are much too silly for I!
    Hahahaha heh-heh hoo!
     
    Your tongue so forked, your eyes full of longing, you are much too silly for I!
    HAHEHHO-HA-HA-HAHA HEHE OH!
     
    Your mouth so bloody, your tummy so empty, you are much too silly for I!
    HEH-HAHAHA-OHHOHO-HEHEHEH-PFFT-HAHAHA! HEH HO HE! OH HAH HAHAHA!
     
    ... Your flesh so sweet... Your bones so soft... You are much too silly for I...
    Heh heh heh heh...
  3. The Girl with the Books
    I slip into to its warm embrace.
    I chuckle, a bit of my soul leaping from my lips as I do.
    Warm embrace. I mutter to myself, shaking my head.
     
    The night closes in and the wind whispers across the water. My hair falls behind me and dances.
    My cold heart not even chilled by the cruel fangs of the air as it bites at me, trying to gnaw away at my shirt.
     
    My mug has long lost it's breathe, too weak to stay awake in this weather.
     
    I plead that smooth feeling to roll over me, to make this seem right, but it doesn't come.
    The book didn't help, the music didn't help, and the tea certainly wasn't going to be doing much now.
    My eyes float slowly as I fight fatigue and weakness.
     
    A sigh dives from my mouth into the darkness just at the wind picks up.
    My hair leaps now, wishing only to return to the warmth.
    The fangs dig deeper and I feel my stomach clench as a single tooth breaks the skin.
     
    Finally, it happens. A wave washes over me and I feel better. My stomach relaxes and my hair calms down. True warmth washes over me and I am at peace in the bitter cold of the old November night.
     
    I smile for what proves to be the first time in too great of a time.
  4. The Girl with the Books
    I love books. Maybe a bit too much.
     
    This morning I skipped breakfast to read a chapter in "Ask the Passengers" by A.S. King. Last night, I stayed up past midnight reading "Jellyfish Dreams" waiting for the election results that I didn't even see because it didn't matter then, I was too far into the life of Sam the Biologist who lost his fiancee.
    Inn the past week I've skipped math, chemistry, world history, and comp homework to work on a story and to read "A Brave New World."
     
    I have spent over twenty-four hours reading in just the past five days.
    I have spent just over two hours playing TF2 and just over four hours playing Bioshock in the same five days.
     
    My friends tell me I'm crazy and they are bewildered at how I can spend so much time reading.
    What they don't understand is that every time I pick up a book I'm thrown into a deep hunger. I must keep reading, I must continue, because as the pages of the book turn, I feel as if I am the talking the steps, saying the things.
    We a character does something embarrassing, I feel embarrassed. If they are thirsty, my mouth goes dry. When they are hurt physically or emotionally, I feel what they feel.
     
    I am the main character of every story I read, but when I set the book down... I cry. I have effectively just died and no amount of re-reading the book will ever change that.
     
    My own life bland and predictable, I turn to the stories of others to live for and through.
    People tell me it's not healthy to do this. I tell them it's not healthy to live without purpose. Without a story.
  5. The Girl with the Books
    The cold hates daisies,
    Why shouldn't it?
    After all,
    It is the daisies fault.
     
    It's the daisies' fault the ground runs white,
    The mud turns dry,
    The rivers don't flow,
    The birds can't sing,
    The daisies do it.
    Why shouldn't they be hated?
     
    It's the daisies who hide the sun,
    They whip the wind till it howls so cold,
    They bite the cheeks and noses,
    They sing their soft tunes that make the animals sleep,
    They horde the things we need.
    Why shouldn't they be hated?
     
    It's the daisies that cheat the world,
    The daisies that suck the oil,
    The daisies that hurt the people,
    The daisies that burn the trees,
    The daisies that raise taxes,
    The daisies that steal your youth,
    The daisies that kill your pets,
    The daisies that get you bad grades,
    The daisies that hide your toys,
    The daisies that end the world.
    Why shouldn't they be hated?
     
    The world hates daisies,
    Why shouldn't it?
    After all,
    It is the daisies fault...
  6. The Girl with the Books
    Cold, unloving, unfeeling, unexpressive.
    Cold, unloving, unfeeling, unexpressive.
    Cold, unloving, unfeeling, unexpressive.
     
    No emotion, no care, no sympathy.
    No emotion, no care, no sympathy.
    No emotion, no care, no sympathy.
     
    Stop.
     
    This is what I fear, what I face, and what I fear, is my face.
     
    Cold, unloving, unfeeling, unexpressive.
    Cold, unloving, unfeeling, unexpressive.
    Cold, unloving, unfeeling, unexpressive.
     
    No emotion, no care, no sympathy.
    No emotion, no care, no sympathy.
    No emotion, no care, no sympathy.
     
    Stop.
     
    I don't want to be this way, yet there is no way to change, to be seperate from it. It is I and I it.
     
    Cold, unloving, unfeeling, unexpressive.
    Cold, unloving, unfeeling, unexpressive.
    Cold, unloving, unfeeling, unexpressive.
     
    No emotion, no care, no sympathy.
    No emotion, no care, no sympathy.
    No emotion, no care, no sympathy.
     
    Stop.
     
    I am fruatrated, at an extent of my emotional range, but I cannot say why. I resort to what I hate to tell it.
    I just want it to end. To be done.
     
    Stop.
     
    Cold, unloving, unfeeling, unexpressive.
    Cold, unloving, unfeeling, unexpressive.
    Cold, unloving, unfeeling, unexpressive.
     
    No emotion, no care, no sympathy.
    No emotion, no care, no sympathy.
    No emotion, no care, no sympathy.
     
    Stop.
     
    Beep boop son, beep boop.
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