memories.

When I close my eyes I can hear the soft whispers of my mother's voice, the soothing lullaby that she used to sing me to sleep with whirling around in my head. The distant echo of a comforting embrace that some days I missed more than others. A sigh heaved in my chest and I wished that for one second my life could rewind fifteen years and I could once again be that sleepless child, lying in bed listening to my mother softly sing me to sleep. But those days are long gone and dwelilng on their memory only makes the present that much harder to take in when I open my eyes again; I know I have to open my eyes again.

The world I know has changed a lot in the last fifteen years. Though I am certain that change is the case with most lives, I feel as though mine has changed more drastically than most ever should. The memories of my mother's voice are all I have left of her. Memories and whatever my sister and I decided to keep when we were finally old enough to truly make decisions on my parents estate. Fifteen years ago I heard my last lullaby. Fifteen years ago, was the last night I kissed my father good night.

The memories of my childhood are not brightly shining stars of my past. They are filled with more sorrow that I would ever wish on anyone. I will never forget the pain that ripped through me when I a gentle shaking woke me up in the middle of the night and urged me out of bed. The absolute desperation in my aunt's voice as she tried, with shaky hands to ready Autumn and me in the small hours of the morning. Her voice was calm, but I remember the pressure behind it, the overwhelming echo of her urge to cry. She was trying her best to be strong for us; for the last few moments of quiet innocence that we would ever expereince, I am still greatful. "Come on girls, we need to get going." She repeated quietly, the one constant thing she could say to keep herself in check. We asked where we were going, two sleepy-eyed ten year olds, confused and worried that something was wrong. Little did we know that something was.

There have been many years in between that night Aunt Caylee drove us to the hospital and tonight, yet recall the events of that of the night my parents died as if they happened yesterday. The heartbreak and sheer sadness that tore my aunt in two that night will never be wiped clean from my mind. The loss that I felt when the news of their death floated to my ears from my aunts dry, quivering lips, will forever stay welled up in the pit of my stomach, a constant reminder of pain and emptiness. The tightening grasp of my twin's hand in mine sometimes still echoes against my skin. Aftershock memories.



(c)

Let's get this ball rolling.

So this blog is going to be something completely different than what it was intended for. I need to write more and I think that this is a great spot for it.

I have ideas pressing on my frontal lobe and they are causing me headaches and great pain. So why not story a short story or whatever blog. I think what I want to do is keep a log of my characters, and ideas. Sure, I have a pen and paper whereever I go, but I feel like word documents don't give me the desired effect. Why not try blogs?

I think I will stay true to some of my origins and write fanfictions, but I also think that I will start trying to develop my own characters, and my own stories. It's about time.

S perhaps in this blog of mine... I can expect: inpromptu poetry (crapy at it's best!), bouts of free writing, random lyrics that ring deep in my brain, short stories, and fanfictions.Maybe I might even draft my novel. Haha!

I want to work on my skills. I want to exercise my brain. Here I come. :)

Cheers,
Viv

P.S. I love vampires (not exactly shiny ones, though they have a soft surreal spot in my heart)... I suggest we expect vampires.