Field of Innocence

Knowing hurts. At times I almost wish I could return to that state of ignorance before all this began. But I know it'll be worth it in the end. The refiner's fire may be hot and uncomfortable for a while, but the result is a flawless gem. I'm definitely straight up coal for now, though.

Nate's deep moment of the day.

Blog: (v) to expel or emote oneself through the use of an inanimate object in the hopes that someone will care.


This past summer, I attended the Mormon Pioneer Trek. Possibly one of the greatest experiences of my life. While there, a young couple (each with a masters in Awesome!) emphasized the need for a journal or some other form of record. Thus I blog.

I've never really had anything to blog about...either that, or I didn't trust people with my feelings and thoughts enough to share them. But, now I realize...who cares? You don't have to seclude yourself from everyone. Some won't listen, most won't care. But the few who do are important, and deserve the opportunity to offer you their assistance and input.

Nate's deep moment of the day. Oooh, good title. We shall use it...

FYI

Just so you know, all posts prior to this date were school assignments; that is why they are so random and strange :)

Snow+Hearts=Snarts:the bad ones.

If there are two things in this world that need professional counseling, it’s snow and Valentines Day. So, you can imagine my disgust when they were both magnified ten and a half times and conveniently placed on the same day. Valentine’s Day. The day that Lehi High School almost had a Snow Day. We never have Snow Days.
In the first place, Single’s Awareness Day shouldn’t even exist, let alone in high school. It should be banned until you’re old, decrepit, and married. Somewhere around thirty-two. Now, It’s not that I hate people—I do, but it isn’t the primary reason for my Valentines distaste—I just happen to be more alert and observant than others. Not to brag or anything, but I’m world-wide renowned for my labeling skills. Okay, just my friends and some old lady two blocks down from my house, but, still.
There are at least five things wrong with Valentines Day. First: It promotes stupidity in that little children are brain-washed into believing hearts actually look like two bug tumors glued together. They could look like something entirely different, but we won’t go there. Second: pink is ugly. Who honestly wears pink, except for the occasional “plastic little spastic”, in the infinite words of Amanda Bynes. Third: It attacks the weak and miserable, the lonely and depressed, making them more weak and more miserable, and aware of their loneliness. Of course, this lovely day doesn’t barrage the depression, because then teens would realize they are depressed and that they don’t have to be, and then there would be no purpose for high school. Fourth: Pink is still ugly, stop wearing it. Fifth: High schoolers know nothing of love, and therefore should be banned from celebrating it.
Snow also has its undesirables as well. It’s cold, wet, and manages to get everywhere, and I mean everywhere. My cousin from Hawaii/New York/Heber once asked me what I meant by this. I told her to think of snow as a high school jock. She gave me a befuddled look, so I continued.
“Think of snow as a high school jock’s mind, or hands, whichever you prefer.”
She nodded her approval.

Fairy Tale

My name is Winnafred Isabella Terra Christine Hernandez. However, under unfortunate circumstances of mental inadequacy, I have come to be known by my lovely neighbors as “The Witch”.
I had always wanted a child, so, naturally, when those petty thieves were stealing my precious rampien, (renowned at the state fair for their lusciousness and exuberant red coating) I leaped at the opportunity to swindle them out of their fast approaching child. A baby for a few rampien—not a bad deal, if you ask me.
I was unable to have children of my own, seeing as I was unmarried and have moral standards, but, as I said, I still wanted a child to care for, to bathe, to feed and love. Preferably a boy, but beggars can’t be choosers.
I have always tried to be a good mother to Rapunzel: Keeping her safe, locked away in a beautiful Grecian tower in the middle of an enchanted forest; I read her bedtime stories, talked to her a lot in order to make her grow; I fed her occasionally; I read all the books on parenting, and learned a lot through The “O” magazine, and I gave her all the talks Oprah told me to; I even refused to cut her hair when she wanted me to, just because she wanted it (the fact that all barbers are homocidals in the making probably influenced this a bit, along with the fact that they never have a any coupons!).After all is said and done, I was the ideal parent. What more could any one ask for?
A man.
Not just any man, but an acclaimed “prince”! Hah! He was probably a nerd with the screen name "Gallantprince_lv-41.cyberspaceforfreakystalkers.com" who was a little too acquainted with his twinkies.
Well, needless to say that the little perv had been stalking my precious child, and had managed to break our fool-proof code and climbed into her window! That’s not the least of it! My darling skank forgot she had hormones, and everything else I had taught her these past fourteen years, and—ohh! I may have gotten a little carried away.
Any way, the repulsive prince left her with child and ran off! I didn’t know what to do, so I thought to myself, “WWOD?” I may not have had enough money to hold a discriminating, all-white-men-are-pigs-and-the-women-too talk show, or supply some random orphans with photos of myself, but I was a rather good lecturer.
Rapunzel rolled her eyes as teenagers will as I conveyed to her the immature stage of her brain, and that it just couldn’t handle alcohol or children-bearing until the age of twenty-one. I must have gone too far, because she muttered something under her breath and began to pick up a knife.
Well, luckily for her, I had read all the books on teen suicide, and what to do in cases like this.
I screamed and launched myself bodily in her direction. She also screamed, and took a step backward. I caught the knife by the handle and wrenched it away from her seriously confused hands. Curse her flamboyant locks and Garnier’s great body-supplying supplements. Rapunzel’s blasted hair got in my way!
She was all a blubber, crying so much I was sure her tear ducts would burst! It was obviously that time of the month. I felt bad for her, and began to do a reparation spell to, well, repair her hair. Now, I’m not the best Wicca in the world, but surely a hair replacement spell couldn’t be muffed up so badly! I must’ve mixed up chutsup with ketchup. That always happens. Any way, the result was a repulsion spell. Psfeeewwwwwww. There goes Rapunzel. I think I hit a home run.
Just as Rapunzel was gracing the clouds with her rear, her lovely prince appeared.
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down y”
“Yeah, yeah,” I replied, tossing her cut hair down.
I was pondering what to say to him, how we could resolve our differences and all that jazz, when a bothersome butterfly flew into my mouth. I coughed and sputtered for a while, and then I realized that I had let go of the hair. Peering down over the edge, I watched as the prince ran off, wailing like a little girl, “Ahh, my eyes, somebody help me.”
Pansy. With nothing better to do, I trudged back to my garden to water my rampien, which I now know are supposed to be green…

The Tudor's Shadow

"Where were you last night?"
The words echoed in Kelli's head as she shoved the body bag off of the bridge, the murky Thames stealing it away, concealing the act, hiding the truth, as it had for the past ten years.
Kelli let out a heartfelt sigh and, just as she was wondering if there was anything for her in this world besides death, a cold, mirthless chuckle emitted from behind her.
"Well, well. My dear Anne, it looks as if you've regained your old spark."
She turned slowly, fully aware of who the voice belonged to, and yet, still shocked as her eyes were lain upon him.
"It's Kelli." Her voice was just as cold as his own, but sharper, edged with spite.
"Oh, come now, Anne, don't be like this. Not even a greeting? No, 'How are you, Henry?' 'Oh, it's YOU, Henry!' or perhaps a 'Henry! Your presence fills the caucles of my heart with every joy on the face of the earth!'"
"You forgot the 'Get the *H-swear* away from me Henry'," she replied with the wit that had won his obsession so long ago. Kelli/Anne turned away from him, and stared into the Thames, wishing its currents could sweep her away from here.
"Aren't you being just a teensy bit harsh?"
Kelli/Anne whipped around, the wind wildly tossing her hair, accenting the fury shown in her dark eyes.
"Harsh? Me? Harsh?! How dare you come here and insult me with your presence and then your filthy words. You have some nerve, your majesty." She said the last with a mocking tone, with a ridiculously low bow.

Is this normal enough, 'cuz I'm not sure...?

Jack lay down on the creaky-springed bed as the cheap hotel room was set ablaze by the swftly setting sun, its last rays tainting everything they touched with the red that was home to this part of the world.
If I can only get a few moments rest, he thought slowly beginning to drift off, despite the eternally honking horns of the eternally impatient drivers on the equally eternally crowded Egyptian streets below. Did they really think it did them any good? That honking their pitiful horns, which sounded more like a baby's rubber duck upon being squeezed, would suddenly force all others to go faster? Or perhaps just disappear? Jack shrugged off such thoughts and thoughts of the big day ahead of him and rolled over, provoking an eerie screeeeech to protrude from the vermin-infested twin bed.
Jack smiled. They probably just honk because everyone else honks, and its just what you do. What a sick habit to--
Four loud bangs prevented any further thought. However, that was not going to stop Jack from sleeping. They'd go away after a few minutes. They always do.
Jack began to submit himself to the refreshing blackness that was sleep. He would not dream. He never dreamed. Not in, what was it? Ten, twelve, twenty years? Who knows how long it'd been since he'd had his last dream. And he was grateful for it. Jack Nightengael was not one to be troubled with fantasies and dreams and wishes. Sleep was sleep; peaceful rest for the mind and body. Nothing more.
Bang, bang, bang.
Jack couldn't believe it. Either he was dreaming, or there was an impertinent pest who had one more chance before he got out of bed; the perpetrators worst case scenario. Jack decided to go with the more obvious. The vermin had one more chance. The ten abnoxious knocks that followed just about mutilated that chance.
With another screech and a vow never to return to this accursed country again, Jack rolled out of what these third worlders called a "bed", and proceeded to the only other piece of furnature in the room. A small wooden desk with a small wooden chair. Jack grabbed the chair and wrenched it from the desk, sending small screws and nails tumbling across the floor. Selecting the leg with the least amount of termite damage, he then proceeded to snap off one of the legs. A simple task for his well-trained arms.
Five more knocks. Patiently examining the leg, and finding that, though corroded, it was still thick, and had a jagged edge due to its recent removal, Jack carried his makeshift club to the door and opened it, prepared for anything.
All right. Prepared for almost anything. In the hallway, directly facing Jack's room, stood a young girl. She looked about fifteen or sixteen, but definitely no older than seventeen. Looking her up and down, Jack snarled and headed back inside.
The moment he turned around, however, he felt something hit him in the neck. It didn't seem very effective, but, just as he was turning around to give the girl a painful reprimand, the world careened about him, growing dim, and eventually blacked out altogether.
Jack awoke a few moments later dazed, with a slight headache, and angry. Casting a sweeping glance at the room, he calculated the damage: his suitcase zipper had slightly moved, the window was approximately an inch more open, his bed was tidier than before, and a couple of the screws and nails had been accidentally kicked to the other side of the room. In short, they had been looking for something, and they had found it. Whoever "they" was.
Jack walked over to his suitcase. Opening it, he found that his credit card was missing from one of the pockets on the inside flap. Great. Reaching into his hind pocket, he found his wallet. He pulled it out.
Oh lovely--they'd taken his I.D. That wasn't inconvenient at all. However, they had left his cash, so they obviously weren't common thieves.
Walking over to the window, Jack leaned against the sill and peered down at the just-as-busy-as-before streets, now shrouded in nights blankets of shadows. A smile crept over his face.
"So," he said to the bustling world, "It finally begins."