Hey Hey Hey Hey Hey!! Wanna Read It?!

Are you an evil villain?! I'm an evil villain! MUAHAHAHA!!

Naah, not really. Just pulling your leg(;

That's kind of a weird way to start of the first thing I've posted in multiple months. But, hey, does it really matter? The point is that I am posting for my grand audience to read!! Every last one of you! And if you're reading this, then that includes you!

You should feel special.

Considering I am writing this just for you. It's almost personalized. Someday, my name will be famous, and you'll remember reading this inconsequential blog post and think to yourself, my gosh. A famous person has almost wrote me a blog post. Almost.

And then you will feel all happy about yourself and your life will be complete.

The end.

Heh heh. Just kidding. This isn't personalized at all. I don't even know your name! Well, I'm using words like "your" and "you" so I guess you could consider this personal... If it makes you feel better, this is completely personal. You are my best friend and I love you. I couldn't live without you.

Better??

Thought so.

Soo I don't really know where to go from here.. Soo random paragraphs of a story I have never written nor will ever do so!!

Kallica sat on the cold stone ground, so hard against her bottom. She was propped up against the wall that looked and felt exactly like the floor. After six weeks, her pained body had become accustomed to the hardness of it all. It had been such a long time--even before she had been caged here, caged like an animal--since she had felt anything soft. The rag her captors had given here, claiming it was a blanket, was scratchy and so torn it's only use could be rags.
And it wouldn't be so good at that either.
This place had become more appalling by every passing moment. Kallica was sick of the boring gray surrounding her, the heavy chains attaching her to the wall and that chaffed her wrists and ankles. She was tired of looking forward and seeing only the black bars of her prison. She wanted so badly to be outside in the open air, moving stealthily among the trees of forests as she had used to do so often. When she got out of this place--and she would, eventually, get out, she knew she had to do or she would find a way to kill herself--she knew she would never again take for granted moving about and being able to step outside for fresh air.
She missed moving so much, but it was much too hard here. When she had first come, she had paced near the bars. She could walk exactly seven steps forward, measured small by the chains attaching her ankles together, before she had to stop about a foot before the bars. She couldn't even move her hands forward to grab the bars. Her wrists were chained to the wall behind her. She could walk five measured steps until her chains stopped her, a few inches in front of the brick wall. She could turn and walk five more steps to the other side.
For the first two weeks, that's all she had done. Five steps to the right. Turn. Five steps to the left. Turn. Five steps to the right. Her guards had walked past and laughed at her pacing. She had spit at them, but the distance was too far and it had landed just outside of her cage. She hated them so much for their endless torment.
She sat there, her back pressed against the wall, and she cursed everything. Her captors for bringing her here, the guards for keeping her here, herself for getting herself into this situation to begin with. She even went so far as to curse her parents for giving her life.
She wanted to die, but couldn't figure out how.
They forced food and water into her. They cleaned away her waste. They did not take care of anything besides that. It was all just enough to keep her alive and give her nothing to commit suicide with. She was unwashed, disgusting and filthy. She had long since lost the urge to even reach up and push the oily, disgusting hair from her face, let alone get up and keep pacing.
It was through those oily strands of hair that Kallica saw it. It was something so out of place, she was sure she was hallucinating. There in all the gray and dirt and grime, there was a red rose.
It was growing straight up out of the stone ground, it's stem so green and the petals so red that it seemed too unreal. Those two simple colors seemed almost to blind Kallica. She had to wonder how she had not noticed the beautiful flower before.
In her mind, she was brought back to a place. The present and the past stitched all together in a whirlwind of emotions and senses. She was suddenly happy and young, pain free and without a worry in the world. She was full of life and ready to live, not at all ready to give up.
When Kallica closed her eyes, letting her emotions envelope her, she found herself in a plush green garden. There was a quaint log home behind her with a little porch overlooking the square of green grass that was so wonderfully soft under Kallica's bare feet. Hummingbirds buzzed up to feeders and bees flitted around all kinds of flowers. Any kind of color or flower you could imagine was here! It was so bright, so full of life, so beautiful, and the smell.. It was so wonderfully overwhelming.
But the flower that stood out the most, smell the most beautifully and popped among all the other flowers, was the red roses.
They stood there, all regal and important looking, on their bush. They put the rest of the flower garden to shame with their brightness and beauty. The way they simply overwhelmed everything else always impressed Kallica. It didn't matter what was happening anywhere else in the garden, the red rose always stood out.
Of course Kallica knew right where she was by all the flowers and the inviting home. It was her grandmother's house. She had spent so much time there as a child, playing in the garden and in the creek that ran through the forest just beyond the house. She had always loved it here, but she had loved the red roses the most.
"Now Kally," her grandmother had once said as they tended the rosebushes together. "There is something you must understand about roses. They are fragile things." She had touched one of the roses in just the right spot and it had fallen apart in her hand, the petals just fell apart from each other. Kallica had gasped, sudden sadness gripping her over the loss of such a beautiful flower.
"They must be cared for just right," she had continued in her gentle, grandmotherly voice. "Not too much water ever, and just the right fertilizer. If you want the most beautiful roses, you must give the bush--the base of the whole plant--just the right food so that it can be strong. The stronger the bush, the more roses it can hold.
"In this way, a rose is like life." Kallica had looked at her as if she had grown a second head. How could a rose be like life? "You don't understand that, do you now?" She had shook her head while her grandmother just chuckled a bit to herself. "A rose is a beautiful thing, just as life is. But a rose doesn't just happen, first you need that strong plant. In life, a rose would be the reward after a journey full of hard work. So first you need a strong foundation. You must work hard and give yourself all the right things so that you can be strong. Once you are strong enough to handle life, you'll find the thorns.
"Now thorns are no fun thing to deal with. They prick you and hurt you. But remember how strong you have become? You can handle that bit of pain, but you must remember that! If you loose site of how strong you are, all will be for naught and you will not get the roses. Just like if you gave up on a rosebush the first time you were pricked with a thorn. You would never get the beauty of the whole thing.
"Once you toil through the pain, you finally get to the end. The rose. Your reward. You will never be able to get the rose without hard work and some pain, and sometimes it will be harder than others. But you must always stay strong and work through the pain, because beauty always lies on the other side."
Her grandmother had spoken those words to her when Kallica was ten. It had been her last visit to her grandmother's house. Her parents had died three months later in a car accident. She'd been thrown into the foster care system, her grandma deemed "unfit to care for children". She had run away from home after home, working hard to get away. When she was thirteen, she found her way back to her grandmother's house, only to find she had died a month earlier.
Kallica had walked into her garden and found it overgrown. She fell to her knees, remorse overwhelming her. The place she had loved the most was destroyed. Her flowers had been over taken by weeds, except one rosebush. The bush had stayed strong and on it was a single rosebud. Kallica had gone up, touched it, smelled it. She had felt the rose's will to stay alive. She had felt it's power and determination. She knew at that moment what her grandmother had been saying, although she hadn't completely understood before.
The bush was strong, it had made it through. It had outlasted the other plants and was fighting the weeds, and winning so far. Kallica had almost fallen into tears for the first time since her parents had died, since she had hardened herself to emotion and had dedicated her life to running.
The police had pulled up at that moment, coming in the yard. She had run, after one last glance at the strong rose. That had been the first time she had run from the police, and it wouldn't be the last.
Later, as she settled down in the familiar woods from her past for the night, she had remembered the rose. She vowed to herself at that moment that she would be like the rose and stay strong. She would fight to survive, even if it meant pain and despair. She would conquer and continue.
She would survive.
And now, so many years later in a stone prison, Kallica remembered the promise she had made to herself. A wave of determination surged through her as she opened her eyes to the gray. The rose was gone, but other roses burned in her memory, pushing her forward. She pushed herself to her feet, moving for the first time in days. Her body creaked and groaned in protest, but she persisted. She pushed her hair from her face and stood tall. She walked those measured steps as far as she could and she paced.
Because she would be strong. She would fight this cage.
She would fight and she would win.

I Bet There Are Like a Million People Reading This

Right?

I bet there are!

Ha ha. No. Like two at most.

Or none.. Yeah, probably none.

I'm cool with that.

Not like I post a ton.

I have reasons! I've been showing (lambs, horses, or like whatever) every weekend for the past few months and I'm wrapping up my final year of middle school! So close.. yet so far...

So keep smiling because summer is almost here(:
~ Jessica

The Undeniable Truth...

Let's just say that there is one honest truth on this planet and it is that I have only ever finished one story that is not school related.

Okay so maybe not the only truth, but a truth nonetheless.

There, I have blogged.

Adios! Smile on! :D
~ Jessica <3

You Broke it, Stop Expecting Me To Fix It!

This is to you, friend who does not read my blog and never will and lives out in internet land,

GIVE IT UP!

I AM SO SICK OF THIS!!

Okay. So that was a little dramatic. But really... I'd like to vent. And I am tactfully telling her the truth, remember in the last post?? I'm attempting to use tact.

And I know she doesn't read this, so in the meantime I will scream it out on my blog. Which has a total reader number of: 0.

So you're not even reading this... Funny how that works, huh?

To this person..

Shall we start with your choice in guys?? You keep complaining about a "broken heart" when you would be dead if you really had a broken heart so shut the heck up! You don't know what pain is! You have lived a comfy little life with everyone waiting on you hand and foot. You think you are things that you most definitely are NOT. You are a girly little spoiled.. Well okay. Yeah. You are not who you think you are. I know you. I know this. You say these things to everyone but you just aren't!

I started with guys so let's keep going on this... You say you love a guy and then you two have a fight and you keep expecting me to fix everything. I am your cornerstone, I am you only support, I am it. Aren't I? You want me to fix you and to fix this problem and to fix your future. Well I am perfectly glad to be there and help, but I can't help you if you aren't willing to help yourself.

That's the honest to God truth and you know it.

I am so sick of you abusing the word "love". You don't love him, you like him. Get it straight. If you loved him, you'd love him forever... Not just a few months and then be over it and straight onto the next guy. Oh yes and you keep tormenting the old guy even though YOU are the one who screwed it up. You are the one who ruined everything yet you act like he is the one who did it.

Get. Over. Yourself.

You are a lying little spoiled brat who's full of herself and can't appreciate what she has.

Just sayin'.

So sorry my posts have been so depressing lately.. Not that you're reading this.. Guess I just need to scream in a quiet place..

Always smile, m'dears, even when you want to tell someone that ^^ (:
~Jessica <3

I've Started Noticing my Friends

That title is not complete truth. I have always been aware of my friends' existences and have been actively involved in most of their lives, but recently I have begun to notice connections in my friends. Like similarities. Soo I shall list a few of them:

 - Very few of them are my age, most are older or younger.

 - Almost all of them are Christian.

 - Most of  the time they're mature, especially for our age--or their age if they're older/younger than me. Emphasis on "most of the time".

 - Most of them are academically advanced.

 - Most of them enjoy writing--whether they're good or not and whether they know they are good or not lol--and reading.

And the final realization...

 - Most of them are guys.

I am a teenage girl. I am not "eye candy". Not really anywhere close. Let me give you a brief description of myself:

 - 5'3"

 - Two feet of blonde hair

 - Green eyes, although they change shades

 - Light freckles

 - Straight teeth after over a year in braces

I guess I have a good figure, I'm like 120 lbs, I'm not outstanding appearing in anyway... I think I am rather ugly, really. Maybe I'll post a pic for you guys..? I don't know, anyhoo, this is why I do not understand why I have so many guy friends.

I am not even a nice person.

I do not know how I have friends of either gender.

I. Am. Not. Nice.

I. Do. Not. Like. People.

True story! I don't like people! So many people are so self absorbed and stupid and mean that I do not see the reason for liking people! I do like some people, like my friends, and I suck it up and smile when I'm around the people I don't like--and there are plenty of those--but in the end I will tell you what I think of you. Sometimes I am tactful about it and feed it to you in small portions, but other times I get pushed over the edge and end up just biting your head off.

In the end, you'll know what I think of you.

And that is why I do not understand how I have so many friends! I am brutally honest. Painfully, brutally honest. I actually don't think I have that many friends--I certainly don't have a lot of people who really know me--but I am informed that I do. They count my facebook friends. *runs to check Facebook* And I only have 422! Yeah I know all of them, but it's not like they really know me.

They know that I'm brutally honest.

That's kind of about it.

Anyway, this was a really rambling post but I have posted in a long time so there ya go. Now you know about my friends and how I am honest. There ya go.

Smile, m'dears, you might hate everyone around you but there always is a reason to smile(:

 ~ Jessica

Cassandra is a Meany Poo Face!

Cassandra Bloom is making me write this.

She is forcing me.

She has a knife to my neck through text messages in the form of offering to write more on my favorite story of hers. It's like a knife. I don't do it and I don't get anymore of the story. It's unfair!

Therefore, Cassandra is a meany poo face.

So I shall talk about her and my writing since there is nothing else to write about... Cassandra is the next big sensation. She's good. But she doesn't believe me. No matter how many people tell her she is amazing, she does not believe us. Her characters... They're real. Her writing is descriptive and captivating, drawing you in with every word, like an ocean current.

My favorite story of hers is currently Unnamed, it doesn't have a name so that is what we refer to it as lol, and that is the one that is like a knife to my neck right now. She even put a character in it for me ^.^ It has a depth to it, and underlying sense of true feeling. I love it. She needs to finish it.

She calls that story childish, but if that is childish than my writing is like prenatal-ish. I don't even LIKE my writing. Like, at all. I hate it really. The only reason I keep writing is because I enjoy it and people ask me to. I think they read my stories out of pity, though. I don't think there could be any other reason.

So there ya go, a blog post.

Smile on m'dears! :D
~Jessica (:

Music is an Amazing Thing

Sometimes the world is on your shoulders, weighing you down, and there is not one darn thing you can do about it. Yeah, it sucks. A lot. Like terribly. We've all had those moments, though, so I really shouldn't need to explain to you the pressure and horribleness of those phases.

There are a few things that get me through this times: Writing, my amazing friends, Jesus and music. I find that talking to my friends and Jesus help me realize where I am going wrong and where I can fix things, and writing helps me organize my feelings, but music is my escape. 

The rise, the fall, the suspense... It all comes together, drawing me toward it so enticingly I can't resist it. I find myself lost in it's warm embrace, letting it carry me away into a land where I am no one and know nothing. I close my eyes and suddenly I'm not me anymore.

I'm the strings on a guitar, the keys on a piano, the bow for a violin... Whatever you can think of, I'm there, I'm it. I'm the instrument, the singers voice, everything about the music invades me and carries me away. I'm no longer struggling to breathe under the weight of the world, instead I'm thin air. So free and weightless, it's so amazing to be free even it is just for a moment.

Gosh I love music <3