prose

Dried Mangos

            “Look at me!”

            She wouldn’t look. Not even a glance. Not…one…slight…glance. One glance would briefly, just briefly fill my expectations. Those expectations….so exceptionally slight, for there was no need to enhance them. My minuscule expectations. I knew they would only be destroyed! Shattered! Ruined! They wouldn’t be fulfilled or matched, only undermined. And that would lead to my depression….my dismay. My pain would be obviously evident; no one would even dare to pay me any attention…

            “Look at me!”

            I screamed, yelled, did everything I could to provoke her attention. Her attention….that was not attracted to me. Something was unusually wrong. Wrong with me, maybe. Yes, me. No! That couldn’t be! It wasn’t me at fault…it was her! Yes, her. Her fault. How could she not pay me any attention? How could she not be interested? It was probably her lack of knowledge! She doesn’t know what’s good for her. Not at all, not at all.

            “Look at me!”

            All I saw was the back of her head. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she just turn around and look at me? She couldn’t look into my eyes. She couldn’t look at me the way she used to. I missed the way she looked at me, the way she used to play with my hair….the way she looked into my eyes and all I saw was happiness. What was wrong with her? Just look at me.

            “Look……”

            Nothing. Emptiness. Street signs. Empty…crosswalk. Nothing. Where was she? Where…did…she…go? There was not a single body in the distance. No figure of any sort. She was gone. No longer in my presence. Nowhere near me. Where had she gone? Why did she run away from me? Why did she leave me? What have I done?

            I ran into the street feverishly, helplessly, anxiously. I looked around in every direction, hoping to see her curved figure, her long hair, her…eyes.

            HONK!

            Car. Cars. More cars. More and more cars. Coming at me. One by one. Too fast.  Too quick. My time was limited.

            Looking around fretfully, I realized that I needed to go to the curb. Quickly, now. Now! I ran, trying to avoid the cars, trying to not get hit. I landed! I survived! I was on the curb! I was proud of this accomplishment. Still, people in cars were honking, vigorously of course. They slowed down, rolled down their windows, and yelled at me. They told me how stupid I was. They told me how I could’ve died. They told me how I could’ve caused an accident.

            She left me. Did she want me to be perceived as “stupid?” Did she want me to die? Did she want me to cause something terrible?

            Maybe she did. She never cared about me.

            I decided to walk home. There was no place for me where she had been. So I walked home. Alone. I passed the skating rink. I passed the newly built condos. I passed the shopping plaza. I passed….the park.

            There. She. Was. Again. Sitting on the bench. The bench we always sat on together. Taunting me? Maybe, I wouldn’t be surprised. She smiled. At me? Hopefully. I smiled back. I waved. I walked closer to her, still smiling of course.

            She turned away again.

            No. Not again.

            “Look at me!”

She wouldn’t look. Not even a glance. Not…one…slight…glance. One glance would briefly, just briefly fill my expectations. My expectations were exceptionally slight, for there was no need to enhance them. My minuscule expectations. I knew they would only be destroyed! Shattered! Ruined! They wouldn’t be fulfilled or matched, only undermined. And that would lead to my depression….my dismay. My pain would be obviously evident; no one would even dare to pay me any attention…

            “Look at me!”

            She didn’t look. Her attention was locked. With someone else? No. That couldn’t possibly be. That would be a new low. Especially for her.

            And there he was. That “someone else.” He was incredibly handsome. Incredibly buff. He looked smart. And well, he was with her. He came up to her from behind. He scared her. She jumped. She giggled. She turned around.

            “Look at me,” he said.

            She looked. SHE LOOKED.

            They smiled at each other. Those happy smiles. I was envious.

            He sat on the bench. Next to her. He looked in her eyes. She looked in his. He looked down. Held her hand. She held back. He looked back up. He reached in. Kissed her. She was pleased. She was happy. Damn…

             And that’s when they came…

 For more of the story, go to "Dried Mangos" on Google Docs

An Excessively “Outlandish” Generation

We are strange characters. We are wondrous, thunderous, and tremendous adolescents that adore outstanding, astounding, heart-pounding heartthrobs in awe. The infatuation, the expectations, the glorious implications! We are a strange generation. We are what our parents told us not to become. We are the single, solitary thing that the entire world is humiliated of. We are the group of people you are afraid of, ashamed of, going insane because…we are the new generation. Accept us, perfect us, and be proud of what will come from us. Be proud of the outcomes. Be proud of our future, the future of the world. Be proud of what we will accomplish. Be proud of what we will teach future generations. Proud too, will we be.

As we increase with age, our success will not only define us, it will define the world. Our failures will be our focus, for we shall learn from them, grow upon, and conquer new prospects. As for now, our minds are seduced by new crazes and the latest fads and of course, being typical youngsters, we will plummet into those dire inclinations, therefore, failing society as a whole (a drastic conclusion to say the least). We will be the focus of fervent journalists who claim to have nothing better to report on. We will be the only thought in domineering parents minds. We will be the fear of everyone around us. Those miniscule accusations will cause turmoil and we will be classified as an “excessively outlandish generation.”

There is absolutely no need to fret, dear friends. We were just as the generations before us. However, they refuse to accept that verity. They were once disgraceful, dishonored, and discredited by the generation prior to them. When we grow old, and are no longer the “new generation,” we will acquire similar feelings about the generation to follow in our precarious footsteps. There is no impediment to this constant cycle, for we must endure it with no complaints. Our acceptance will be the key to our successes in the future.