Immediately, I’m hit with the smell of butter. You may not notice the smell of butter right away, it gets buried in the vanillas and the chocolates, but it is most definitely there. It is a fresh smell. A smell that conveys open pastures. Then comes sugar. There’s no other way to describe it but sweet. A cloying sweet that invades your nose. After that comes, one egg, then two. Eggs never smell that good. There an off-putting rawness to them that is not appealing. But the vanilla fixes that. It is sweet like the sugar, but notes of spices that wars were fought over. In that goes, then followed with the dusty smell of flour that tickles the inside of your nose. Then all the smells meld together into a blank canvas for a wide range of new things. Would you care to add the sharp tang of a cranberry for the holidays? What about some rich dark chocolate? But nothing beats the sour, pucker-your-lips smell of lemons that remind you of endless summer days with a glass of lemonade. Into the batch the new smells go until it is a veritable bouquet of fragrances. Then, add the smell of heat, of warmth, and it is transformed again. Now, it is a smell of something baking. That warm smell that makes any home seem more homey and pervades every nook and cranny of every room. Those are my favorite smells, even the not very good ones, because you have to have them as a whole. 

(My god…it’s been forever since I’ve written anything and this is probably terrible D:)

Poaching pears in honey :)

My internal critic is my polar opposite. Well for one thing, it’s a boy. He’s really tall and lean, fair skinned with silver eyes and white hair. When I’m angry or trying to write, he has a habit of swearing at me. Constantly. That’s why he’s good for my writing, he makes me freak out a little bit and just write constantly for as long as I possibly can without any distractions (which is quite a difficult feat-OH LOOK A SHINY!) So without him I wouldn’t get nearly as much of my writing done as I do now (which is nothing to shake a stick at [where did that saying come from])

So, my internal critic is a block of ice carved into a dude who whips me up to do my writing. He’s just as cold as ice too, but that’s good for me. Like I said, polar opposites. He loves e.e. cummings (treats each poem like a riddle to unravel) and anything that has a good twist ending.

That’s my internal critic :D

As she bounces in, I send her a glare. Honestly, how can one be so cheerful and bubbly and talkative and ugh…here she comes again. I know that she’s new to this school, but why did she have to pick me to hang around? Whatever, I think as I turn back to the little circle I was in, effectively shutting her out. I never saw how her face fell, and she slowly turned away and shuffled away, and spring gone from her steps.

Sitting next to her in class was the worst. Not only would she know the answers, but she would know them with her face buried in a book. Then when I would get anything less than a B, she would just get this look in her eyes, Oh poor you. Little did I know that to her, that was unacceptable because she hadn’t known any other way to work.

As we grew, we got closer until I hardly mind her now. But there are differences. She doesn’t shut me out like I did to her, away from a group, but she shuts me out of her head. She’s the one now hiding her feelings away, buried deep. But you probably wouldn’t notice these things. How she’s crippled with self-confidence sometimes, you would only see the bubbly girl that I first met.

*Dear god, I don’t even want to think about how late I am on these DX so I’m ignoring it for now :)*

She walks into the room and whatever mood she has today is palpable in the air. When its a good mood, the sun shines on everyone and her head is head up high. A mood like this and there’s a smile present on every expression. When that mood drops though, a chill runs through those who look upon her. Her eyes are now downcast, her shoulders are drooped. Every inquisition to how she’s feeling is met with monosyllables or an out right glare.

She wears clothes as if she didn’t care what others were wearing. Today it is ripped pants, trashed shoes, and a skull bandana. Tomorrow it can be a summer dress. But there are pieces that never change. A necklace from her past that will never turn into her future, a silver bangle to remind her of certain family, and assorted other necklaces each with a different story.

So many layers that can’t be peeled away because she clings to them, clings to her shell to keep that last little fragment of trust whole and safe. Someday, she’ll be better, and everyday will be greeted in a good mood.

Since I live in a small town in just about the middle of nowhere, excitement is hard to come by. That’s why my friends and I look forward to the fall when the carnival comes to town. No, its not a super fancy, state of the art carnival. It’s a traditional, run by carnies with rides held together with duct tape carnival, and that’s why we love it so much.

Every November it comes around and I always make sure to go to it at least once. In fact, it’s become sort of a tradition. But this year was different. This was the year that my parents decided that I get to go alone with friends with the promise that I would stay with the rest of the group (I have a strange habit of getting lost in the tiny town that I’ve lived in my whole life).

 As my friends and I drove out to the field the carnival always set up in, we started making plans about what we were going to do with our limited time.

“My vote is definitely for the ferris wheel! At least once!” said my friend Evangeline, my best friend since infancy.

“No way! We have to go to the pie eating contest! I have to defend my title!” Said Kevin, the third to our trio.

We have been together since grade school, when Kevin first moved in and was treated as the outcast, not only because he was new, but also because his parents weren’t like the uptight, staunchly religious folks ‘round these parts.

When we arrived, we were dazzled as always by the sheer chaos of it. All around were colors and smells. There was a carny in red and white, hawking the next act in the circus tent. There were the smells of so many fried foods and caramel apples from the stalls to the side. Right in the middle stood an impressive ferris wheel, light up all around the edges and gazing over the rest of the carnival.

Eagerly, we all ran straight to the circus tent to see our favorite acts.

We were just in time to see the fire breather, my absolute favorite act of all the ones they offered. I stared in amazement as he blew tremendous fire balls in not only reds and yellows, but blues, greens and purples too. He took a bow and walked off the stage followed by applause. The next act was the strong man, not as interesting, so I let my gaze wander around to see the rest of the carnival goers.

In front and to my left were the ‘popular’ kids of the high school. They were the cheerleaders, football players and the teen leaders of our local church. They were absolutely adored by parents, so they acted like they were too cool to come see the carnival. But no one in town is resistant to the glaring chaos of the carnival.

As Abigail turned around to see who was here too, we made eye contact. She flushed a little bit because she had been going on in school about how she was far too grown up to go to the carnival. I just gave her a little wave that she awkwardly returned before slowing turning back to the front. I laughed a little to myself as I saw the tips of her ears turn crimson in embarrassment.

Making a motion to Evangeline and Kevin, I moved to get up to go get myself something to eat. They looked at me, concerned. They both knew only too well my habit of getting lost. But I waved them off with a laugh, I was only going around the corner then coming right back. I could tell they weren’t sure about letting me just go, but just then, the announcer called for their favorite act, the sword swallower so they let me go.

I moved the red and white tent flap aside as I made my way outside and to the nearest cotton candy stall. Here, they made the poof as big as your head. Slowly peeling bits off and savoring the sugar as it dissolved on my tongue, I took a slow look around. Before I knew it, my feet were taking me away from the stall and deeper into the heart of the carnival. Frantically, I spun around and tried to find some sort of landmark to get back. But my friends and I hadn’t been this deep into the carnival before and I was lost.

Mind racing, I turned around and tried to retrace my steps. But, soon enough, nothing looked familiar to me. So I just started to wander around. That was working fine until I turned one corner and it was like a wall was thrown up behind me that seemed to block out the sound and light of the lively carnival behind me. In front of me was a deserted little back alley behind a row of tents. I could hear the muffled voices of people laughing and shouting, but it sounded like they were miles away. The little light that there was came from one tent with a sign that read ‘Fortunes are Found Within’.

The tent itself wasn’t terribly impressive. It was made out of a rich midnight blue material that seemed to be old velvet. Its flap was drawn open allowing golden light to spill out and cast grotesque shadows along the line of tents.

Unable to help myself, I walked closer until I could almost see inside.

“Come it and seek your future,” a voice called from within.

Finally, I screwed up my courage and walked in. The inside of the tent was richly decorated. Luxurious fabrics of deep shimmering colors were draped everywhere. A soft golden light infused the smokey air with warmth. Deep within the recesses of the tent sat a table. Plush pillows were strewn around it and balanced on it, was a crystal ball.

I was so entranced by the tent, I didn’t notice the human figure sitting behind the table so I was startled when a voice said, “Come a bit closer and I can lay out your future for you.”

The voice fit it with the surrounding. It was a rich, rough voice that carried the secrets of the secrets of the world in every whisper. Slowly, I walked forward until they gestured for me to sit on one of the cushions that were on the floor. I studied the person in front of me. They didn’t seem old, but the smokey eyes spoke tales from all over the world. They didn’t seem like any fortune teller I had ever heard about. They were dressed in a beaten black leather jackets, dark wash jeans and heavy boots. Staring into their face for a little bit longer, I blurted out “You’re are dude!, complete with pointing straight at him. 

He merely blinked and started to laugh.

“What? You didn’t think a guy could tell fortunes? But that is one of the bluntest ways anyone has every confronted it,” he said. “The talent has passed through my family for generations.”

There was an awkward pause as I sat there with a burning face and just looked at me, amused.

Suddenly, he moved forward to drag the ball closer to himself.

Growing serious, he asked “are you sure you want to know your future? Its a heavy thing to carry and I’m not gonna hide something from you.”

“It’s not like its for real right? It’s just a fortune,” I asked, growing a little unsure about my decision to come in here.

“But of course-” I breathed a sigh of relief, “-not! I take these very seriously. I only see the future that is set, and that’s not much. But what is there is your destiny. Are you prepared to see that?” He asked, completely serious, all traces of amusement gone. 

I swallowed, and thought for a little bit. Am I really ready to know what the fates have dealt me? Taking a deep breath, I said “yes.”

“Very well, I’ll just need for you to relax and let your mind slip away.” he said as he began to peer into the ball.

After a few minutes of staring intensely into it, he finally looked up to me.

“I do see a few great things in your lifetime. You will leave this town behind when you go to New York for photography-“

“Photography? But I’ve never even thought about that…” I said.

“Yes, but, that is what I see. There will be a few tragedies in your life” I held my breath, “your friend Evangeline will not see thirty.”

Wide eyed and shaken, I couldn’t process what he had just said.

“Wha-what-why?! What happened? Can I stop it?” It felt like a pressure was squeezing my chest. I couldn’t get enough air. Was the tent always so warm? Maybe this was a bad idea? 

He just looked at me with sad, heavy eyes. Breaking down a little bit, I stubbornly rubbed at my eyes until they stopped running. Taking a deep breath, I turned to him and asked “is there anything else that I should know about?”

He slowly shook his head, then rested his head on his hand, covering his eyes, before shooing me out of the tent.

Slowly, I rose and walked out of there. I walked down the alley, faster and faster until I was running to the corner where I could rejoin the carnival. Suddenly, I knew where I was and headed straight to the circus tent.

I burst in and plopped down by my friends. Giving them both a tight hug, I ignored their confused looks.

“Geez man, you weren’t gone long enough for a greeting like that” Kevin said above my head.

I quickly pulled back, shocked. I must have been in that tent for at least half an hour. But when I looked on the stage, there was the sword swallower, just starting his act. Weirded out, I decided to just go with it.

We watched all the shows that night and as we were leaving, I asked the carny at the front about their fortune teller.

He just gave me a strange look and said that they hadn’t had a fortune teller in a long time.

On the drive to San Francisco c:

In my pocket, where it belongs :D

Or, in my secret under ground bunker on my private island when I become a supervillain >:D

Game. That’s how he treated people. They were all a puzzle game, full of interlocking secrets, interesting layers to peel apart until you knew the very fiber of a person. Of course, he always lost this particular game, as you can never completely force someone to bare themselves for you. They must choose to trust you/ Unfortunately for him, he always isolated his game pieces from himself.

One day, as he’s sitting in the subway reading the paper, he spies an interesting person. A frazzled young girl, roughly university aged, breeze by him with piles of books in her arms. The sagging canvas bag she used seemed to be holding on by only a few seams as papers were almost spilling from it and her knit scarf was a colorful protrusion against a boring grey sweatshirt. She may have been overloaded with work, but she carried herself completely self assured. Curiosity piqued, he folded up his newspaper and tucked it under his arm before boarding the tube. Sitting on one of the uncomfortable orange seats, he began reading his paper again. He watched as the Uni Girl dumped all her books and papers on a seat and began to frantically write.

Unable to help himself, he studies the papers she’s working on. As she flipped through a book about the beginnings of culture and began taking notes on the development of connections between people. He looked around at her other books, ‘Behavioral Psychology’ and ‘Anthropology: Early Cultures’. Feeling curiouser and curiouser, he finally said something to Uni Girl. Now, normally he wouldn’t, but this girl had such fascinating areas of study and made him almost remember something. 

“Seems to be quite a work load you have there,” he remarked.

The girl looked up, eyes wide, obviously having gotten deep into her work. Rather than answer, she merely mumbled something vague and dived back into her book.

Not at all upset, he turned back around and finished reading the paper just as the bell dinged for his stop. Standing up in preparation, he noticed that the girl also began to shove everything into her bag before standing as well. Since this stop only let out at the local university, he smiled to himself as his correct assumption in his analyzing game.

Stepping off the train, he started walking to his building, not noticing that the girl was also headed in the same direction. He arrived at his door and flung it open to a chorus of ‘Good morning Professor Charles.’

Cheerfully, he returned their greetings as he walked to the front.

Spinning around as he heard the door slam open as the girl walked through it. Surprised, he remembered why her books seemed so familiar. He had assigned them as books they should check out in the library. He snapped out of his thoughts when the girl approached him with a slip of paper. She was a late transfer by the name of Natalia. He showed her a seat and began the lecture.

“Over these next few days, I want you to play a game with yourself. I want you to try and find out as much as you can possible can about a total stranger just by observing them. This game will help your ability to analyze and quickly diagnose people’s problems.”

A kiwi