Welcome to the Deepest Fathoms of My Mind

Not really! Even I don't dare to delve that deep into my brain. -shiver- So here are some things that are happily afloat on the surface!
FINS UP.

FINS UP.

It’s done!

My random gif set reached 10,000 notes!  Hooray for arbitrary achievements!

Real Life Conversations with my Roommate: Part Four(?)

'Yooo'

'What?'

'dude mah prof literally told me 'ur startin' ta suck at writing'

-holding in bits of laughter’  ’Oh, wow, harsh.’

'yea man i got a C-.  is dat bad?'

'Nah.  Well, maybe.'

'maaan… oh well!  lols gonna smoke a tree'

'Goodbye.'

The Cyclops by Keven Perez

Pauline had always been teased in school because she only had one eye, but things got really bad once Mrs. Baxter made us read the story about Odysseus and the Cyclops.  The morning after it was assigned, Pauline walked to class and found a piece of paper on her desk.  It was a drawing of a man poking a stick into the eye of a sleeping dead cyclops.  Before I could warn her, she showed it to Mrs. Baxter, who made the mistake of asking the class who drew it.

            “Nobody drew it![1]” the class shouted in unison.

            They burst into hysterical laughter, having spent the entire lunch and recess periods collaborating on the prank.  Mrs. Baxter applauded their close reading and gave everyone but Pauline a gold star on their General Excellence Charts.  Pauline ran out of the classroom, her eye crying enough tears for three eyes.  I asked if I could be excused to the bathroom.  I found her huddled into a ball at the bottom step of the third floor staircase. 

            “Hey, Poly—“

            “Don’t call me that!”

            “I’ve called you Pauly since the first grade.”

            She realized her error, which only sent her into another fit of sobbing.  I just sat there, holding her, until Mrs. Baxter poked her head out into the hallway and threatened to remove our gold stars if we didn’t come back to class.  I wiped her eye with the sleeve of my fleece jacket, and we walked back in.

            A red eye and tear-stained cheeks weren’t enough to hold the class back from teasing her again.  Some made allusions to other stories about one-eyed creatures, which Mrs. Baxter rewarded with gold star after gold star.  Others slowly sharpened their pencils in front of her, imitating Odysseus, but lacking the vileness or courage to actually stab her.  Robby, who was supposed to have graduated to high school two years ago, just kept on shouting “Nobody drew it!” out of context.

            To my surprise, Pauline managed to drone out all the noise.  She kept her head down for the rest of the day, focusing on a doodle in her notebook.  Her shoulders were hunched over it, so I couldn’t see what it was at the time.  A bell signaled the end of the day.  The class ran out, and I was about to follow, before I realized Pauline was still scribbling away.  Mrs. Baxter patted her on the shoulder.

            “Time to go, Miss Pauline.  You can tack your artwork on the Wall of Creativity on your way out.”

            Mrs. Baxter left for the teacher’s lounge as Pauline stabbed a thumbtack into her drawing and the wall.  I asked Pauline if she wanted to walk home together.  She mumbled something and pushed past me.  I stepped back into the classroom to look over the Wall of Creativity.  It was littered with cartoon characters and horrifying self-portraits.  Pauline put hers in the very center, covering a drawing that had already been played there.  It was a picture of a cyclops, wielding a spear in each hand, surrounded by the bloodied corpses boys and girls.  The title arrested my attention.

            Nobody Saw It Coming.



[1] In The Odyssey, Odysseus cleverly introduces himself as ‘Nobody’ to Polyphemus, the Cyclops.  After having a stake driven into his eye, Polyphemus calls for help, but since “Nobody is killing him,” his neighbors ignore the call and Odysseus escapes.

Cuz I can’t seem to show you what you want to see. I can never give you anything you need. I’m sick of wasting time on what can never be. I cannot control you into wanting me.

—"Your Bore" - Seether