friendship
C.S Lewis got it right: friendship is born when one person says to another: "What! You too? I thought I was the only one!"
Idiots
Idiots Sacrifice Chapter 1 After the last low was pushed through, by a fast moving freight train of a high, the temperature dropped fifteen degrees and the wind blew out of the northwest with ice in its’ teeth. In Sacramento skiers following the weather forecasts were making plans for the next weekend and the ski areas of the Sierra Mountains were readying themselves for the weekend onslaught. On this day all of us around Lake Tahoe and along the Truckee River, all of us that lived along interstate eighty. Even those who lived west of Donner Summit climbed out of their warm beds and stared out of the frosted windows at a glorious morning of ice and snow. Outside, the freezing air attached itself to us and invaded our nostrils, eyes and ears. It numbed our feet and hands while it turned our breath into a vapor that flew off with the wind. The cold had been evaporating the moisture in the top layer of snow and by dawn it was light and fluffy, the kind of snow that, when groomed, squeaked under the skis. The local nucleus of skiers collected their gear and then converged on the numerous ski areas in and out of the basin. We were an ego rich group of hard- core skiers jumping further and higher, skiing steeper and faster. We lived anyway we could, some of us never knew where we would be sleeping but we knew where we would be skiing. The mid-week passes were our badges and symbolized our commitment to the sport. We were bums. Ski bums. For some it wasn’t a sport, it was a way of living. It was their life and they lived for days like this. The small mass of skiers were starving as they converged, hungry beyond words for light, cold powder. The sky was crystal clear and a brilliant blue that was a little darker than usual. The wind was a strong consistency that flapped the trailing ends of pack straps around our chests like small pennants. We wore tightly woven stocking caps that did little to protect our ears, and around our foreheads, like miners lanterns, we had fixed our goggles. Glove liners and gloves could not protect our hands and our feet froze in their tight, plastic ski boots. There was only one way to stay warm, constant motion; pole plants unweighting, carving, skating, bouncing down steep unpacked faces. Bounding and leaping off of projections covered in snow like logs, stumps, boulders and cornices helped pump the blood through our freezing bodies. On this cold winter day in January three friends met at their ski area of choice, Alpine Meadows. They skied south along the summit ridge, the highest point at Alpine, until they were above Round House. The bull wheel for Roundhouse was housed in a barn-like structure that rose eighty feet to the flat roof. The face of the ski run fell away from the eighty feet like a cliff. Above it, looking over the cornices, the four of them stood in silence, suffering the freezing wind and lost in their own thoughts as they gazed on the winding Alpine Meadows road as it worked its’ tortuous way to Highway eighty-nine and the Truckee River. While there, on the ridge, it was suggested that we should race down to the roof of Roundhouse, ski out the flat top of the roof and jump off. “I’ll do it,” said Mike, “but I won’t be first.”
By David Trumble5 years ago in Humans
ode to a restless black bird whose grey eyes glean
When she’d been younger, Robin was an actress. In thus childhood, she’d appeared in a few small roles for television, and then in her teenage years starred in a prominent indie film made by a Cannes-winning French director.
By James B. William R. Lawrence5 years ago in Humans
The Black Journal
The Black Journal By Laura A. Today, I finally get to see my old friend Jack. Who is Jack? He’s one of the most important people in my life. First off, he saved me from killing myself when I was a freshman in high school. I tried to hang myself because the sophomores were picking on me, I thought it would stop if I just need it all. Jack stoped me, he told me nothing would happen if I killed myself, that I would take all the pain in the after life if I did that.
By laura a acuna5 years ago in Humans
Hello Is Not Just A Word
Hello. Hello. Hello. Someone I knew used to do that. Every time he spoke to me, he would say Hello. Hello. Hello Every time he entered a room, empty or not, he would also say hello three times. When he was leaving? He would say hello to the hallway three times. When he had to come back into a room five minutes later because he forgot something? He would go through his ritual again. And he could never just whisper it, oh no. Never hide it under his breath. He would say hello as if 12 old men suffering from -I believe the ailment is called tinnitus, yes that is correct- tinnitus were in the room. He never said goodbye. Not even an “I’ll see you later”. Reader, understand that he always had to say hello.
By Jennifer Nwadike5 years ago in Humans
DREAM TO REALITY
DREAM TO REALITY My best friend name is Millianee and she is one of the strongest people I know. Millianee is a single mother of 2 a 13-year-old son and a 10-year-old daughter. Millianne is living in the rough part of town in the projects, working, and putting herself through school for a better life for her kids. Millianee is working a full-time job and a part-time job to try to keep a roof over their heads, food on the table, and give her kids what they need. I for one commend her and don’t know how she does it, but to see her keep a smile on her face and never complain about it amazes me so much. Millianee will not even allow the kids to go outside without her with all the drugs, killings, and fighting that she sees everyday because she does not want to expose the kids to it and to protect them from all the negativity. Millianee is a great mother and she deserves to be happy and not have to struggle in life.
By Vileaner Dixon5 years ago in Humans
