The Color Yellow

Sour you may call me. Bitter you may call me. But the fact of the matter is, you love me. All of you do, whether you are willing to admit it or not. You have wedges of myself and my brethren everywhere imaginable. For example, many of you find my refreshing in a chilled glass of water, or iced tea, or any beverage of choice really. You've also made a beverage OUT of me. You sell me at homemade stands in front of your house during the summer time, with signs made by 8 year olds that look like they were illustrated by 2 year olds. No one truly understands what we go through for some people. Lemon drops are made from our extract. Think about that. OUR EXTRACT. Disgusting isn't it? Well maybe in the future you will think twice about the lemon in your water, choose to take a cherry cough drop instead, or put down that glass of lemonade. You'd be better off drinking pee.

Sorry it was so short 'Mione I really need to go to bed. Love you:)

I Prefer the term "Collector"

Personally, I'm not one to go changing myself to please others. I am a very opinionated person who goes by his own set of rules. I have always been like this. It may have gotten me into trouble with my parents and other adults while I was growing up, but I was never disrespectful in any way. At least, I tried not to be. But I did have a very close relationship with my dad! The thing he loved most in this world (aside from mom and me) was collecting model airplanes. He LOVED them. He actually got me into the hobby. I loved that he trusted me to be down there in the basement with him, helping him restore those amazing pieces of art back to their former glory. It made me feel proud to be his son. However, one day Billy Markowitz came over and wanted to see the basement. I told him we could only be down there for a few minutes because I wasn't supposed to be in there when my dad wasn't home. Billy promised, but of course he only did that so I would agree to let him down there. I soon as I opened the door her made a beeline for an airplane. Then I heard a sound that still chills my spine to the very day, dad's boots on the kitchen floor as the front door opens and shuts. Apparently Billy knew my dad was home too because he tried to make a U-turn and knocked 3 planes in a row to the floor. As you can imagine, my dad's world basically ended, as did my relationship with him. Those planes were passed down in his family generation after generation. I was whipped within an inch of my life that night, as was Billy. I still love my dad, even though he cut off contact with me for the past 20 years. I still look up to him, or the memory of him at least. I started collecting planes of my own, then that turned into, ships in bottles, which turned into tanks, which turned into baseball cards, which turned into baseballs, which turned into balls of every kind...you get the picture? So one day I come home and as I go through the daily routine of kicking the door in and stepping around the pile of saddles right by my front door, I see my mom and an elderly woman sitting on top of my unopened tvs in my living room (which I have sorta been using as furniture). They were having some kind of intervention. Can you believe it? How can you have an intervention with 2 people? My mom told me that she was worried about me and my health. I told her I was fine. The therapist told me that my home wasn't a healthy environment and that I was a "hoarder." I told her to put a cork in it. My mom told me that she thought I was a hoarder too and that dad was worried about me. It was the first time I'd ever heard such a direct lie pass from my mother's lips. So I told her what dad told her when he first started with the airplanes, "I prefer the term 'collector.'"

For my beloved 'Mione:)

Just Imagine

"Cynthia! Come on! You're almost there! Hurry!" Callie called out as she made her brunette barbie run towards the blonde one. While Callie was in her own world inside her hot pink dream tent, in the middle of her bedroom, the storm of the year raged outside her bedroom window. Callie was always the brave, creative one out of her sisters. While Briana and Kelly cowered under the blankets in between their mom and dad, Callie was playing with her dolls. "Cynthia!" Barbie called. "You have to beat the water! It'll wash you away! You'll be carried to Sunrise Falls!" Callie positioned Barbie to where her arms were in front of her face and gave the impression that she was crying. Cynthia calls out, "Go on without me Barbie! I didn't break the world record on the stairmaster like you did! My legs won't carry me any further...tell Ken that I've always loved him!" And with that, Callie rolled Cynthia across the floor to her "untimely death." Callie was just about to scream Barbie's response, when a flash of lightening and a loud bang of thunder shook the entire room and forced a real scream out of her. Callie dropped Barbie and moved deeper into the tent, farther away from the window. She brought her knees up to her chest, closed her eyes, and rested her head on her kneecaps. As the storm continued on without any sign of ceasing, Callie imagined she was on a beach in Hawaii. She was her her favorite swimsuit, the white one with the red polka dots. It made her semi-tan skin look nearly brown and the sun made her dirty blonde locks look like rays of gold. Callie could feel the sun on her face and the spray of the sea as the waves crashed on the shore. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. Normally, this would have startled her, but she almost seemed to have expected it. She raised her head and saw her Grandma beaming down at her. Callie patted the ground next to her and her grandmother took a seat. They just sat there next to each other in a loving silence as they watched the movements of the sea. Then Callie's grandma pulled out a brand new Barbie from behind her back. It was the same one Callie had been playing with in the tent in her room. It was in mint condition, with the original outfit and everything! Callie hugged her grandmother and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Then she layed her head in her grandma's lap and went to sleep. This was the 3rd night that Callie has had this dream. When she will awake in the morning, she will find that the storm has passed and a new day has arrived. And for the 3rd day in a row, Callie will pick up the picture of her standing next to her grandma in front of her house in Hawaii. Then she will think back to 3 days ago on her last trip to that wonderful place and how it was for a very sad event. The event of her grandma's funeral. Then Callie, for the 3rd time, will sit at the foot of the bed with the picture clutched to her chest, and cry until it seems she has no more tears left.

This is for whoever gave me the prompt "write about a stormy day and building forts inside. whatever age of person you wish." I hope you liked it.

My Dad, the Machine

I don't know what else to call him. He raised me and has taken care of me since I was 2 years old. Roberto is one of the last of his kind. He thought that if he adopted a human child, and raised it as his own, then maybe it would grow up respecting his fellow machine and maybe even mating with one some day. He was wrong. I do NOT have a relationship with my father. In fact, calling him "dad" or "father" is the highest sign of respect I shall ever show to that thing. He may have fed me, clothed me, took me to the doctor when I was sick. But the fact of the matter is that he has deprived me of the one thing I have always wanted. LOVE. Robots are incapable of love. It really isn't their fault. They are heaps of metal piled together created by human hands. God's creatures are capable of love, and that does not include metal. I know I shouldn't hate him for this, but I do. I can't help it. I'm irrational. I'm selfish. I need compassion. I need understanding. I'm HUMAN. Therefore, I need human parents. All I know about my biological mother and father was that they had me when they were 16 and as soon as I popped out of my mother's womb, I was in the care of the state. Up until my 2nd birthday, I lived with a bunch of nuns. I don't remember much of my life before I was 2, but I have one memory of a nun smiling down at me in my crib and singing to me. I assume now that she was singing about Jesus watching over me or something, but at the time it was just soothing noise. At least I felt love from an adult at one point in my life. All my dad ever says is..."bee bop food" (sets food in front of me) "bee bop sleep" (points to my room) "bee bop school" (hands me my backpack). How much can a boy take?! Everyone says that teenagers go through a stage where they stop showing emotion towards their parents and are repulsed by hugs and kisses. I never went through the hugs and kisses stage, so all I crave is love. I guess I'm not very good at being a teenager.

This is for whoever gave me the prompt "write about a boy who is raised by a robot". I hope you enjoyed it.