and when you acted like

it never happened

pretended I didn't exist

I wish I could have said to you

everything within

but you walked away

with your hands tied behind

not aware

that I knew the truth

had just been lies

you're not my friend

feels like you never were

cause real friends

make me feel secure

I'm moving on

not looking back

since you're not the guy

I once loved back

I miss the old you

the one that was there

and you're not that person

cause he actually cared

so now I'm stuck

missing someone who doesn't

exist

while you go on not realizing

what you've dismissed

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Friend

I
At one point or another, it becomes apparent what is truly needed

II

The people are singing

The friends must be together

III

When one prevents the occurrence

of another

the truest is known

IV

Between one or two

I’d choose one

as they often prove

to be more worthy than two

V

Through the fog

and the pain

the loss

and the gain

they will take part

VI

Whether

musical

artistic

or analytic

that friend will always

understand

VII

Years will pass

times will change

altered scenery will resound

through new visionary glares

but all will live on

despite the length

of time apart

VIII

Flipping through the pages

as images bring

memories

for all to see

birthdays

holidays

celebrations

reunions are born

IX

Skating

through parks

Sliding

on lawns

Whispering

at parties

Screaming

at night

They will do it with you

X

Overheard

Listening in

Eavesdropping

all for one reason

They ask who’s

to blame

when you show up

streaming

so they can

go hunting

XI

Gone for

long

or around

forever

words

continue

to flow

despite

knowing

it all

XII

In the dark

through the light

images shine

into our eyes

colors vibrate

brightful blasts

blinding beauty

of the one who sits

beside me

flashing messages

tasteful melodies

reverberate between us

XIII

As the seasons change

and the people move away

that friend will stick to you

making snow angels

in the fresh green grass

until the sun sets

or the moon shines

the snow falls

and the rain subsides

collecting

or building

sand castles

out of snow

Virtual Reality – Short Story

Ping! My computer chirps as an Instant Message is immediately sent to the brightly colored screen on the other end of the conversation. Ding!: message received. Back and forth for hours; mindless, never-ending conversation causing our brains to turn to mush by the second. Click: my return key hits the shallow end and causes a rippling effect throughout my motherboard: perhaps I hit that key a bit too hard... Frighteningly large letters in a bold, dark green, flowing font bark back at me. I've aggravated her -- and I have no idea what I did wrong.


"We need to talk. Tomorrow at school. I'll meet you in front of the Quad," I ping.


"NO! WE'RE GOING TO DISCUSS THIS RIGHT HERE. RIGHT NOW!!" she barks back.


"I need to explain myself. You need to hear me say this," I send, lowering my volume as if her capitalized letters were actually going to yell at me.


"NO! WE CAN DO THIS RIGHT HERE! LET'S HEAR IT!" she bellows, causing her motherboard to shake and her screen to crack.


Mary, a very innocent girl, was never one to yell. She was a shy and timid girl that kept to herself most of the time (especially in times of confrontation) -- except when it came to me, her best friend. I know her better than anyone, but not even I could have expected the happenings that occurred that very next second...


"LET'S HEAR IT! YOU WIMP!! SAY IT NOW OR... OR I'LL... OR I'LL NEVER BE YOUR FRIEND AGAIN!!!"


I was in shock. My best friend doesn't possess the kind of courage it requires to say something like that -- let alone go through with it. Apparently, and as unfortunate as it is, Mary chooses to live in a virtual environment compared to a live one. She finds courage in the ability to speak her mind without watching someone's face change (due to his/her reaction) right before her wide, gaping eyes. It's easier for her; it's like a Staples® Easy Button™: it's just that easy. But for many other people, including myself, it often makes situations much more difficult and impossible to live through. It might provide her with courage, but it forces me to question whether or not I truly know my best friend. So while she escapes the face-to-face reactions, the peer pressure, the fear of having people stare straight at her while they wait for her response, and the old nauseating feeling of weakness -- she will also cause people to question her true personality and ask the question: in what world is she truly being herself?


I practically begged her for it -- I really wanted her to wait to talk to me in person; I knew it would be for the best. Personally, online conversations are well-and-dandy, but when an argument is in its midst -- it's better to make sure you're getting your point across, which, apparently, can only be done when having a face-to-face conversation. I needed her to hear my voice. I needed her to hear when I was being serious or when I was making a joke. I needed to see what she was thinking through her sea-blue eyes. I needed to be able to place my hand on her shoulder and make sure she wasn't hiding behind her virtual-reality identity. I needed the physical contact, and I needed her to understand.


It took me awhile to realize this, but Mary's virtual identity wasn't just based off of the fact that she gained more courage. Granted, this did have a very large impact on basically everything and anything she said -- but it wasn't the only reason for the way she behaved. Without the pressure of Rob, Bob, or Snob (names never stuck with me -- and I couldn't care less) staring down her throat waiting for her to make a complete idiot out of herself, she found herself able to come up with just about anything. She could think clearly and be just as much a jerk to them as they were to her. But, as many people tend to say, it's hard to stop once you've started. It's true that when in person, you get tongue-tied when people are waiting for your comeback or response, but these situations just provide you with the knowledge of who you are truly comfortable with. Because in reality, you will be able to say just about anything you want to or need to with the person you feel comfortable with. So who cares if you can come up with the "perfect" insult for that bully or complete stranger? The truth is, no one cares -- unless you do.


On the other hand, the visual peer pressure isn't the only factor that is contributing to her behavior in her virtual world: time in general also plays a part. In person, while Rob, Bob, or Snob is staring down your esophagus, you are generally tripping and stumbling over words to try and form a proper sentence -- thus making you sound like a total moron. But in your own personal, virtual life, you -- in a sense -- have all the time you need to form the perfect phrase. The problem that Mary created with this, is that she took too much time to think of each response -- and in doing so, she was no longer saying what she truly felt; it was all superficial crap. In person, it's right up front -- no time to think. This also tends to get many people into trouble, but there is a fine line between speaking your mind and not processing what you're saying.


However, in this situation, Mary wasn't only not processing, but she wasn't being herself. This fact scared me. I knew Mary more than anyone else in the world, and even I couldn't see how this virtual creature could possibly be her. Virtual reality tends to do this: cause people to be unsure of who they are talking to. When live, it's obvious (unless wearing masks and body suits). There's dangers in both worlds -- but you can generally see the dangers in the real world.


In truth, as much as it pains me to say, this is a common debate worldwide in our. But this debate is typically occurring amongst the older generations (including parents). Kids aren't complaining -- they're enjoying. To parents, virtual life is just another danger being thrust upon their children, as well as another excuse not to do their homework and chores. But to kids, virtual life is reality. It's a whole new world for them. A place to escape to when the real reality doesn't live up to their standards. Virtual life has become virtual reality. It has enhanced in many ways, including its means of communication. For example, if I were to talk to Mary today, I wouldn't have to type my begging and pleadings to her -- and I wouldn't have to wait until the next day to meet her in front of the Quad. I could easily just call her up virtually. Audio chats, video chats, etc. are being invented and put to use by hundreds of thousands of kids out there -- and some adults are beginning to pick up on the new age of technology. But the dangers still exist and will continue to exist in both worlds.


My friendship with Mary has never been the same. And if I were to ever find myself in a similar situation where technology has defied me, I will immediately find myself picking up my cellular phone (or virtually dialing them), because text chat is just as overrated as using paper and a quill pen -- it's just ridiculous.

Destruction

The drops melted off her skin and into a creamsicle puddle on page forty-two of her English book. She had to get her work done for class tomorrow, but it was getting harder to see the words in front of her, let alone focus on a classic.
The events of last weekend kept replaying through her head like a broken record of an artist you truly can’t stand.
Eight months. It had been eight perfect months and it was all over because of her.
Karen had spent her entire life confiding in Kayla. They had met on the first day of preschool and had been inseparable since. Everyday, either Karen was at Kayla’s house, or Kayla at Karen’s sharing secrets and giggling late into the night.
This was the first weekend she hadn’t spent with Kayla since they were four-years-old.
Smearing the black ink printed on the page, Karen wiped the droplets from the book and tried to focus on Bromden and McMurphy. Seconds later, she slammed the damp pages closed, tossed it on the mint-green carpet, rolled over, and let her feather pillow absorb the incessant flow of her broken heart.
She had lost friends before. She had been betrayed before. But she had never had her best friend use her own secrets against her. She had never expected her best friend to go after him. She had never expected Kayla to be such a lying, back-stabbing, slutty, bitch!
Tears continued to fall from Karen’s soaked cheeks as she tried to rid herself of the awful images – but the more she tried to forget, the stronger they were burned into her vision. She relived the dreaded moment every time she thought about Jason. She saw them together every time she blinked. It was as if she had stared at the sun for ten minutes and was seeing bright flashing lights everywhere she went.
It was last weekend: Saturday night. Karen had invited everyone to her house for a cast party to celebrate the end of the three-month-long torture chamber otherwise known as the daily spring musical rehearsals. Sixty-three people crammed into her two-story, four-bedroom apartment on Laker Street at 8:30 P.M. after their final show. It had been the best performance for everyone out of the six shows, but they were all more than ecstatic to have some free time again. For Karen, it meant time to catch up on schoolwork and maybe have some time to be alone with Jason.
The party was supposed to go until midnight. Karen had planned everything out ahead of time so she would be free to party and hang out with Kayla and Jason. Unfortunately, nothing ever seems to go as planned.
Jason. The image of the darkened bedroom penetrated her thoughts again.
Shake it off, Karen. Forget about it already! she pressured herself.
It was already 11:00 P.M. and the only sighting of Jason all night had been when he had walked through the narrow doorway, caught sight of Karen, gave her a brief nod, and then disappeared into the crowd – grabbing a cup of punch on his way.
Finally getting things in order, Karen began to look around for Jason. He was usually the center of attention, but Karen couldn’t seem to find him anywhere. Asking around, people said they hadn’t seen him for a good hour or two.
Upon reaching for her front jean pocket to pull out her maroon LGenV cellular phone, she realized she had left her phone on her bedside table in a rush to set up for the DJ (her brother, Eric).
Pushing through two rooms that were overflowing with people she had never seen before, Karen managed to make her way to the staircase, grasp the railing, and pull herself out of the touchy-feely group of loud, overjoyed teenagers. Mounting the spiral staircase, Karen took them two at a time until she reached the top. She had once tried three steps at a time, but it had resulted in her landing at the bottom of the staircase on her neck, thanks to her short legs.
Walking down the slightly crowded hallway, Karen elbowed her way through another unrecognizable group of people. Apparently having a cast party means “invite the world” in Brooklyn.
Reaching the end of the hallway, Karen was already planning what to text Jason when she picked up her phone. She strayed to the right and walked down a slightly less crowded hallway, processing the words in her head. The song “Fuck You” by Cee Lo Green was currently blasting through the apartment and the accumulation of about one-hundred-fifty high school students singing along was making the floorboards vibrate to the beat.
Reaching the end of the second hallway, Karen arrived at her wooden bedroom door. With a shove, she pushed in the door and flipped the light switch. It was then that everything changed. It was then that Karen felt as though someone with filthy, grimy hands had reached into her body and ripped her lungs out. Her feet stopped responding and all she could do was stare and let her jaw drop to the ground with a smack. It was probably the impact of the smack that announced her presence, since the sudden bright light seemed to have no impact on them.
Them. It didn’t sound right, Karen remembered thinking. How could the two of them be together? They could barely stand each other – yet there they were. On my bed. At my party. In my house.
The smack had given them reason to take a breath and realize who was standing in the doorway. It was at that moment that Karen’s feet came to life and didn’t stop until she was out the door, down the spiral staircase, out the narrow doorway (hitting her elbow on the door-frame in the process), down the marble steps, and down Laker Street to the worn out and slightly rotted bench that had once been used as a bus stop in preschool.
Panting heavily, Karen braced herself against the rickety wood and tried to calm her breathing to a relatively normal pace. Two hours later, Karen had collapsed on the bench and was using her sweaty palms to wipe away the tears that were helping progress the rotting of the bench she was sprawled out on.
Eight months down the drain. Two friendships ruined. Contaminated bedroom. Worst. Party. Ever.
Getting up, Karen turned around and shoved her foot into the bench. Listening to it crumble behind her as she walked home, Karen was glad the bench wouldn’t be around any longer to remind her of that first day of preschool when she had met Kayla. She had destroyed the bench just like Kayla had destroyed their friendship. It was over. It was all over. And a smeared English book was all there was to show for it.