Image Journal

My fiction writing professor had us start image journals. Every Day we have to record an image, starting October 27, through the end of the semester.

I figure I would post my images here, so here's what I've got so far. Be warned that these are spur-of-the-moment sorts of things and may or may not suck (which is kind of like my blog in general, so yay).

Friday, October 27
A single feather falls from the shadows where I know the red curtain to be hiding, waiting for its moment to shine once more, telling everyone the show's over. Elegance in its velvety folds. I watch the feather as it drifts slowly to the stage floor, a soft white against the browns and yellows that have been brushed so carefully across the floor.

Saturday, October 28
My mother smiles for the pictures, her face wrinkling in all the places I know she hates. The corners of her eyes. The corners of her mouth. And of course, her eyes are almost lost in heavy lids and full cheeks. She will hate the picture. She always hates the pictures.

Sunday, October 29
I approach the mirror, knowing what I will find, but fascinated all the same. Red eyes, cheeks flushed, and a shiny trail from the single tear I'd let fall. I trace the trail with my eyes, my face now smooth, observing. I lick my lips, tasting the salt, and meet my own gaze in the mirror, reddened eye to reddened eye. I think for a second of reaching out to the lonely girl I've found there, but I know I'll only find cold glass at my fingertips.

Monday, October 30
I can't even breathe in moments like this. I see him and I'm automatically so conflicted. A moment's glance or a painfully awkward smile that wrinkles his face and makes me despise him that much more.
I want to hate him.
Nothing good will come of this.
He passes and I look away as if his existence isn't worth noticing. But I turn and stare him down once his back is to me, caught in an inability to just forget, to not take noticed. I revel in the passion of something close to hate for a moment or two, but as my heart slows, I can only feel the regrets, deep and murky, polluting the clear air and sky around me.

Tuesday, October 31
Crisp white against the clear blue of a chilly fall morning. The sky calls to happier days of carefree play and I smile at the memories. The wind blows and I wrap my arms around myself. Close. Tight.

Wednesday, November 1
My eyes open and darkness surrounds me. I suddenly realize where I am. Realize I ought to be home. As my heart pounds with the anxiety of a college student who's academic career suddenly seems at stake, I sit up straight. Why didn't he wake me? I have homework to do, things I was supposed to get done. I glance at the clock. Too late. I'm stuck for the night.

Thursday, November 2
I see the disappointment in her face as it slackens and hangs in that melancholy way. She is disappointed in herself, which I know is the hardest thing. I tell her it's not so bad, assure her that she's overreacting, but as I pull out of our hug, I see the tears glistening in her eyes and can see how hard she's trying to keep her cool. I'm helpless and so I offer another hug, knowing it makes little difference.

Friday, November 3
It's odd to observe campus life just prior to and during between-class breaks. There's this magnificent peace that settles for a time, as an occasional tour passes with shuffling feet, and the majority of students are stuck within the confines of their respective classes.
Seemingly at once, a new chaos is birthed and our beloved grounds are flooded with humanity. They chatter and rush about, making plans for lunch, for dinner, for the weekend. And at least one of these tends to involve sex or alcohol or some combination of the two.
I sit passively by, resenting them for intruding on my solitary world of nature and internal monologue. And yet... they are interesting to watch and observe.
Of course, the disappointing part comes when I realize that I'm of the same kind and just another among the crowd.

Saturday, November 4
I know it's over and I know I must let him go for the night, allowing him to return to his room, where I'm sure he'll hop on WoW and play for a few hours before he gives in to sleep. I'm always drawn to gamers. This occurs to me as I steal one last kiss and send him on his way. As he passes through the doorway, I return to my bed and consider him. I'm slightly put off by the very existence of this game and by its influence on this guy who I'd prefer to be under my influence.
Perhaps he's more trouble than he's worth.
I know I don't believe that, but I keep the thought in my mind as a safeguard against romanticizing our relationship. Lord knows I don't need that again. Not right now. Not this guy.

Sunday, November 5
I sit and am silent as conversation passes across and through my person. My companions attempt to include me, asking me questions, prompting me to throw in my two cents, and though I reply to all of this, I still remain quiet, observing. I hope they are not put off by this, as I've found so many are, but I am simply inclined to observe. I listen as they speak, taking interest and filing away bits of information for later use. I am a pair of ears and an attentive mind, speaking only when I actually have something to say. Novel concept, huh?

Monday, November 6
The world slips in and out of focus as my head throbs dully and begs me to go to sleep. Two hours simply is not enough. It's practically screaming at me. But there are things to be done.