Comments Posted By Ariadne Jenkins
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that you know when you’ve been chosen.
that you will be chosen;
they say that, some day,
someone will love you
as much as you love them back.
that everyone is chosen
at some point in their life.
to stop, drop, and let it roll–it’ll happen
someday, so why be restless now,
But it hasn’t happened. I
haven’t been chosen. No one
will chose me.
I know, because I’m not pretty enough
to suit their needs. I don’t have a mind
that is full only with a fraction that’s only filled
with slick pick-up lines and flirtatious comments.
I don’t go on dates
with people whose only aspect I know is their articulate face.
Yet…they still say
I’ll be chosen. They think I’ll get chosen–
me, the homely social outcast, who puts my studies
over my social stature–
just like everyone else, in this messed-up society.
They always say
you’ll be chosen.
But they’re wrong.
Oh, how they are
» Posted By Ariadne Jenkins On 12.07.2013 @ 6:08 pm
Corlyenne reluctantly moved her homework onto her desk, and instantly regretted it.
Now, she understood what the hard lump by Waggie’s favorite fire hydrant was, and what Peter and Macy had used as a makeshift napkin on their greasy picnic. It also didn’t help that Fergie had drooled all over Waggie’s food bowl, causing Waggie to pack it down into Corlyenne’s homework folder in a vague attempt to get rid of it, and that Miss. Carligan “luckily” spotted it as she was looking for a temporary paint palette with [egg-made] tempera paints. As Corlyenne could now see very clearly, THAT was the “itch thing” stuck in Ronny’s diaper when he had an “accident” at the swimming pool yesterday.
“Oh, no,” Corlyenne thought, as Mrs. Handle came over to inspect her work. “I’m doomed! At the least, I’ll have to rewrite ‘I will do my homework correctly’ a thousand times!!! At the most…!”
Corlyenne shuddered as Mrs. Handle drew imminently nearer.
Mrs. Handle simply looked over Corlyenne’s work. She marked a 55/55 on her scoresheet, and handed the homework back to her.
“What?” Corlyenne thought wildly.
“Great work, Corlyenne,” Mrs. Handle said proudly. She moved away.
“Oh,” Corlyene thought, as she realized, “this IS my modern art class…”
» Posted By Ariadne Jenkins On 10.10.2013 @ 8:37 am
“Hello,” said the cool, even voice on the other end of the phone call. “It’s me. I’m here to talk about–the you-know-what.”
“Yeah. We need to start planting people at the right spots at the right times, and have them dispatched to the location at different times to not arouse suspicion.”
“I’ve already contacted everyone who was on the list. They should be arriving at intervals of about five minutes.”
“SHOULD?!! What? With all of this planning and precision, you haven’t got it down to the millisecond?!! I can’t believe you!”
“Do we really need it that specific?”
“What do you think?!!”
“Um…well…at least the target is off the premises, right? I did good with at least that part, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, but let’s be professional here, okay?”
“Professional? Oh, come on. Is this all really necessary for a surprise birthday party?”
» Posted By Ariadne Jenkins On 09.21.2013 @ 12:06 pm
“REBOUND!” yelled Chelsea, standing up in her seat and pointing furiously at the player number 14 on Maryland’s team. “REBOUND, REBOUND!”
Eric looked at her incredulously. Oh, how embarrassing it was to take his date to a game, and then realize that she knew more about the sport than he did.
“That’s a CARROT!” shrieked Chelsea angrily, as the crowd chanted it along with her. “A FLYING CARROT, you dumb ref! Can’t you tell that he TOTALLY did a Potter Catch?!!”
What in the heck? thought Eric, scratching his head. I am SO going to research the sport before I bring Chelsea somewhere again.
Chelsea, to Eric’s great horror, turned to him and growled stormily, “That is SO unfair! WHY did the ref call a two-shard? He should’ve said flying carrot? You saw Rowlski do a Potter Catch, right?!!”
“Er…yeah, yeah…um…yeah,” stuttered Eric, turning away and sighing inwardly. That was it. That was the last time he was taking a date to a Quidditch match.
» Posted By Ariadne Jenkins On 09.12.2013 @ 3:44 pm
A magpie flew through the open sky, its open call stirring the creatures below. It flew by a woman, drinking coffee. It flew by a kindergartener, whose backpack swung. It flew by a man, checking his watch. It flew by the other birds. It flew above them all.
» Posted By Ariadne Jenkins On 12.15.2012 @ 12:13 pm
The aspen cries from praire
The girl sits sad, alone
Tears fall quick but
» Posted By Ariadne Jenkins On 12.14.2012 @ 2:52 pm
Lucy gulped for air as she rounded the corner of the airport, her auburn hair flying. Her head instinctively whipped back to check for the police. Lucy began sobbing. How could she tell them? How could they know what horrors that James was going to do?
Lucy gasped as she looked at the electronic broadcast board. A bloody body laid in the bushed, sprawled an an awkward angle. James, thought Lucy.
She wiped her eyes with her bloody hands, dropping the knife and collapsing. They knew, she thought. They knew.
» Posted By Ariadne Jenkins On 12.08.2012 @ 2:49 pm
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The broadcast was reeling with news about a car crash somewhere in Albania. Jenny sat on the couch, drooling, as she managed to stuff a handful of stale potato chips in her mouth. Now it was on the weather. Great, thought Jenny. It’s going to snow.
The outdoors was visible outside Jenny’s apartment window, gleaming with grass and sunshine. Jenny, about fifty pounds overweight and going on seventy, was now one who observed. She just ate and did nothing that required using her brain; she didn’t have one.
» Posted By Ariadne Jenkins On 12.08.2012 @ 2:38 pm