~Childhood Responsibilities~

When I was about five-years-old, I committed murder.

To a toddler, it isn't such a big deal.

To a teenager, when I think about it, or retell the sad tale to my friends, it's funny.

"'Funny'? How is murder 'funny'?" my readers ask.

Because it was a fish I murdered. With a grape.

I believe the fish - a deep purple beta fish, to be exact - lived at least a day or more. It certainly only lived a day in my care. My fish was bought for me at the pet store in the Solomon Pond Mall by me Meme, who took me there one spring morning. It was a big responsibility for a toddler - a fish to take care of and help feed every once in awhile. Our pet cat, Milky, didn't need much assistance from me, especially since I was always the one to pull out her whiskers or help abuse her with my younger brothers.

I've been told by my mother that I thought the fish might be hungry - hungry enough to give her a grape to eat. At first, it seems like a good idea. When a living creature is hungry, they must be given sustenance in order to live. But, for a fish, they must be given a specific type of food to eat, which doesn't include grapes.

I guess I didn't know that.

The fish died later on because the grape I gave it to eat released juices into the water, which killed it. Or at least that's my mother's theory. I don't believe there can be any other logical explanation for why it did.

...

... Perhaps I should apologize for my ignorance.

______________________________________

R.I.P. my fish = (

Tears, Movies and a Heartless Person

Tears because her mother claims she can be a cry baby - which sometimes she can, she guesses. Her mother has stated before that she once cried during Snow White when the girl was very little. Who knows? Perhaps she thought the fair princess had died.

There are days when I do nothing but think; just lay in my bed, stare at the ceiling, or those four pink walls, and think. Death has crossed my mind at some points - death of a close loved one has crossed my mind even more so. The idea brings me to tears - that one so strong, so caring, so loving, can be felled by old age, drink, guns, or even their own miscalculations or frailties. I also stop though. The crying, I mean. Right on cue, like in the movies.

Movies because they bring one to another world. Snow White was just the beginning - films such as the Harry Potter series, Great Expectations, and Pirates of the Caribbean pull her into a place and time that she herself wouldn't be able to survive in this frame of mind, in this condition, in this character.

There are days I have wondered what it would be like to live a wizard's life - a scar on the forehead wouldn't be so bad. And a poor upbringing couldn't shake me off; a pirate's carefree nature can be truly enticing. And perhaps I could live like that? Be scarred, poor but carefree. Is such a person possible? Is such a personality possible with a heartless person?

A heartless person because she honestly does not care about your depression, your problems, your worries. You have complained, over and over again, but you never seem to notice that she does not listen. No one listens. You've driven them past the point of caring.

Almost all of the people I have met through my almost eighteen years of living are those that I am completely indifferent to, have forgotten with the gracious gift of time, or those that I wish I could burn alive. If only for a day I could play God, and pass my own judgment upon you, show you what the cost of being so ignorant, so selfish, so pathetic really is. There are times when I, the ever-devout Atheist, pray you would suffer the smite of a bolt of lightning, and collapse right there. And it brings you tears.

~oOoOoOo~

Tears because they make me feel human.

Movies because they make me feel something more.

A heartless person because that is who I can truly be.

~Subconscious Habits~

My mother once told me of a subconscious habit I seem to possess, one that I never knew the extent of but endured just the same. This habit was that I would participate in a particular activity - most often extracurricular - for only about three years. Her proof was credible: I danced ballet for three years before quitting, played soccer for three years or so before quitting that as well, performed in my middle school band for about three years - the list grows longer as I grow older.

These different activities were given up for different reasons, all plausible at the time; all supported by my determination to never suffer through such things again. In ballet, the long practice seasons caused boredom to initiate, and getting hit in the eye by a tall girl's stray hand flying through the air during a practice routine didn't help the issue at all. Soccer was something I hadn't been good at - the only goal from me being made during practice one day in the fall. I can still remember trying to run with my hands in the pockets of my soccer shorts one cold day in October, the coach yelling for me to stop and having red, sore fingers on the car ride home. The middle school band wasn't bad at all, for the most part. Playing clarinet, I never suffered the soreness of red fingers, a girl's hand flying through the air, or the cold air of autumn. What I did suffer, though, was the band director's scorn and frustration when, in the late half of my eighth grade school year, I no longer wished to participate in band as I used to. When I left middle school behind I also left the whim to play the clarinet behind.

Subconscious habits have followed my throughout my life; sometimes their decision coincides with fate itself, such as the fact that I'll no longer be a student in Business Technology after three and a half years, or that I'll discontinue my membership of a Business Professionals of America through the Assabet Valley chapter upon graduation - strange habits that set the course of my life, but also force me to decide just how much I want to leave or stay with these activities. Perhaps I cannot go back to ballet and soccer; my time with the clarinet may or may not have already ended. Officially, my time as a Business Technology student ends on June third, but, hopefully, BPA won't suffer such a fate.

At least, it's what I hope.

~ Writing Fanfiction ~

May 2, 2010
On May second of last year, I entered the world of writing fanfiction. "Wait, what's fanfiction?" you ask. Fanfiction is "unofficial, unlicensed fictional stories about celebrities or fictional characters, written by fans." Essentially, fictional stories written by fans about a favorite book/novel, movie, play, comic book, TV show, anime/manga or some other work of literature or form of entertainment for their own reading pleasure and/or that of other fans. My entry intro into this imaginative world began with White Collar, a new TV show about an ex-con named Neal Caffrey who escapes prison - with three months left on a four-year sentence - to find his ex-girlfriend, whom he believes is in trouble. He teams up with FBI Special Agent Peter Burke to find her on a CI (Criminal Investigator) arrangement while also solving white collar crime cases.

Once my first few months of watching White Collar ended, and my account on a fanfiction website was validated, the stories that others had written enticed me, whispering, "Erica... Erica, come write a story.... You know you want to...."

How could I hold out any longer?

On May second of last year, my story was entitled Why? and, admittedly, wasn't very good. My idea for this story had been to provide an insight into Neal Caffrey's mind that is so difficult to convey through a television screen. Ending with three chapters of two thousand nine hundred eleven words and three reviews from other fans, I felt both accomplished and a small fancy in the back of my mind to continue writing. But, with such an ending to an exciting splash into the fanfiction universe, I wanted more.

After that, nine more stories or one-shots (simply, a one-chaptered story or drabble with not further chapters or updates to be expected) appeared under my penname at fanfiction.net. My most successful - From One Prison to Another - garnered fifteen chapters, more than eleven thousand words, and twenty-three reviews. This story in particular pleased me, giving me the opportunity to expand on my writing abilities and imagination.

On May second of last year, the success that comes with writing had only just begun to make itself known.