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[ode-to-writing-blog]

When The Rain Falls: Chapter 1

Thunder crashed, blasting above like a hi-hat smacked by an angry toddler, only strengthing my resolve to run faster towards a solitary white gazebo.

Panting, I arrived, seeking shelter from the storm that had appeared overhead almost instantly, shocking me to the core almost as much as the cold rain did.

I hated this city, this town, I didn't want to move here, but my parents did, something about a great job in a nice city. The outskirts of Portland, nice? If you don't mind constantly having to carry an umbrella. The weather woman today said there was only a 20% of rain today, but she was clearly wrong, as I was currently drenched. All I could do now was grumble and wait for it to let up, and be late to class, hopefully, my teacher wouldn't mind.  

The wind howled around me, chilling me to the bone as I took off my dress shirt, to wring it out, water pattering the floor of the little wooden building, my white undershirt only damp from the encounter. My bookbag was just as soaked but I tossed it to the floor, not worrying about its contents.

"I'll be here a while," I murmured to myself, studying the building.

It was a cheap white gazebo, with benches built into each side of the building, the other sides empty aside from a huge opening that I used to get here. On the side opposite side of that was a huge building, standing over me be a few story, with a huge medical sign on it, our local hospital. It was the same off-white color as the gazebo. This park must belong to the hospital, I thought to myself as I sat down, staring at my shoes.

The rain came in sheets, pattering loudly above my head, sometimes keeping a pace that was unfollowable, while other times, the pace was nice and slow, almost rhythmic. I could have sat there for hours, letting my mind wander, but I knew it was closer to 10 minutes when I heard footsteps on the wooden floor, causing me to snap out of my daze, and to look up.

There stood a girl, carefully walking towards me, a smile on her face, a clear umbrella in her hand, a ukelele in her free hand. Her short brown hair fell in a pixie cut around her head, thick glasses dominating her face, and perfectly straight, and white teeth. The way she dressed came off as androgynous, a sweater, sneakers and a pair of converses, all of which looked new, and expensive. She was cute, in her own way. She gave off a vibrancy I didn't expect.

"Well, hey there gloomy Gus," she joked, her smile now teasing the corners of her cheeks, revealing dimples I hadn't noticed, "Get caught in the rain, did we?"

"No, I decided to shower with my clothes on," I quipped to her, annoyed at the obvious.

"Well, no need to get snappy with me there Gus, you shoulda had your umbrella," she giggled, sitting down adjacent to me.

"My name isn't Gus, it's James. James Gatsby."

"Gatsby?" she questioned, raising her eyebrows, "Like the man with a mansion who gets shot and killed?"

"Yes, the man who had nothing and rose to something, my father liked the idea of the first of the book, and hoped that I could have the same kind of success as him," I murmured, rolling my eyes. Everyone forgets he was basically a poor man who rose to wealth by himself.

"Well, Mr. Gatsby, nice to make your acquaintance," she chuckled, setting down her uke. She didn't have any school supplies, but she had to be my age, maybe a little younger.

"Don't," I replied, shaking my head. "Call me Gatsby, just call me James, please. Speaking of which, what should I call you?" I inquired, still curious about her, and her lack of school things.

"Lilly! You can call me Lilly!" She beamed, smiling brightly.

"Lilly? Like, Harry's mom, who dies tragically?" I teased back, happy that I could.

"Lilly, as in the woman who stood up to a fierce man and saved her son, or the flower, you pick."

"Fair enough," I nodded, looking at her uke, "Where is your book bag, don't you go to school?"

The question made her visibly uncomfortable, but it quickly disappeared as she responded, "Ah, no, I am homeschooled, today is a free day, all rainy days are for me.  What about you? Shouldn't you be in school?" she mused, curious.

"I don't think school is important enough to run through a thunderstorm for," I gestured around, and almost, as if on cue, the rain hit another hard spell, spitting up dirt where it hit in the flower beds around us, the wind blowing Lilly's hair gently.

"As you see fit," she smiled, grabbing her uke and strumming it gently, the chords sounding familiar. "I love the rain, it helps me keep tempo."

"How so?"

"Watch," she grabbed her umbrella, and set it down on the edge of the roof of the gazebo, a single stream of water hitting it, at a fast constant rate, as it sprinkled onto the plastic.

"Ah, I see now, it's quite fast though, isn't it?" I answered, tilting my head.

She just smiled and shook her head, strumming along to it, at exactly half the pace it had, bouncing gently. She seemed more than content, her fingers gracefully dancing along the strings as she played a song I knew off the internet, "Would You Be So Kind?" by Dodie Clark.

Softly, I started to sing along, "I have a question, It might seem strange, But how are your lungs, Are they in pain?"

As I started for the next verse, she paused, and smirked, looking into my eyes, "You have a really nice voice."

I stopped, unsure of what to do, so I nodded, and shrugged, "Yeah, I take, well, I used to take choir back in my old town, but I moved here for my last year of high school."

"I'm a senior too, I wish I went to public school, it sounds like fun."

"Why don't you?" I questioned, "It isn't that great though."

"Just, reasons, my parents prefer me to stay home," she quickly replied, making a face that was close to a grimace.

"Huh, I understand," I said, tilting my head at her. She got really apprehensive when talking about parents, and I couldn't help to wonder but why. "You have some nice clothes on, is your family rich?"

"Yeah, I suppose. I am an only child, so they spoil me, but I don't really ask for much, just happiness and music. I've lived here my whole life, and you could say I am something of a star around here," she laughed, smirking at me.

"A star huh?" just then, the rain had let up, an I glanced down, nearly an hour late to school. "Ah, shit." Quickly, I picked up my stuff, and she was already making her way to leave as I slipped back into my dress shirt, fumbling with the buttons.

She looked back at me, almost flirtingly, saying, "Yup, but for now, this star has to shoot, meet you here next time you get caught up?"

I paused, wanting to take the offer, but unsure, and my words almost caught in my chest, "Uhm, sure. Next time it rains then."

"Bye," she called, skipping away with her umbrella towards the hospital. I turned away and slid on my book bag, running to my school, planning on telling a million excuses to get out of trouble, with the teacher. Although, I am sure none of them will work.

[ode-to-writing-blog]

If only the people around you could hear the noise that was in your head, maybe then they would realize that you are screaming out for help.

Ode-To-Writing Sorry for being away! I am running a different blog as well as this one, one I plan on keeping separate!

[ode-to-writing-blog]

Being able to finally express a side of you, that you’ve kept hidden for so long, feels like you’ve experienced life for the fist time.

Ode-to-Writing Original I finally started expressing a side of me I’ve always wanted to, and it feels great to be honest with myself! Try it out guys, honestly.

[ode-to-writing-blog]

Try as I might, I just don’t have the might to hold on and fight, through the piercing dark night, where light is on flight, and I want to make things right, and hold my promises tight, but I’m dying under the unbearable pressure of anxiety and the foresight, that I will constantly, be alone.

Ode-to-Poetry Original sighs, lord. I try hard sometimes lmao, but I will get better! I wanted to keep trying to rhyme the “ight” sound with 1 syllable words, which is harder than I thought. 

[ode-to-writing-blog]

In the wandering path I strolled, Passing plenty of green grassy knolls Stumbling through crooked thorns, Trampling on plants that were lost and in mourn, Not sure of where I am going, I was swept up like water flowing, Each step I take on this path, I see new fruits crushed by wraith, Indecision and fear took hold, In the wandering path I strolled.

Ode-To-Writing Original This is actually one of the first poems I remember writing, its crazy how time flies Enjoy~~

[ode-to-writing-blog]

“You’re an earthly comfort, yet so divine.”

Joji- You Suck Charlie This song is my fucking bread and butter, sign my up for more daddy Joji

[ode-to-writing-blog]

I don’t think that Anon understands poetry and that you can interpret things however you want and rewrite them, reinvent them, because that is our job as artists and writers - we relate things to our own lives and then give them new life in our own words. Your metaphor for Icarus melting was beautifully put, anyone that understands poetry would understand it. ❤️ Don’t let anyone get you down, you are doing wonderful and people who can’t even show their face don’t even deserve a reply ❤️

Ah! Thank you for the attention to detail and the love, it feels nice! I just write what I feel, and hope I convey the message well enough for others to understand and feel too. I just want people to understand that no one is alone in how they feel, and that they can get and receive support from anywhere! 

[ode-to-writing-blog]

I get the impression that nonny likes you. Little boys like to pick on their crush after all. Sad really. Well, at the least you earned a follower out of it. I got a kick out of your replies to our scummy friend and I quite enjoyed the Icarus piece. That was well written, bravo 👏

Well, deep down on the inside, I love the anon too! Everyone deserve to be comforted and loved, and most kids who pick on people missed out on it as a kid, so I am more than willing to shower Anon in love and hugs. But thank you, honestly, for your support. You’re a sweet person! <3 

[ode-to-writing-blog]

He took the time to try to bully me, then you after you tried to support me? What a fucking loser, honestly, he really has nothing better to do than to stalk our blogs. 

It's nice that shit wannabe poets look out for each other, really cute.

It’s nice that people with no lives go around looking to be cruel to strangers online because they have nothing better to do, really cute.

[ode-to-writing-blog]

Hey man, don't worry about the asshole anons. Some people really just don't have anything better to do than be mean to others on the internet. I don't get it, but it happens, and basically telling them to screw off or ignoring them are the best things you can do, because that way they don't win. Keep up the good writing work and don't let others tell you that you shouldn't be writing.

Thank you! I understand that most people get off on trying to bully others with their “huge intelligence,” but it doesn’t phase me. I understand that by posting content, and putting myself out there, I run the chance of being shamed for it, and I accept. As long as someone enjoys my work, I am happy. 

[ode-to-writing-blog]

If you're depressed, pay a psychiatrist to listen to your pathetic issues. Nobody cares, stop spamming the poetry tags with your histrionic folderol. You aren't a writer, you're a sad little teenager, cut your wrists and listen to emo music, it will be less irritating than whatever it is you're doing now.

If you need attention, lash out to your mommy and daddy, and quit replying to things you don’t like on anon, it will be less irritating than what you are doing now ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[ode-to-writing-blog]

Isn't it kind of depressing to come on here and beg people to talk to you, post weird selfies that get no notes and shit 'poetry' that you credit to yourself as if anyone in their right mind would copy you?

Isn’t it kind of depressing to try bully someone behind a keyboard when you too, are alone, and thinking the only way to feel better is to try to bully someone? I dunno, just my thoughts on it mate ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[ode-to-writing-blog]

Oh you poor slow child, I understood the melodramatic juxtaposition you attempted, it wasn't subtle, but the point you seem to have missed, either deliberately to avoid addressing it or as a consequence of your own stupidity, is that in no iteration of the Icarus story does Icarus himself melt. Not to mention, you didn't tag or reference Picolo-kun in your post that it is apparently 'based off', you did however remember to tag it with "icarus", "my quote", "my writing" and "original quote".

And once again, ladies and gentlemen, the same Anon who called me pretentious, still being pretentious, and replying to my content, on Anon, without actually trying to prove his “superior intellect.” Something that is based off another can be original, and is original. I didn’t use any of his work, or quote anything he wrote. The whole idea of Icarus melting is a minor change that I made consciously, because even in the original piece about Icarus, and his father, Icarus enjoys being able to fly freely, and isn’t in love with the sun, which is also another huge difference I made to the piece. And there is a iteration, or version, of the Icarus story, in which he is comprised of Wax! Would you like to know which one? The same one I quoted drawing inspiration from! Wow, its almost as if you can talk from your ass, and cleverly place words that sort of make sense in a big paragraph, but yet when I continuously ask you to do better, to come off Anon, and prove it, you’d rather argue a minor detail about my piece. This is all the satisfaction you will get from me anon, continue to revel in your “superior” intellect you try to show boat and beat off with around everyone in an attempt to make yourself feel better! Though I will go and change my original post to reference the artist, which will only boost its view ratings. Once again, bravo good Anon. Please, feel free to continue to waist your time. I bid you adieu!

[ode-to-writing-blog]

Well for one your attempted metaphor didn't make any fucking sense, you jumped-up little shit, Icarus didn't 'melt' because he flew to close to the sun, his wings which were constructed by his father from feathers and wax melted, causing him to fall into the ocean. You are not thoughtful, poetic or insightful, you're a pretentious, pseudo-intellectual who can't even get the unoriginal clichés he regurgitates right. I had to read it because you laughably tagged your unoriginal shit with 'poetry'.

My writing was based off an artists rendition of Icarus and The Sun, by Picolo-kun, and therefore is different from the source material you quote, you thick skulled idiot. It’s a metaphor in the sense that Icarus was WARNED, not to go to the sun, and yet did it anyone and ended up dying, and the post was me contemplating whether or not I should involve myself with said person, and get too close, and end up dying emotionally in the process. And yet, here you are, still on Anon, being an unoriginal prick who assumes he sounds smart because he uses words like “Pseudo-intellectual” and calls others pretentious as he returns to yet again post about something he hates, in a sense to seem better than that person, which, in definition, is pretentious, making you not only an idiot, but a pretentious idiot who is hypocritical. Bravo Anon, good show. 

[ode-to-writing-blog]

That post was really fucking cringey, are you actually a writer or do you just LARP as one on your little blog?

Well, if you don’t like it, why read it? And you are free to feel whatever way about my writing, I understand that with writing comes hatemail, and spiteful little edgy teens who get off on turning on the ANON button and typing away. Why not come off Anon? I’d love to see you do better :) 

[ode-to-writing-blog]

I hate this situation, and how we are. I am like Icarus, and you are the sun, all I want is to soar towards you and feel your warmth but in the end all you do is cause me to melt, to make things more difficult for me in the end. Should I continue to soar towards you and feel the warmth I crave until I melt completely, or should I fly too low and get swallowed by the sea, with its cold and unimaginable size?

Ode-To-Writing While writing this, an image I saw from one of my favorite artists, Picolo-kun popped into my head, so please feel free to check out his stuff. While I did draw inspiration from him, I still kept the concept and the whole message original, so I hope you enjoy!

[ode-to-writing-blog]

Anyone wanna talk? I could really use a convo rn!

Ode-to-Writing