The project

Here is my purpose here-

Its summer. I have a ton of time on my hands, but I didn't really know what to do with it all. Scanning the internet, I found a ton of webzines, which sparked my creativity for writing again, at least a little. (you can tell i really needed it, just from reading this stupid little thing with all its un-creativeness) One of the zines' authors was having the same writer's block problem as me, and his solution was to write one very short story a day - and at first they were kind of mediocre, but as he got into it they became incredible. Whatever problems he had been having were gone.

So, if you follow, this is my plan. Since I don't have internet at home, this may only be updated once or twice a week, whenever I get to a computer, but I'll probably post a few stories at a time. I'm really excited, and I hope you are, too!

-Kayla

My perfect secret

It's raining outside.
I like rain. It doesn't demand you to be happy if you don't want to.
We are sitting in your room, a 70's punk mix CD cawing softly from your stereo.
I am laying upside down on your bed, my hair hanging off, almost touching the floor. I'm watching your flip through one of your indie zines, nodding gently to the music. Your dark hair tumbles into your eyes with each nod, falls over your stormy grey eyes. I am in love with you, but I will never tell you. It is my secret. I hang off your bed and hum it to myself. I love you. I love you. I remember my secret and I feel excited, adventurous. I remember my secret and I never feel lonely.
Your room is seperate from the rest of the house. A built-on, added when your brother was born and needed your room. I like it because it is quiet. and cold. The rain is beating on your window. I t is only four in the afternoon, but it is so dark, except for the lightning slashing the sky. You look at me protectively when a white hot flash lights up the room. I know you are remembering when we were little, when I used to get so scared in storms I would sometimes cry. Now I just stick my tongue out at you and smile. You go back to your zine. I am not scared anymore because you have always kept me safe. You will never let me get hurt. You will never hurt me.
Neither of us have talked since we ducked into your house out of the rain on our way home from school. We don't need to, I guess. Anything that needs to be said is said through our my eyes, and yours. Stormy grey.
I could lie here forever. Swinging my hair, watching you. I wonder if you know you are being watched.
You know.
I have condidered telling you my secret.
What would it change? Could I love you any more with a new title, would you love me? You already do, I can tell. You love me like I love you. In secret. a perfect secret.

Why I Am Here...

I am here, writing, because...If i didn't write, my thoughts would start pitching up tents in my brain and they'd crowd every inch. The petty, mean thoughts would be the neighbors everyone hates that are too loud and don't bathe enough and my sweet thoughts I have, like when I see a puppy or something would end up taking in my lazy procrastinating ones to live in their little tents and they'd be big lazy moochers. Pretty soon there'd be like riots over the brain food my health nut sister and best-friend shove on me and there'd be chaos and the ensuing war would make my head explode. That's what you need to know about me. I'll usually write if I'm feeling a very big emotion or something really big is happening, so objects (my life) will be smaller (less dramatic and interesting) than they appear, but that doesn't mean I'm not, like, always thinking and writing or that the emotions are any less potent.