• You know the phrase:

    “When life gives you lemons; Make lemonade.” ?

    Well, what if the lemon is spoiled?
    What if it was the first of the crop to go bad?

    [Would you still make lemonade with it?]

    Would you blame the tree for producing foul fruit?
    Or would you blame the refrigerator of which you store it in?

    My mind cannot fathom the idea of either being true.
    Because if you blame the tree, it must get cut down.
    And if you blame the Refrigerator, you'll do what you can to make it colder.

    (No matter what the costs.)
    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

    And now you question...'Why does she talk of fruit?'

    And I would only answer with cold bloodshot eyes.

    Pay attention and see.

    Because the story I have to tell is not only mine, but others as well.
    Don't fret my friend, I wont be that long.


    July 4th, 2009 9:31 pm

    So its been a year. An entire year since I have stayed at her house for more than two days at a time. I want to be happy because I found a home that I really love and family that I care about who also care about me too. No they are not really blood related and no they weren't family friends but all the same, the two adults in this house became my mother and father and the other teenagers became my older siblings; The two things I never had but always wanted.

    I'm sitting in the car with Daddy parked on the side of the road on rt29 waiting for the fireworks to start. Daddy was excited and I...well I was anxious. I re-played him asking me if I wanted to go see the fire works with him in my head. Fast-forwarding and rewinding the scene in my head till my chest tightened up with fear and dread. Still, I accepted the offer, sure that I was going to get over it.

    I rolled down the window and looked around the highway and bit my lip as I watched all the families laugh and talk to each other and I felt a pang of envy. What about me? What about my family?

    And yet another part of me thought something that confused and angered me. I have a family, i'm not part of that one any longer.

    No!
    I love my younger siblings dearly and my birth mother too. I will not give them up for anything.

    Sticking my head out the window I looked up above me. I remember being younger on the bridge above me, one hand holding onto my mothers tightly as me and my sister squealed with glee when the fireworks erupted from the ground.

    My chest tightened again and that happy memory was squashed with a more recent one of me and my three siblings standing off to the side, one in a stroller screaming and crying from the noise the fireworks gave off while I looked over at my mother three yards away from us in the arms of a man I didn't know. At only 12 this wasn't new to me.

    Another came fast and fierce; A memory of my mother, my younger sister and I standing by a lake laughing and feeding ducks. My mother was so beautiful. I wanted to be exactly like her.

    And just like before that happy memory was destroyed by an ugly one. A very recent one. One of only a few weeks ago. My five year old sister and I were talking with my mom when my godmother shamelessly pulled out a blunt and lit it up before passing it to my mother. I glared at her and grabbed my sisters' hand, pulling her along with me as I walked away.

    Tears stung my eyes as the flashbacks disappeared from my vision. I jumped when the first boom echoed into the night. Instantly, colours lit up the sky. Vibrant reds and blues assaulted my eyes and fueled my emotions. I grew angrier. More sad. It made me dizzy to the point I had to sit back in my seat.

    I can't take it.
    I am too weak.

    I turn to daddy, tears dripping off my face. “Daddy, can you take me home? I don't feel good.”

    He nodded and turned on the car.

    I looked at the time.

    9:41 pm.


    ...