I sit here in a quiet room, surrounded by people. I am... borde. I write to pass the time. Time that moves so slowly that i want to throw myself off a building simply to pass it. My thoughts hold to what my future has in store, what I want to do with my life. I know what I want, but I'm tired of waiting for it. I'm tired of taking expensive classes that i could learn the same thing by reading a book. I blather on about the same things that I have before - its a vicous never ending cricle that I want desspratly to leave behind. Many people go to college to find themselves... been there, done that can I move on now? "NO!" life says, you must sit in waiting until I tell you it is time. To be profound... "waiting sucks!" Just kidding, not about the waiting, but about the profoundness of that statment.

The Release of Night and Day

 This is Just a sample of my writing, its a few years old but is still one of my favorites.

                               

     The Release of Night and Day

            There were two of them, as different as night and day. Day was blond, beautiful and probably spent more money on fake-bake tanning then a normal person did on groceries in a year. Not that she had the money to spend. She lived somewhere in between Coldwater and Bronson Michigan, but every weekend she and her hoards of followers would go to Battle creek or Kalamazoo, which they thought to be huge cities. Everything she wore was pink down to the nail polish. Day found that the company of kids she met while clubbing in Kalamazoo suited her better than the hicks that she drug around from place to place.  

            The other of the two, Night, was pale. She avoided the sunlight and kept her hair as dark as black silk. Night had never been far from her home or school but she read about places that she would rather be than where she was. Her wardrobe of black and red didn’t fit in with the flannel and blue jeans any better then her sister did. Night had no friends, she preferred to sit alone with a book and watch the steam in back of the torn down farm house her sister, mother and she called home.

            Night and Day did not speak. At school, in the car, or at the dinner table. Day talked a lot, rarely did she cease to take a breath, but she never said the things she wanted to. She’s often screamed at her mother, “she’s ruining my life! Do you know how it looks to have a sister that’s a total reject?” When what she really wanted to say was, “I love you Nightingale why don’t you ever look at me?” But Day would never address her sister directly. It was to belittling.

            Night, on the other hand, did not speak at all. She did not speak to anyone, ever. If she did, she probably would have told her sister how lonely she felt and how much she missed her best friend. Instead she immersed herself in novels and when that was not enough of a escape she would write on her arm with a razor blade. 

            Night was still, she would sit for hours by the stream and only think of where it could take her. As much as she wanted to be different she wanted to fit in and yet she’d given up wanting all together. In some ways Night knew that she would never leave this place. She felt that as long as she lived she would be here in this little town with people that didn’t understand her.

       Day escaped her pain by slipping into the back with one of the boys she knew from the clubs. She would sigh as he touched her butt or breasts. His name didn’t matter. There were so many she used to get want she wanted. “Dayla,” he would whisper before jamming his tongue down her throat and unbuttoning her jeans. She had escaped for the time being.

            Sometimes after that moment Day would think of her sister. How different they were. Day doubted that Night had ever been with a boy. What did she do to escape the pain their father had left behind in his stead?

            One night after Day had broken curfew again her mother intercepted her at the door. Night was outside on the porch reading by candle light. After getting reprimanded and grounded Day went into another screaming fit. This time it was enough she shake Night’s darkness. Day was screaming at her mother but what she was saying was not directed at her, as always. Day screamed, “she walks around here like she’s already dead and I’m getting in trouble. So I went out big deal! I’m not the one who should be punished! If you knew how she deals with her shit you’d never yell at me again.” This time Day looked into the eyes of the one she blamed for all of her problems. This time Night let her guard down and heard her sister, her twin.

            Day did not wait one hour after their mother had given up the fight to sneak out of the house again. But before she stepped out their window she turned to look at Night asleep in her bed. Day wanted Night to die. How could she live with this so well? More than that Day wanted her guilt go away. She wanted to tell her sister that she was sorry and that she hadn’t meant what she’d said earlier. Instead she whispered, “I hate you.” and left.

            Unwanted tears filled Night’s eyes. Why did she have to love her sister so much? But if that’s the way Day really felt about her then what more did she need to live for. Night walked to the kitchen for a bigger knife. A razor blade just wouldn’t do. Under the stars Night walked. Her light skin glowed in the moonlight but nothing else could be seen. Night reached the river and stood still, soaking in the peace of the release. Tonight Night didn’t bother with the little marks.

            Day still felt guilty when she reached his house. The Hicksville ‘hims’ worked on a whim but weren‘t her preference. This him lived just across the river and didn’t heisted to sneak her upstairs to his room when she arrived. He threw Day on his bed and slammed his body on top of her. Her aggressiveness was just as strong as his. She felt for his big belt buckle as he pulled off her shirt. Day’s release came with a jolt. Her guilt was gone, as was her dignity once again.     

            Night sunk to her knees while she felt her life leaving her. Her pain slipped away with the blood that now soaked her black clothing and the ground beneath her. After several minutes of shallow breathing Night found her permanent release. 

            Day pushed against his chest, something felt wrong. She felt strange like some part of  her just died. He turned her month back to his and Day forgot about it. So goes the release for Night and Day. When dawn came Day lived on but Night’s eyes would never again open for the Sun.    
                                           by: Ashli Edwards

Alice

I'm "mad as a box of frogs" I get obsessed about certain, random things from time to time. At the moment its is Alice the tv miniseries starring Andrew-lee Potts and Caterina Scorsone. Andrew-lee's Hatter beats even Johnny Depp's. Part of that could be the deep British accent, level headed madness, and the relationship that forms between him and Alice. Tee Hee. Most of the time I hate renditions of literature that don't follow the story line of its origin, for instance Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Alice, but this one swept me off my feet and made me fall for it. Now, "a different kettle of onions" is the subject that the other portion of my brain is honed in on, discontentment. Have you ever had that feeling in which something doesn't feel right, incomplete? I have passion in the writing i do for my next novels. I love the job that i want (novelist) but i am tired of school, tired of Indiana... and am so ready for a different stage in my life. Be it love or a better publisher, I am aching for my life the jolt forward into the next step. Maybe I should get a new 'scut' job. I have been at the same department store for three years of school now. Three years is about the max that i can stay in the same job. That is part of why I want to write books for a living. The job may stay the same but the content would constantly be changing. Alright I have prattled on long enough for now. Thanks - A girl, a writer, and "a friend.... I hope."

Introducing Me

Hello,
     My name is Ashli Edwards. I am a newly published author, Silver hit shelves around a month ago. I love mythology, folklore, and fantasy of all kinds. I love to read, write and much more... These of course are just the basics of who I am, more will come as time goes on I am sure! -AE