Want some ice cream, Sora? Cause you Feel it! The beat bu-bu-bu-burn!
*airhorn*
get that shit under your desk you can’t use those for the reading section
I stood nervously at the door, waiting for the yellow glow of headlights to appear in my driveway. I wiped my sweaty palms on my skirt. Come on, Herminia, I told myself. If you can set la patria free with your poetry, you can do this.
My wolf pup, Douglass (named after one of my heroes), waddled over to my feet and stared at me with his enormous eyes. I smiled and stroked his fur, which was a soft as Spanish moss. “You be good for Papa and Mama while I’m gone, okay, Dougie?”
Douglass continued to gaze into my eyes, unlike most wolf pups his age did. It must have been genetic.
Suddenly, I heard the screeching of tires on the asphalt. I threw open the Dutch doors and watched as he stepped out of the car.
Thad was a handsome young man who had long black hair and eyes the color of rainbow trout. He had asked me out on a date to a Fourth of July celebration at a local farmer’s market. Though I was against celebrating the holiday (I even wrote a poem about it), I couldn’t resist because Thad was just so cute.
He smiled at me. “Ready to go, my pup?”
I giggled and skipped down the steps to the driveway. From inside the house Papa yelled, “Close the doors!”, but I paid him no attention. After all, I was living my life to defy him.
I slid into the passenger seat. The car wasn’t Thad’s; he had borrowed it from his friend Martin, who was renting it. It smelled deliciously of octane gas.
Thad and I grinned at each other, and we were off. In about (x+y)(x+2y) minutes, we arrived at the market.
The sky was darkening, and people were gathered at various booths and tables. Thad selected a fold-out table for us to sit at. He gazed in wonder at the crowd. “Great holiday, isn’t it?”
“For you, yes. For slaves, not so much.” I stopped before I could say more. Oops. Had I insulted him?
Thad either didn’t hear me or didn’t care, for he was too busy hungrily eyeing a sack of potatoes at one farmer’s booth. “Man. It’s a shame how there are so many different kinds of potato chips and not enough kinds of potatoes, huh?”
“Uh-huh.” It was true.
“All this talk of food is making me hungry,” Thad sighed wistfully. He turned to me. “Is there anything you want?”
“I’ll go with you,” I said.
We stood up and made our way to the concession stand. I looked at the menu. “I think I’ll have a salad and some water.” Lately I was trying to watch my weight. Didn’t want anything too fattening. Thad looked like a weight-watching sort of guy, too.
“That’s all?” he said. “Alright.” He turned to the lady running the stand and declared, “I’ll have 14 sandwiches, 4 salads, 35 cookies and 23 bottles of water, please.”
The lady looked surprised, but quickly recovered from her initial shock and said, “That’ll be $149 dollars.”
“Okay.” Thad pulled his wallet from his pants pocket and handed her a wad of cash. In return, he received a stack of three big cardboard boxes. I offered to carry one, but he waved me off and hobbled back to the table.
Thad gave me my pathetic little salad and water bottle and began stuffing his face with his own food. “Sho,” he mumbled between bites, “do you pway an inshtorment?”
Inshtorment? Instrument! I shook my head. “Not unless you count pen and paper. In that case, I’m a musician.”
Thad nearly spit out his entire mouthful of food. “But playing an instrument helps increase brain function!” He paused and blushed. “I-I mean, not that you’d need to, anyway. You’re smart already.”
I chuckled and looked at the ground.
A delightful smell wafted through the air. Thad sniffed it longingly. “Mmm. Fish. If I didn’t have so much food I’d go buy some of that.”
I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “It’s farm-raised, you know. Wild caught fish is so much better. Did you know you can get sea lice from farm-raised fish?”
Thad looked hurt. “I don’t have sea lice. Anyway, farm-raised fish is much better. Did you hear about what they do to those tilapia pens? They submerge them in lake water. It has a great affect on the taste of the fish.”
“You mean effect,” I corrected him. “Affect is a verb.”
“No, it IS affect,” Thad shot back.
“It’s effect, Thad. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. I’m a writer.”
So the great “affect-effect” debate lasted forever. Once we finally settled on “effect” (thank God), I felt awful. I just wanted to DELETE the conversation.
The sky was black now, and the fireworks were starting. Everyone “oohed” and “ahhed” at the colorful display—that is, everyone but me.
“Isn’t it beautiful, Herminia?” Thad whispered. He wasn’t upset anymore.
I was seething with anger. “You know what this represents?” I said quietly.
“What?”
My patience snapped. “AMERICAN SLAVERY!” I screamed.
Everyone else had turned to stare at me, just as a huge firework exploded above their heads.
Thad frowned. “You know what. I’m going home.” He stood up and stormed off, not before grabbing his leftovers.
I marched after him, almost relieved. I had made my point. I had showed that oppressor—no, those oppressors—what July Fourth was really all about.
The car ride home was silent and awkward. Once we pulled into my driveway, I immediately left the car and slammed the door behind me. Thad sped off, never to speak to me again.
Later that night, I curled up on my bed with my pen and paper, Douglass snuggled up next to me. Though our relationship was a flash in the pan, I was a little sad it had ended so abruptly. However, a sense of pride washed over me, and I began writing, grinning.
Not only had I set la patria free—I had set my heart free, too.
A) “were making my day”
B) “do make my day”
C) “having made my day”
D) “are made of my day”
E) NO CHANGE
If I was born after nine months, and an hour before me, a premature baby was born after seven-and-a-half months, they would be older than me despite existing for a shorter period of time.
Don’t fuck with my mind please
asexuals are part of the queer community pass it on
if u are cis and heterosexual/romantic u are not queer, so being ace/aro essentially does not make u queer
ASEXUALS ARE PART OF THE QUEER COMMUNITY PASS IT ON
ASEXUALS ARE PART OF THE QUEER COMMUNITY PASS IT ON