Stream of Conscious Edited: The Biggest Thirst

It was another sweltering day. The cold was always my friend, my pal but the heat was the bully I avoided at all cost. A Drink! Water, soda, wine, heck I'd even down a gallon of milk. The ocean would be better than this, to swim along the whales and sea beasts. I loved to go and cool off with the ocean cradling me back and forth, back and forth just like a baby is rocked to sleep. The only thing I can focus on is the biggest pot of water I could get my hands on, so big I could I'd could live in there with a roommate. I bet it's shady in there, make me forget the sun. I wish it was night, I like the night. Nice and cool and even tons of suns in the sky, so far the sky doesn't turn blue. I'd like to freeze the first bottle of water so that it became a giant ice cube. God, if I where in the arctic I wouldn't even bundle up right now and just dance in it with a tank top and shorts, and I won't even shiver. I feel something cold touch me, it's a cup of something but I'm too thirsty to care what it is or who gave it to me. I don't even care Imma enjoy this.

One Eye Filled

I slip on my mask, look in the mirror that covers one of the locker room walls and chant to myself "I AM A LUCHADOR." With each shout I crouch further and further towards the mirror "I AM A LUCHDOR" "I AM A LUCHA-" the door opens but I can't stop yet. "-OOORRR." The room goes dead silent, meanwhile I'm posed like a crab burly keeping my balance, but I don't move. "Y-your on next DarumaMacho." the employee-lass says before quietly closing the door as if she walked into something she shouldn't have. My balance finally fails and I fall forward landing on my head and yet, even still, I keep the same pose. That's skill I tell ya.

The employee-lass meets me outside, obviously still shaken by my pre-match ritual. She just doesn't understand. She then leads me to the match ring. "A-are you prepared for your first match" she ask. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't" I say. I'm so pumped and ready, my first match is gonna be awesome. With no warning I begin to fist pump towards the ceiling. One fist pump, two fist pump, three fist pump, four f-. "Yeowch" I hit a pipe that was lower than the rest of the wall. My hand begins to redden and I can feel the blood pumping through it. "Hahaha, guess I'm just too pumped." I smirk looking towards the employee-lass. I can tell she want's to ask if I'm okay but I interject before she can begin. "Don't worry, I'm all good" I give her a thumbs up with the hand I hit. She looks distraught. Ops, maybe I shouldn't have used that hand. "Hey it's like my hands like a real daruma, wait darumas don't have hands." I was smiling before I realized it didn't make sense. "What's a Daruma anyway" Ooo, she asked my favorite question. "In Japanese mythology a daruma is a little figure that you ask for help to accomplish something. You fill one of it's blank eyes before starting the thing you want help with and the other eye once it's complete. You're giving the Daruma sight for helping you." "Is that why you only have one eye hole." "Oh yeah I do don't I?, I always forget since the other side is actually see through from the inside."

 I hold on hoping she ask my second favorite question "Why a daruma theme?" I doesn't come up but it's not like it matters now I'm at the end of the hall. Pumped up once more I lift both arms. "Aggha" The walls here are also shorter. I tear up a little but shake it off, and dash towards the area. "I AM A LUCHADOR" I shout forgetting I wasn't set to enter yet.

What's Wrong with Being a Girl

I stopped at the same boutique that I stopped by everyday on my walk home from school. It's a small, honestly unappealing boutique, if it wasn't for the sign I would have thought it was a Goodwill. It's family owned, probably, I never actually made sure but I would be surprised if I was wrong, then again I never did check. Regardless, I love it, I always make a detour from school to reach it, although it's only a slight detour, adding maybe a minute or two to my walk. I entered as I always do, I rarely find myself actually buying anything, sometimes I end up spending more time than I'd like to admit deciding if I should get this blue buttoned shirt that shares the same shade as the sky on a day where it might rain or that almost banana colored pair of jeans that I'd swear would work with the right top and shoes, only to come home with nothing. Most days I'm in and out since I've been there the day before, almost like I'm checking on the clothes, as if they where pets in a pound and I was glad to see their smiling faces and hoping they would find good homes.

Today however, after entering I see the cutest dress. It's perfect, call me cliche but I love pink and this particular shade of pink is my favorite, it always reminded me of strawberry milk when you don't add enough syrup and because of that it's really pale, closer to white than it is a real pink. The dress is that shade of strawberry milk with white pleats that fall from the hip down to, on me at least, my knees and black trimmings that outline the dress the same way a cartoon character is outlined, it's simple but that's what makes it so perfect. I think about it and decide not to get it, I don't need it, but I don't really need anything if I think about it, but I can save my money for something else, I stop. But it's perfect, no, no, I don't really have room in my room. I take a single step outside the boutique, then feel sick to my stomach. What if someone else gets it! I run in and immediately get it.

I glad I did end up getting it, I think to myself as I stare at it with this dumb smile that just won't go away, I'm too happy to care. I finish my walk home with dress folded in half on my right arm. When I enter I hear a ruckus in the kitchen. My sister's "friends," she's in college and joined a group that's very liberal, you know the ones who fight for rights no one cares for, they hate anything that follows the status quo. I quickly step towards my room. "Stop," one of the girls says. Oh no! I forgot about my new friend I'm carrying.