Midnight Drive to Nowhere

Los Angeles, she/her, currently fuming my way through college.

[writing-prompt-s]

Knowledge is power. The more you know about something, the more you can command it’s very particles and existence.

Explain how you made friends with someone who can warp reality itself.

[thegrandjester]

She was the most brilliant person I had ever met, really.

It all started in the third grade when we first met. Delilah was bouncing a red rubber ball in the schoolyard where I was playing a rousing game of solo hopscotch. The ball hit the edge of her shoe and rolled into my line of sight, whereupon I decided it looked infinitely more entertaining than hopscotch. I picked the ball up off the concrete and turned to walk away.

“Hey!” Delilah yelled, “That’s mine!”

“No it’s not,” I responded, “it rolled over to me. I’m playing with it now so it’s mine.”

“Nuh-uh. It’s mine until recess is over.” She said as she stalked across the playground toward me.

“Says who?” I replied rather smugly, as Delilah was a good 4 inches shorter than me at the time. “Nobody made a rule that you get to keep it the whole time. I say that the ball is mine to play with now so it’s mine.”

Delilah seemed to consider that for a moment. A thoughtful look passed across her face before she nodded to herself, looked me in the eye, and punched me square in the nose.

“HEY THAT HURT!” I yelped, bringing my hands up to my nose and dropping the ball that she immediately scooped into her tiny arms. “That’s against the rules, I’m telling the teacher!”

The school aide saw the blood beginning to drip from my nose and quickly ran inside for help. Delilah didn’t seem bothered by this at all.

“Well who made the rules?” She demanded, looking up at me with sharp blue eyes, “And why do I have to follow them? You took the ball I wanted to play with so I got it back, fair and square.”

“She has a point.” I thought, as a teacher ran over and started to drag us toward the principle’s office.

As we sat outside the office in uncomfortable brown chairs waiting for our parents, we talked about rules, who made them, why we had to follow them, and ultimately decided it was because adults were much bigger, stronger, and had money to buy us things that we were forced to listen to them.

From that day forward we became best friends. Weekend sleepovers, pool parties, and summers spent in the ocean broke up the monotony of elementary, jr. high, and high school.

It was there that I discovered my love of science, particularly hydrology, otherwise known as the study of water. Hydrogen, oxygen, covalent and ionic bonds, unique properties, states of matter, all of it fascinated me.

It was during high school that most people’s special interests formed the beginning of their Elemental Bonds. Freshman year I could manipulate small puddles and form weak ripples. Sophomore year I could stir liquids together in a glass. Junior year I could create waves in a bathtub. By our Senior year I could float water through the air for a few meters and loosely direct it to a target.

I was lucky in the sense that I only had one special interest. Many people had several and as a result only knew enough about each one to have a weak Elemental Bond. Party tricks like warming stone drink coasters and shocking friends with static electricity were common. Most adult decided not to develop their Bonds fully- as it took years of practice and dedication to learn enough to be a true master.

Doctorate degrees were coveted, as they guaranteed you would know enough to become a master of your Elemental Bond. Highly gifted and trained individuals were constantly on the news- a doctor isolating cancer cells with her mind, a firefighter stopping a raging wildfire by sucking the oxygen out of the air and suffocating it, scientists saving ecosystems by implementing small tweaks in the environment to get it back on track.

Delilah carried my blasé “Says who?” comment through the years, and applied it to everything. No matter the situation, she wanted to know why. Why do we say this? Why do you do that? Where did you learn that saying from? When did this tradition start?

Psychology wasn’t something that our high school specialized in. One or classes covered the subject, so Delilah was mostly self-read aspiring psychologist. She devoured book after book on the history of psychology, brain chemistry, electrical impulses, synapses, jargon I couldn’t understand but she loved to use just to confuse me. She never seemed to develop a strong Elemental Bond, but I figured that I was because her special interest was so abstract and she never had an expert teacher. Maybe it would come when she finally went off to her dream school to study.

At first, I didn’t think much of how popular she became toward the end of high school. She was beautiful, brilliant, a little awkward but everyone was willing to overlook it. She had a killer sense of humor but was too shy to use it on anyone but me. Still, I was happy (if not a little jealous) for all the friends she made because I knew I would always be her number one BFF.

In fact, I was probably because of how much I loved her that I didn’t notice anything was off until 2 weeks before graduation.

For all the punch she could pack in her still-skinny arms, Delilah was a clutz. She tripped over her own two feet constantly, much to my comic delight and her dismay. That Tuesday night she had stayed up late studying for a test, so by lunch on Wednesday afternoon she looked exhausted enough to fall asleep while standing. The tray she was holding tipped toward her, smearing bits of iceberg lettuce, ranch dressing, and shredded carrot down the front of her black shirt.

Students pointed and giggled of course, and I had never seen her turn more red in our lives. She bolted into the restroom and refused to come out till everyone had gone back inside for class. By the time she came out, the tear tracks on her cheeks were barely visible.

“Hey it’s okay,” I soothed, “we only have to deal with this for a couple more weeks, and then we’re free! Just think of that amazing university you got into, you’ll be the world’s best psychologist in no time, and they won’t even remember this happened.”

A strange look passed across her face, but she nodded, sniffled, and let me walk her home.

“Great.” I thought. “If anyone mentions this tomorrow she’s going to be too embarrassed to function. As popular as she is, she’s so ridicoulsly self-conscious it just doesn’t make sense.”

But the next day no one mentioned it. At first I thought they were being kind because it was common knowledge how sensitive Delilah was, but then I realized that they just didn’t remember it. Even the teacher wrote the previous day’s date on all their papers like it never even happened.

Delilah wouldn’t look me in the eyes all day in class, and in between classes she ran ahead and avoided me. By the time I caught her it was after school and time to head home.

She was standing in our usual spot, smiling, laughing, talking to a gaggle of girls about nothing until she saw me coming. Suddenly, the easy camaraderie died down and her acquaintances all decided to leave in quiet synch.

“What’s going on Delilah? Why does no one remember yesterday? Why are you avoiding me?”

She looked guilty and afraid.

“I’ll explain everything,” she said, “just… just promise not to be mad or hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” I said, shocked. “Your my best friend, I just want to know what’s going on.”

We started walking home as she spoke.

“Psychology has fascinated me for a long time,” she said, “I’ve always wanted to know how people think, why, and where our thoughts come from. It turns out, everything is just generated from electrical impulses in our brain that we interpret as the reality around us. Everything we know is a construct that we’ve developed to help us make sense of the senseless. None of it is real. It’s all just particles and light, the way we interpret touch is also just electrical impulses going up our nerves into our brains. Who can really say what’s real and what isn’t? Feelings, society, mass and matter, we’ve quantified it in a way that fits our view of the universe, but that doesn’t make it real! The only thing we really know is that we don’t know. If you can control your mind and your thoughts, you can control reality.”

She raised her hands in front of her.

“All it takes is a little shift.

[thegrandjester]

Suddenly, everything around us felt like it was exploding in slow motion. The atmosphere turned thick as cold molasses, the sun morphed into an angry blue mass warbling in the air, blades of grass abandoned the ground and floated up toward the sky, a cacophony of sound- like a thousand classical records being blasted at once- shrieked through the air, and my vision shattered like a broken crystal vase.

"Make it stop!" I screamed with my hand over my ears, "Put it back!"

And in a moment, she did, like nothing had happened.

I stumbled back and sat heavily on the ground, taking in the now-normal day around us.

"What the hell, Delilah?" I Iooked up at her in horror.

She looked down at me sadly.

"I've been so alone." She said. "No one understands, it's not real, none of it's real. They're all so happy just to live their lives, but I can't! I know too much to be happy now, knowing it's all fake. And now you're afraid of me."

"No I'm not!" I said as I shakily pushed myself back to my feet.

"I can feel you lying," she replied as tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. "You've been the only thing I've tried convincing myself is real, not just a chemical attachment in my brain, not just a mass of cells, but my best friend."

She started sobbing as reality began to ripple around us.

"And now you know I'm a monster. I've made my friends love me, all it took was redirecting a few electrical impulses in their brains to trigger a chemical reaction. A few more sparks and it's like yesterday never happened."

My blood ran cold.

She looked at me and quickly shook her head, "I've never manipulated you. If anyone could make me feel attached to this existence I thought it would be you."

"Thought?" I asked, warily.

"Yeah," she nodded. "But I can see now this is too much for you to handle. You're afraid, you'd rather go back to wishing you didn't know we're all just a temporary mass of cells being assigned meaning."

"Well yes," I admitted, "but isn't that the point?"

Delilah looked surprised.

"What?"

"I don't know as much about my own brain as you do, but I'm simple enough to know that life only holds the meaning that we give it. So why not make your own reality something you enjoy, and leave everyone else to decide their own?"

She considered that for a moment. A small battle played across her face before the worry lines smoothed out and a decision settled in.

"You're right," she said. "I'm still letting myself be trapped by the confines of this reality because it's all I've ever known. But there's more out there, more worlds, universes, with more knowledge than I could possibly find here."

"What are you saying?" I asked.

"I need to leave, to explore," she said seriously, looking more determined than I had ever seen her. "Alternate dimensions, timelines, they're all at my fingertips. I just needed to find the courage to explore them."

She walked up to me and grabbed my hands.

"Will you be my anchor? I can find you anywhere, no matter how far I go I know I'll always be able to find my way back to you." She looked excited and pained all at once. "I don't know how often I'll be able to come back, but I know I can't stay here, not with all the knowledge that still waiting out there for me to find."

I grasped her hands back just as tightly.

"Delilah, all I've ever wanted was for you to be happy. Sure, alternate universes are a little further away than the college I thought you were going to go to, but we'll make it work. Any time you can come back here to see me, well, I would love that."

Her smile beamed so brightly the sun dimmed a little in comparison.

"Take care," she said while stepping back and letting go of my hands. "I'm going to make it so no one but you remembers me, but don't forget me before I come back to visit."

"Never," I said vehemently, tears already falling down my cheeks "you're too much of a dork to ever live it down."

Her laugh chimed like a dozen tiny bells before she napped her fingers and blinked out of existence, cutting it off abruptly.

I walked home slowly, knowing that when I opened the door to my room all out pictures together would be gone. But I found an unused journal in my closet turned to the first page. I wanted something to keep track of our time apart until she got back and I could talk to her again. I started writing:

June 6th, 2018 A.D. (after Delilah)-

[writing-prompt-s]

Knowledge is power. The more you know about something, the more you can command it’s very particles and existence.

Explain how you made friends with someone who can warp reality itself.

[thegrandjester]

She was the most brilliant person I had ever met, really.

It all started in the third grade when we first met. Delilah was bouncing a red rubber ball in the schoolyard where I was playing a rousing game of solo hopscotch. The ball hit the edge of her shoe and rolled into my line of sight, whereupon I decided it looked infinitely more entertaining than hopscotch. I picked the ball up off the concrete and turned to walk away.

"Hey!" Delilah yelled, "That's mine!"

"No it's not," I responded, "it rolled over to me. I'm playing with it now so it's mine."

"Nuh-uh. It's mine until recess is over." She said as she stalked across the playground toward me.

"Says who?" I replied rather smugly, as Delilah was a good 4 inches shorter than me at the time. "Nobody made a rule that you get to keep it the whole time. I say that the ball is mine to play with now so it's mine."

Delilah seemed to consider that for a moment. A thoughtful look passed across her face before she nodded to herself, looked me in the eye, and punched me square in the nose.

"HEY THAT HURT!" I yelped, bringing my hands up to my nose and dropping the ball that she immediately scooped into her tiny arms. "That's against the rules, I'm telling the teacher!"

The school aide saw the blood beginning to drip from my nose and quickly ran inside for help. Delilah didn't seem bothered by this at all.

"Well who made the rules?" She demanded, looking up at me with sharp blue eyes, "And why do I have to follow them? You took the ball I wanted to play with so I got it back, fair and square."

"She has a point." I thought, as a teacher ran over and started to drag us toward the principle's office.

As we sat outside the office in uncomfortable brown chairs waiting for our parents, we talked about rules, who made them, why we had to follow them, and ultimately decided it was because adults were much bigger, stronger, and had money to buy us things that we were forced to listen to them.

From that day forward we became best friends. Weekend sleepovers, pool parties, and summers spent in the ocean broke up the monotony of elementary, jr. high, and high school.

It was there that I discovered my love of science, particularly hydrology, otherwise known as the study of water. Hydrogen, oxygen, covalent and ionic bonds, unique properties, states of matter, all of it fascinated me.

It was during high school that most people's special interests formed the beginning of their Elemental Bonds. Freshman year I could manipulate small puddles and form weak ripples. Sophomore year I could stir liquids together in a glass. Junior year I could create waves in a bathtub. By our Senior year I could float water through the air for a few meters and loosely direct it to a target.

I was lucky in the sense that I only had one special interest. Many people had several and as a result only knew enough about each one to have a weak Elemental Bond. Party tricks like warming stone drink coasters and shocking friends with static electricity were common. Most adult decided not to develop their Bonds fully- as it took years of practice and dedication to learn enough to be a true master.

Doctorate degrees were coveted, as they guaranteed you would know enough to become a master of your Elemental Bond. Highly gifted and trained individuals were constantly on the news- a doctor isolating cancer cells with her mind, a firefighter stopping a raging wildfire by sucking the oxygen out of the air and suffocating it, scientists saving ecosystems by implementing small tweaks in the environment to get it back on track.

Delilah carried my blasé "Says who?" comment through the years, and applied it to everything. No matter the situation, she wanted to know why. Why do we say this? Why do you do that? Where did you learn that saying from? When did this tradition start?

Psychology wasn't something that our high school specialized in. One or classes covered the subject, so Delilah was mostly self-read aspiring psychologist. She devoured book after book on the history of psychology, brain chemistry, electrical impulses, synapses, jargon I couldn't understand but she loved to use just to confuse me. She never seemed to develop a strong Elemental Bond, but I figured that I was because her special interest was so abstract and she never had an expert teacher. Maybe it would come when she finally went off to her dream school to study.

At first, I didn't think much of how popular she became toward the end of high school. She was beautiful, brilliant, a little awkward but everyone was willing to overlook it. She had a killer sense of humor but was too shy to use it on anyone but me. Still, I was happy (if not a little jealous) for all the friends she made because I knew I would always be her number one BFF.

In fact, I was probably because of how much I loved her that I didn't notice anything was off until 2 weeks before graduation.

For all the punch she could pack in her still-skinny arms, Delilah was a clutz. She tripped over her own two feet constantly, much to my comic delight and her dismay. That Tuesday night she had stayed up late studying for a test, so by lunch on Wednesday afternoon she looked exhausted enough to fall asleep while standing. The tray she was holding tipped toward her, smearing bits of iceberg lettuce, ranch dressing, and shredded carrot down the front of her black shirt.

Students pointed and giggled of course, and I had never seen her turn more red in our lives. She bolted into the restroom and refused to come out till everyone had gone back inside for class. By the time she came out, the tear tracks on her cheeks were barely visible.

"Hey it's okay," I soothed, "we only have to deal with this for a couple more weeks, and then we're free! Just think of that amazing university you got into, you'll be the world's best psychologist in no time, and they won't even remember this happened."

A strange look passed across her face, but she nodded, sniffled, and let me walk her home.

"Great." I thought. "If anyone mentions this tomorrow she's going to be too embarrassed to function. As popular as she is, she's so ridicoulsly self-conscious it just doesn't make sense."

But the next day no one mentioned it. At first I thought they were being kind because it was common knowledge how sensitive Delilah was, but then I realized that they just didn't remember it. Even the teacher wrote the previous day's date on all their papers like it never even happened.

Delilah wouldn't look me in the eyes all day in class, and in between classes she ran ahead and avoided me. By the time I caught her it was after school and time to head home.

She was standing in our usual spot, smiling, laughing, talking to a gaggle of girls about nothing until she saw me coming. Suddenly, the easy camaraderie died down and her acquaintances all decided to leave in quiet synch.

"What's going on Delilah? Why does no one remember yesterday? Why are you avoiding me?"

She looked guilty and afraid.

"I'll explain everything," she said, "just... just promise not to be mad or hate me."

"I could never hate you," I said, shocked. "Your my best friend, I just want to know what's going on."

We started walking home as she spoke.

"Psychology has fascinated me for a long time," she said, "I've always wanted to know how people think, why, and where our thoughts come from. It turns out, everything is just generated from electrical impulses in our brain that we interpret as the reality around us. Everything we know is a construct that we've developed to help us make sense of the senseless. None of it is real. It's all just particles and light, the way we interpret touch is also just electrical impulses going up our nerves into our brains. Who can really say what's real and what isn't? Feelings, society, mass and matter, we've quantified it in a way that fits our view of the universe, but that doesn't make it real! The only thing we really know is that we don't know. If you can control your mind and your thoughts, you can control reality."

She raised her hands in front of her.

"All it takes is a little shift.

[wellyfullofale]

I think next thursday is gonna be the best day of my entire life tbh

[thequeenofsunflowers-deactivate]

reblog for next thursday to be the best day of your life

[thegrandjester]

THE PICTURE USED TO REPRESENT A BAR IN MY COMM LAW WORKBOOK IS FUCKING NARUTO SLASH FANART

[thegrandjester]

You know what? No. I’m not leaving.

I’m not taking the easy way out and walking away, because the people that helped us progress this far never took the easy way out. Abandoning hope is a slap in the face to every person who has ever tried to bring about change in the United States when things looked even bleaker than they do now. This country is never going to get better unless we have people willing to fight for it. Do you feel sick over what happened tonight? Good. It means you have some basic human decency that’s apparently in short supply, and we need you. We need to keep showing compassion and supporting each other, getting involved, educating ourselves and others, and most importantly, voting in 2018. There’s going to be a lot of struggle happening soon, and there needs to be people who stand up against it. I’m not giving up on this shit-hole yet, not when we know exactly what we’re up against. 

[thegrandjester]

My costume this year! Dia De Los Muertos Calavera bride!

[lavenderginandtonic-deactivated]

[thegrandjester]

[writing-prompt-s]

“I bought an illegal fork.”

[thegrandjester]

The small village of Oxendale lies between the Valley of Quartz and the river Crest. It’s quite a delightful village to live in, if you can get over the menacing castle that watches us ceaselessly from the other side of the river. It’s a quaint place, where the local baker produces fresh bread loaves every morning, the bricklayer keeps busy paving roads and building walls, the cobbler makes fine shoes with the leather she buys from passing traders, and the stone gargoyles on the castle gates peer across the water with dead, soulless eyes.

It didn’t use to be this way. About 10 years ago there was a magnificent wooden bridge that connected our small town to the castle grounds, and we could enter the gardens for as long as we wanted, as long as we didn’t trample the flowers. It was beautiful, filled with sunshine and laughter, but it would soon end. The crown Prince chose the wrong path at a fork in the road while on his way back to the castle, and vanished. The King was distraught; his army tore through the country-side searching for the lost Prince, but all they found was the overturned carriage on the wrong fork in the road.

As you may have guessed, the King outlawed forks in the road to “protect” his citizens from further incidents like this. We all know there’s no logic in it, but what else would someone with near-absolute power do while grieving? Now there are no forks in the road Oxendale; all roads separate before the border of our land and only single roads lie through here. Except for one.

You see, there is a single road with a fork in it left in Oxendale, hidden behind dense brush and forest. If you walk West away from the town square toward the Valley of Quartz, you will pass through the forest surrounding the town on the West side. Keep going, and aim slightly right once you pass the tree stump with three rocks on it, and you’ll see the split in the road between two old fenester trees. The fork leads to the Valley of Quartz on one side, and the neighboring village of Galmut on the other. Galmut is an ancient town, with many valuable stones to sell for pricey jewelry. Needless to say, this fork in the road is a treasured secret from the King.

Old Man Brigsby owned the deed for the plot of land that the fork lay on; he charged travelers a shilling just to pass through, and made enough money to buy several new pairs of shoes every year. But this year, it’s my turn. The geezer finally kicked the bucket and his daughter agreed to sell the land to me for a steal. She had no idea why I would want a piece of land where the trees were too dense to grow anything, and there were hardly any edible plants around. I guess she didn’t know what dear old dad was up to, and how I’m going to do it much better. If someone wants to get to Galmut to buy stones, they’re going to have to pay me 10 whole shillings. If they want their precious jewelry that badly they can afford to pay a reasonable road toll. I can hardly contain myself at the prospect of all that I’m going to be able to buy this year, because today, I bought an illegal fork.

[thegrandjester]

Finals are gonna fuck me so hard imma take my own ass to Red Lobster

[thegrandjester]

Nothing has made me hate classical music as much Music Appreciation 100.

[thegrandjester]

[thegrandjester]

Tfw a racist/sexist/homophobic family member makes a shitty comment and the rest of the fam teams up to rip it apart.

[bewitching-autumn]

Autumn is literally tomorrow

[thegrandjester]

Sure it is.

[loverpup]

Attention: I need a model (you are all models)!

Hi guys, I think this will be my official post regarding the art contest I’m entering. Basically I NEED A MODEL. If any of you guys would be willing to lend your face and be my model for my art piece, please reblog this post! If I’m one of the 12 winners, then my piece will be displayed in the National Gallery of Canada, which would make your lovely little face a masterpiece!!! (as it already is ❤️)

[thegrandjester]

A conversation I just heard

Person 1: Age is just a number. 

Person 2: Yeah, and jail is just a place. 

Me: Fuckin’ bravo

[thegrandjester]

Talking to women who aren’t feminists is exhausting.

You’re worth so much more than what the world is telling you, you we’re just never taught that.

[thegrandjester]

Holy fucking shit I’m tired of being the daughter of a republican.

Preface: My father is a white, 41-year old man with no college education who thinks he’s socially progressive because he no longer thinks gay people should be burned at the stake (I’m not straight btw, so that was fun). He works for Disney, so I was talking about the disappointment and anger I felt at the fact that they hired a white, Jewish man from Ohio to direct “Coco,” a film about a deeply religious and culturally important Mexican holiday.  

Disney also attempted to trademark the phrase “Dia de los Muertos” for the film, sparking outrage from millions. This proceeded to start an argument about how it was apparently just a “brilliant publicity stunt” on Disney’s part, and how there’s no such thing as cultural appropriation, and they’re not hurting anyone. Excuse me, the republicans want to build A GIANT FUCKING WALL to keep Mexicans out and deport MILLIONS OF PEOPLE, including my fucking family members. Yes, I have a HUGE FUCKING PROBLEM when they want to celebrate the culture while rejecting the people behind it. 

When I asked why Disney couldn’t hire a Mexican director for the film to avoid these problems he tried to tell me I was being racist for believing a white man couldn’t direct a movie on an oppressed culture with only a few months of study and market it responsibly. He then proceeded to turn my brother against me by putting words in my mouth with ridiculous questions like “oh, well why doesn’t your brother direct it then? He’s Mexican.” when we were never raised in the culture, and now I’m honestly afraid he’s going to wind up a piece of shit like my father. 

I am mixed race, I grew up speaking English in southern California, attending celebrations from both halves of my family so I am (mostly superficially) familiar with Mexican culture, but I can always pick and choose what sides of myself to present to people and “pass” as white. (After I moved from a Mexican to a mostly white school, I stopped wearing hooped earrings and my hair in a slick ponytail because I thought I looked too “chunti” to be taken seriously. It wasn’t until years later that I learned why it wasn’t right to have to hide where I came from so I wouldn’t get bullied.) I am proud of my heritage and I want o fight for equality and the cessation of appropriation for the sake of my family in Mexico and here.

 I hate the fact that my fucking shitty dad is never going to have to face the consequences of his attitude because the system has given him an invisible advantage he won’t acknowledge. I hate that he’ll never see a problem with his actions and keep spreading false and harmful information. And sometimes, I just hate him.

Edit: He also told me that my education is a problem because I keep pointing out his problematic behavior and “it’s never been a problem before.”