A woman walks through the garden
Golden roses with fiery edges,
Periwinkle forget-me-nots, pink hydrangeas, and yellow daffodils.
You can barely hear the gravel crunch
Under her black and brown cowboy boots
As Prayed for You by Matt Stell
Flows through the speakers
Slithering into every crevice
Of the hearts of their guests.
She crosses the old wooden bridge
Over the pond,
Notes her reflection in the water,
A mature yet young angel draped in lace,
The sunshine making her glow
Like god’s divine light shining down.
Her gaze falls on her lover
With a smile on her blushing face
And glassy happy eyes.
There he stands with a goofy smile,
Wearing a navy vest, cream shirt,
Blue jeans, and brown dress boots,
His brothers by his side
And her best friends waiting for her,
Her daddy wearing a suit, aging blue eyes,
And whitish hair that once was fiery red.
He holds her arm, leading her to the gazebo
To give her away.
The moment is here as she and her love
Stand in front of her pastor.
He reads 2nd Corinthians and Song of Songs.
They tie the knot—gold and red,
Read their vows, and finally he
Slides a titanium band on her left ring finger
Complementing the diamonds shining
On her engagement ring.
She, in turn, slips his tungsten band
On his large sandpaper rough left ring finger.
Love wraps his arms around her
And they kiss as they melt into one with God.
Another love song fills the crowd as they recess
To go take photos for lasting memories
As if they could forget this emotional day.
Later she dances with her daddy as he leads,
Far more confident than she is as she shakes
And resists the urge to look at her feet.
He holds her and twirls her
Like he did when she was five
Until the song comes to an end.
Her husband joins her on the dance floor
For I Swear by John Michael Montgomery.
Everyone who knows them knows they practiced
Because they both usually can’t dance
Unless it’s silly make fun type dancing.
He spins her round and round, dips her,
And steals kisses when he can
As if they can’t wait to be alone
Or are rather proud of this new privilege.
Dancing, food, and speeches consume the rest of the
Night until they cut the cake and smear some
On each other’s noses,
Laughing in silliness as he takes his finger
And licks it off as she blushes
Red as clown makeup.
She throws the bouquet,
Which is caught by her cousin,
Who is to be married in a year.
Her husband removes her garter,
Which is thrown and caught
By his younger brother.
Eventually, they leave ready to be alone
And live their lives together
As lifelong loving partners.
A woman sits on the bar stool next to him,
Sipping on a glass of Jim Beam whiskey and Sprite,
Smelling sweet like bittersweet honeysuckles
From that bush outside her childhood church.
A Marlboro slate cigarette in her mouth
That he lights with a match from her purse,
Smelling like a mini campfire.
She breathes in the menthol,
A bitterness like burnt mint leaves
Meant to garnish an extravagant meal
That she burnt in the kitchen
When she got distracted by him.
She breathes out a cloud of smoke
That rolls out like a storm
Smelling of nostalgia.
He remembers when she first tried one
At a bonfire when she was wine drunk and young.
She was angry, going to the bottle for numbness
After a fight with her mother.
She bummed a cigarette off him
And had to be taught how to smoke it.
She couldn’t even light it by herself
Without burning her fingers.
She breathed it in, a knot tight in her throat,
A nicotine high making the world spin,
A turntable of numbness from the feeling,
Breathing out apathy with no regret.
Now she smiles at him with dark red lips as if painted with blood,
A mischievous sparkle in her eyes like the diamonds on her left hand.
She orders a strawberry martini as he orders another pitcher of beer.
Revisiting the past in a bar both of them know well. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?
She grabs his hand and drags him after her,
Her long dress spinning to the music,
Daisies spun in the hand of a flower girl.
She sings all while he watches her.
She’s still ferociously adorable,
Even when she tries to be an adult.
She can’t hide it around him,
Giggling as they dance
Like they did on their wedding day.
After months of planning, of fittings and tastings and color coordinating, the day was finally here. Everything was beautiful, the flowers and the bridesmaids and the forest surrounding the field where the wedding would happen. The ceremony was set to begin at sunset, and they’d light the candles the lined the aisle. It was going to be beautiful, maybe even perfect, or it would have been, if it had been anyone’s wedding but my own.
I watched my reflection with a detached indifference as the hair stylist wove flowers into my hair. I could hardly recognize the woman in the mirror before me; she looked too beautiful to be real, like she’d been pulled from the pages of a magazine, inhumanly flawless. She lacked the scar on my chin that I’d gotten while playing field hockey. I’d hated that scar when I’d gotten it, but I’d had it so long that my face looked wrong without it. I couldn’t see my freckles either, or the birthmark that was supposed to be on my collarbone.
My reflection looked beautiful, but she didn’t look like me. This whole day was like that though, beautiful, picturesque, practically perfect in every way, but it wasn’t me.
“Oh, Claire, you look so beautiful!” My mother looked like she was on the verge of tears, her eyes big and watery and filled with pride. “Everything’s just so perfect. I’m so happy to see it all come together.”Continue reading At the Alter→
I recently watched a movie called ‘Let Me In’ on Netflix. It’s a sorrowful tale of a young boy growing up isolated, alone and afraid. Bullied at school and suffering through the divorce of his parents at home, his only solace comes when a girl, Abby, moves in with her father, Thomas, next door. He is instantly intrigued by her; she is aloof and reluctant, for reasons that are explained later. But they nevertheless find themselves drawn to one another and are able to bond over a mutual love of puzzles.
The tale unfolds in one sense as a Peter Pan fable. There are elements of eternal youth depicted in the character of Abby, who is revealed to be a vampire. In a more traditional take on the vampire myth, she must be invited into a house like in vampire legends of old. She burns in the sun and is only seen at night. And while it is unknown if religious artifacts have an adverse effect on her, there are numerous religious overtones displayed in the character of Owen’s mother who listens several times throughout the movie to late night sermons on T.V., a habit that is hinted to have contributed to the dissolution of her marriage. Abby is also super-strong, and seems to revert to a more animal state with glowing eyes when feeding.
Despite this, she remains very much a child. In describing her plight to Owen, she self-describes as being “…12. But I’ve been 12 for a long time.” She is inquisitive, laughs, and engages at every turn with Owen for all the world like a 12-year old girl would. She doesn’t really hint that she knows why she has to be invited in to a house beyond knowing that it eventually causes blood to pour from her eyes, nose, and mouth. She knows that she must not be in the sun, and that she needs blood to live. And that is all that is given.
In another sense, this makes Owen and Abby’s infatuation all the more tragic. While being an otherwise very stereotypical childhood crush, the revelation that Abby is a vampire, combined with the discovery that her father is not in fact her father but the last boy she fell in love with, gives rise to the implication that Thomas’ fate is what is in store for Owen.
Owen, like Thomas, will grow old and die in service to a childhood love that cannot grow old with him, in addition to his already ravaged childhood, torn asunder by the divorce of his parents and, towards the end, his near death at the hands of his bullies. This spells depressingly cruel consequences for Owen that two children, one immortal and the other merely troubled, could never be adult enough to foresee. Thomas, it is shown, commits several acts of murder just to collect blood for Abby to survive.
During overheard conversations between Abby and Thomas, it is shown that decades of such murders begin catching up to him as an old man. In the end, after botching a second attack and about to be captured, he douses himself with acid to obscure his identity and, thus, his connection to Abby, protecting her. When she comes to visit him at the hospital, he is unable to invite her in due to the acid damage to his vocal cords. Lastly, unable to speak, he offers himself to Abby, who feeds from him before allowing his body to fall from his tenth floor room. On a police tablet, left by an officer near his bedside should he wish to confess, is scrawled a single line: “I’m sorry Abby.”
By the end of ‘Let Me In’ I was shouting internally ‘Let Me Out’ as I tried to imagine any way in which the ending of such of a path could ever be thought of as romantic or good.
Life at Mr. Addison’s is conventional. Having been here for almost a month now, I am learning the daily goings-on of the house. For the past week, I have looked through the kitchen and noted everything I will get today on my trip to the market. Zach only eats organic foods, and they have to be farmed within a 300-mile radius of our home. The intricacies of his diet do not bother me; I think of it as exciting. I always loved going to the marketplace with Mother Ester, whenever she decided to take children with her. My treks to buy groceries remind me of those times.
Zach had told me, “My servants always have the best,” as his tailor measured my chest a few weeks ago. I leave the house on my way to the marketplace in my new purple knee-high sundress, with a sweetheart neckline. I feel so out of place, almost like I do not own it. The more I ponder, the more I realize I don’t.
Getting to know my fellow servants over these few weeks has been interesting. Philip, the butler, has worked at the Addison residence the longest, a few years before Zach was born. Rouge oversees cleaning the dishes and washing clothes for the residents. John is the mastermind behind the upkeep of the home, and he organizes everything Zach plans. Philip mentioned once that there were only male servants, which is nothing particularly unusual. It seems the late Mr. Logan Addison slept with the female servants when his wife was attending business elsewhere. Mrs. Malinda Addison never minded his infidelity; rather she minded his choice location, in the room to the left of Zach’s.
Philip spoke of Mrs. Addison’s hospitality, how she extended it to anyone who strolled into her castle. His voice trailed off while an unmistakable gleam shined in his brown pupils. He articulated more with his eyes than I have ever heard from any mouth. He would marry her if he could.
John pulls out an old bike to take to the market. I enjoy bikes far more than any stuffy car. With the beautiful weather and three-mile journey, the fresh air will be lovely. List gripped between my fingers, I leave eagerly for the market. Shopping combines relaxation and work. I always see people I grew up with, peculiar only because of the distance.
The smell of fresh bread and strawberry tarts replace the unmistakable stench of the roadside when I arrive at the marketplace. Walking around, looking at the fish and fruits and deciding on their quality, I can’t shake my mind from those strawberry tarts. I think I’ll buy some before I leave. I find myself surrounded by the separated booths of small businesses and bored, single women with riches to spare. Regardless of the disproportion in wealth, I’ve never noticed a difference in taste.
I keep to myself, showing my status as a servant. Mama Ester told me that you should never show any human emotion – wealthy owners know each other, and it’s dangerous if you upset the wrong person.
I’m unenthusiastic about going back to the Addison home after my charming day at the market. The open space is a breathtaking contrast to the jail cell feel of a home.
After setting the bike in the storage unit, I carry the groceries into the door closest to the kitchen. The bags are heavy, but I don’t mind labor; I’m used to it. Usually, when my hair gets into my face or I slam my head into the door frame, I just keep walking.
Walking into the house, I hear laughing from the sitting room. I know quickly it is Zach’s, in harmony with the laughter of a woman. I fear that I will not be working for a bachelor much longer. At 25, he is probably enjoying his evening with a woman he will marry and have too many children with. Then he will bombard the home with more servants like me. I’ll continue to hide in this lonely castle, or perhaps he will sell me before that happens. Don’t feel, don’t react, and don’t get attached to the stories told to me as a young servant. I sigh lightly and put my groceries in cabinets, remembering this mantra.
I’ve never experienced an attachment to anyone, except Mother Ester. You will always be attached to the woman who raised you. I know Zach is trying to make this a home for me, but this is not my home. My life is not a fairy tale. So lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t noticed Zach standing next to me. He startles me when he says, “So, when did you get back?”
Looking over to him and placing a tomato on the counter, I reply, “A few minutes ago, sir. Not too long though.”
He nods his head and takes a seat on the counter, next to my groceries. He looks like a teenager waiting for advice from his mother.
In the unexpected silence, I continue to put away the food, his eyes following me as I travel along the spacious kitchen.
“You seem too comfortable doing this?” he says, breaking the silence with his curiosity.
I’m guessing by the sound of his voice he is confused why someone my age could be so comfortable shopping for a stranger, particularly after receiving nothing in return.
I retort with, “Well, I should. I’ve been doing this since I turned 15.” I don’t bother to look at his face; I already know it is one of absolute shock.
“But you were just a kid then, you couldn’t have possibly enjoyed your work?” Zach says.
I sigh and finish putting away the last of the groceries. One as affluent as Zach could never understand what I went through, just to end up someone’s servant. Taking this into consideration, I turn to Zach and say, “Look, I recognize you don’t understand. With no mom or dad to care for me, I was never a child. My life doesn’t seem perfect, because it’s not.” I place the grocery bags in a crate to be washed and used for the next market run.
“Please excuse me, Mr. Addison. I have much work to do,” I say to him and walk quickly to my room.
I collapse on my bed, realizing I had broken one of the rules.
Sleep is a luxury to me, as it is frequently interrupted. As expected, Philip wakes me. Following him down the majestic wooden staircase, I see Mr. Addison waiting, tapping his foot on the beige carpet.
“What time did I fall asleep?” I ask Philip, trying to conjure a definite sense of time.
“Around nine,” he replies with certainty.
The large grandfather clock beside Mr. Addison reads 11:54. Judging by the lack of sun from the stained-glass windows overhead, I guess it’s nighttime. I suddenly remember why I could fall asleep. I grew bored, as I am not familiar with having nothing to attend. I take the valuable time to rest, physically and mentally.
The man waiting in his dining room appears no older than I. His dark hair looks to have never grown past his chin. His five o’clock shadow leaves me struggling to guess his age.
“Mr. Addison, this is Miss Richards, your new servant,” Philip introduces me, and Mr. Addison turns slightly, showing me his entire face.
I stare into his rainforest-green eyes and notice a scar sitting over his left eye.
“Ah, yes. Thank you, Philip, you can retire for the night.” Mr. Addison smiles.
Philip bows his head, walks to the back of the house, leaving Mr. Addison and me with only ourselves. As I try to avoid Mr. Addison’s gaze, I notice a flower pattern running along the room, stopping at each doorframe.
“My mother’s idea,” Mr. Addison noted. I blush because he notices my avoidance.
Mr. Addison must remember his mother by the framework; he stares at it reverently. “She adored flowers and convinced my father to have them all over. The only thing more dear to her heart were her children,” he says.
I nod my head slowly and clench my clasped hands.
“Please sit, Miss Richards,” he says while pointing to the chair behind me.
With a light chuckle, he grabs the plates nearest to him and walks toward me. “You are the first servant to have been close to my age since my parents were here,” he tells me as I watch for the subtle signs of permission to speak.
My eyes grow large as I notice him setting a full plate in front of him and me. I can’t help but salivate as I wait to be invited to eat.
“Hopefully you won’t find me a bad employer. I haven’t noticed any gossip from my servants,” he says playfully.
I nod my head in response and play with the hem of my shirt.
“Oh right… um, you may do as you please, Miss Richards. It’s only when there are others around that I will ask you to act appropriately,” he says matter-of-factly, like a schoolboy attempting to be the head-of-the-house.
I feel safer now, having been shown kindness, and I start to eat some of the food. For almost twenty minutes, we eat in silence, I having no desire to talk and he appreciating my company. I catch him sizing me up, playing guessing games with my history. I imagine him asking if I had been abused before and that’s why I do not speak. The less complex answer is I have nothing to say.
“I have one rule, Miss Richards,” he says, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. “Call me Zach, never Mr. Addison.”
I nod slightly, taking in the one rule. Zach sighs casually, sitting back to look me over. I see no point in looking back so I finish my meal. I eat until I can’t anymore; this is the largest meal I’ve eaten in the last year! My last home was beautiful until the master’s son took over, treating me like the servant I am. He refused me food but always stood behind his parent’s rule: never beat a female servant.
“Tell me something about you, Miss Richards,” Zach requests. He supports his chin with calmly fisted hands, resting his elbows on the marble table.
Tell me something about you….I haven’t the slightest clue of what to say. Nothing about myself could be as interesting as the man in front of me.
Playing copycat, I reply, “I like being called Cassie.”
He nods respectfully. “Okay, Cassie, what do I need to know about you?” Zach says, trying to dig deeper.
“I’m allergic to lemon juice and bees,” I say as I remember Mother Ester telling me that notifying owners of allergies is always a good idea if you have nothing else to mention.
He says, “Good thing I hate lemon juice and my gardener keeps bees away from the roses after spring.” He chuckles lightly.
“I also like to read.”
He leans forward, straightening his posture. “Maybe one night a week you can sit with me in my study and read before we go to bed,” he says with a smile.
My grin seems to overpower his as I reply, “I would like that, Mr. Zach.”
He pats my hand lightly and says, “Rogue will get these things for us, but I’ve had a long day. I assume you have too.” He stands and sets the dishes neatly atop one another.
He’s right. Leaving North Carolina that early in the morning after having served my previous home’s party, arriving at my new place, and meeting my master has drained me.
“Yes, Zach, you’re right,” I murmur and stand up, pushing my chair in.
“Good night Cassandra.”
I bow, returning the good night, and retire to my bedroom. I decide Mr. Addison is a sweet, gentle man. However, as a veteran servant, I know first impressions can be deceiving.
On a college campus, attitudes towards Valentine’s Day can range from gleeful to bitter and everything in between. The annual holiday, affectionately dubbed “Singles Awareness Day” by some, tends to harshly divide college students into two groups of people: those who have a significant other and those who do not. But romantic love isn’t the only type of love that exists; if you are spending the day without a significant other, that does not mean you are unloved in the world.
Unfortunately for us native English speakers, we only have one word for love which leads to its cheapening and overuse. The Ancient Greeks had many different words to describe the various types of love that can exist. One of these types that the Greeks valued most is philia, or the love that stems from a deep friendship. In the understanding of the Ancient Greeks, this word referred to the love shared between brothers in arms on the battlefield. While the majority of us have not experienced literal warfare, we still understand the importance of someone who is there for you when you need them the most.
By that definition, your best friend or friends can be your valentine. Your pet can be your valentine. Your favorite family member can be your valentine. You can be your own valentine. All of the above can be your valentines! And while romantic love can be an incredible experience, it is not the end-all achievement for the various types of love that life has to offer.
Regardless of how you spend it, I hope that you have a very Happy Valentine’s Day this Tuesday, and you know that you are loved.
“There are all kinds of love in this world but never the same love twice.”
I’ve always been a huge hopeless romantic. I get butterflies in my stomach when I watch romantic comedies and dream of the day I look out my window and see the man of my dreams holding a boombox over his head, or the day when I wake up married for the first time to someone who’s my best friend.
Maybe I have a terribly unrealistic idea of what romance and true love are supposed to be like. Every relationship I’ve ever been in has had moments that Nicolas Sparks couldn’t even write up, but they definitely don’t fit into that perfect romance novel.
Someone like me, who dreams of romance and the idea of spoiling and being spoiled by someone I love, you’d think that romance would be my specialty. However, you couldn’t be more wrong. I’m actually terrible at relationships, or at least at getting them started and off the ground. Sometimes when I’m attracted to someone, I have a difficult time gauging their intentions. As a result, some guys are scared off by me because I’m more committal than they’re ready for.
I’ve been single for about a year now, and it’s been weird. I still miss having someone to text me in the morning and wish me a good day, I miss fun adventures and spontaneous kisses and affection in general. I miss having someone who knows me better than anyone and who I share my dreams and deepest, darkest secrets with. Relationships can be so fun and rewarding when they’re happy and healthy.
However, my inner hopeless romantic is still somewhere deep in me with flowers in her hand patiently waiting for someone else’s inner hopeless romantic to stop by and fulfill all she’s dreamed of. In the mean time, she’s going to have to be patient because being single doesn’t mean my life is on hold while I search for Mr. Right.
When you’re a single hopeless romantic it can be frustrating trying to date and shop around to find someone who fits you. From my experience, going out and actively looking for Mr. or Mrs. Right never works and it can affect the rest of your life. Being in a relationship isn’t the most important thing, even when that inner hopeless romantic is screaming for love and affection. The one great thing about being single is that you have a lot of extra time on your hands. If you’re fresh out of a relationship, it can feel odd not spending your time texting or communicating with your significant other. This may be depressing initially but once you start filling that time with things that make you happy, such as exercise or creating something amazing, you’ll fill the hole left by your ex-lover in no time.
I’ve found that many times, great relationships come when you least expect them. So rather than picking petals off of daisies and waiting around for someone who fits you, work on yourself. Flowers bloom when you water them, so keep taking care of yourself and enjoy the blossoms that come out of it. If someone happens to like them, they’ll come to you. If someone comes along and wants to change your blossoms, have enough strength and confidence to not change your “flowers” for someone else, or else you’ll never be happy with yourself or your relationships.
Valentine’s Day is a day to celebrate your love for the people in your life. It’s a day, specifically for your significant other, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be. Valentine’s Day is a day that can either be fun or miserable and it’s up to you which road you want to take.
I know all of the single people out there get lectured by their friends in relationships about how it doesn’t have to be a sad day, how it can be cute and fun to hang out with your other single friends, but I know you’re thinking “well of course you can say that. You have a boyfriend/girlfriend. You have someone to love and be with on the most romantic day of the year.” But Valentine’s Day doesn’t have to be strictly romantic. It can be about showing your love for the people who stick by you through all of your ups and downs, who love you when you think no one else can. Those are the people who should be celebrated on this Valentine’s Day.
Valentine’s Day is the type of holiday that is simply made to get people to buy things. The consumer industry made this day up so people in relationships will buy the flowers and the chocolates and the giant stuffed teddy bears in order to show the one they love that they care. It’s designed to put a price on love, to show that if I buy you 12 dozen roses it means that you love your significant other more than the person who could only afford one.
But what happens when you love someone so much, more than you could even describe, but unfortunately, your wallet isn’t as big as your love is? You begin to feel inferior and insecure because you can’t buy the one you love all the things on Valentine’s Day that you think they deserve. Your significant other sees all of their friends whose boyfriends or girlfriends were able to buy them the big bouquets and giant stuffed animals while you’re left sitting at home feeling guilty for not being able to do those things for the person you love. That’s what Valentine’s Day does to people.
On this Valentine’s Day, don’t put a price on your love. You and your significant other deserve better than that. Spend quality time together, watch a movie. You can celebrate your love without spending money. Be happy. Be in love. Don’t worry about the rest of it.
Being an ambivert means living with the constant battle between being a social butterfly and crawling under a rock to be alone with our thoughts. We contain both the traits of an introvert and an extrovert.
Being an ambivert has both positive and negative sides. However, living with an ambivert can be extremely difficult as we lack complete consistency in our daily personality. There are three simple things to consider when dating or befriending an introvert.
Don’t take what we say or do personally
The social butterfly who was taking shots and dancing on tables last weekend may not be there this weekend, but don’t feel that it’s because you did anything wrong. Ambiverts go through completely inconsistent phases of wanting to be social and wanting to be alone. Because of this, we may come off as moody and antisocial, although we were previously talkative and wanted to be surrounded by people.
If you’re friends with or dating an ambivert, it’s incredibly important not to take our mixed signals personally. We may have issues communicating our feelings and come off as harsh. In my experience of dating a fellow ambivert, I’ve had to learn not to be insulted when he comes home mentally exhausted after work. Ambiverts may want to be left alone after a long day of class or work. It’s not because we are annoyed by your presence; we simply need time to decompress and recover from the exhausting task of being a people-person all day.
Give us space
Living in small quarters with an ambivert probably isn’t a great idea. When I lived in an apartment where I was often forced to speak to my roommate the moment I walked through the door, I had a difficult time being friendly.
Ambiverts exert a lot of energy into their daily business, whether that be work or school. Although being around people feels natural and comfortable, we may find ourselves more exhausted than we planned after prolonged social interactions. Because of this, we need our own personal space. I’ve found that my room is my space to decompress when I get home. Others may choose to take a shower or work quietly in their office in order to recover from the day’s events. If we ask for our space, again, don’t take it personally.
Don’t advertise the relationship
Whether you’re dealing with a romantic partner who’s an ambivert or a best friend, we tend to be embarrassed by too much PDA. We may partake in some PDA, but don’t be insulted when we don’t want to hold hands or make our relationship “Facebook official.”
The reason ambiverts don’t like PDA is because we don’t like the assumptions and questions from outsiders. We want things to be simple and not have others butting into our business.
Having a relationship or friendship with an ambivert may not be the easiest thing, but a relationship with us is likely more personal and one-on-one. We believe that extroverted relationships begin to involve others and can complicate things. We prefer to keep things low-key — not because we’re embarrassed, but because we would rather have a close, meaningful and private relationship with those we choose to associate with.
Mia Hall had a “normal” teenager’s life. She had two mature but rebellious parents who encouraged her to leave the protective circle that her cello makes and be a free spirit. However, the free and rebellious nature that originates from her parents seemed to skip her generation and implant in her younger brother. Mia is a girl who walks the halls unseen by her fellow peers until a local rocker boy stumbles upon her playing her Cello. There are moments in life that disrupt the calm surface of our lives and Adam, our rocker boy, was the rock that sent ripples through Mia’s life.
“If I Stay” is a heart wrenching movie that leaves the audience in a whirlwind of emotion. The movie follows Mia Hall whose life was flung off course after her and her family were in a fatal car accident. Comatose, Mia must choose whether to live a drastically different life, or to die. Mia struggles with the choice as she relives her past and witnesses the turmoil the car accident left in its wake. As the movie progresses, Mia’s flashbacks begin to piece together the events leading up to the accident. The past and present tear Mia in two, making it difficult to choose life or death. As more pieces of the puzzle fall into place, a mature and romantic love story develop between Mia and Adam. The audience witnesses the gradual change in the characters as they grow out of their shells and face problems that threaten their fervent relationship.
The flow of events are enhanced by the chemistry between the actors and actresses. Chloe Moretz (Mia) and Jamie Blackley (Adam) work very well together and make the love between the characters very believable. The movie contained scenes that were both tearful and humorous. The entire audience are able to relate to the film whether it be from the witty banter between young characters or the love and protectiveness a parent has for his or her child. The depiction of Mia’s out of body experience is extraordinarily done. The scenes showed the physical manifestation of “the light” and how Mia struggles over its underlying meaning. In this YA story, both turmoil and peace embed themselves leaving the audience satiable but yet unsatisfied. The final seen will answer the question of life or death but leave the audience wanting for more. Could there be the sequeal (Where she Went) in the works? Let’s all hope so!
All right everyone, it’s time to smash our piggy banks again and go out to see the most recent big Marvel movie, “Guardians of the Galaxy.” As usual, the story follows some well-known formulas. We peer into the life of a misunderstood, yet hunky, main character, much like our good Captain Kirk. There’s always some new girl he’s been showing up with throughout the galaxy and he, along with his crew, has the fate of a planet resting on his shoulders.
Although this new movie falls under the Marvel name, it felt like it took a little bit more time to go through the motions. The audience is really able to piece together through the movie what made Star Lord the leading man. Not only that, but unlike Kirk’s crew in the new “Star Trek” movies, each crew member was given a chance to show their own motivations, giving us time to care.
This film was able to take us back as listeners with its older music, which complemented much of the style that was more “comic book” than newer, flashy science fiction, while holding onto the aliens and big space ships. Many scenes seemed to jump right off of the screen; each environment the characters were put in was visually beautiful and interesting.
Despite all of the new efforts going into emotional development and attachment, there was a scene that was somehow disconnected. Again, this is where we come back to the problem of the love stories in Marvel movies. It was hard to digest and seemed almost random in the flow of the story. Even though we weren’t given much time to understand this or gain an interest, it was sort of thrown into the background. Only a sequel will be able to try and make sense of where this could possibly go.
Overall, there were a few lags in the story, but they were worth it to see what would happen to the characters that had been brought to life by more than just animation, but by the writing. The villains were power-hungry thugs, as usual, but they were ruthless enough to be cool. This movie makes an impact with its comic book humor and style.
I’m a gay guy who has a boyfriend on campus. We’ve only been together for a few months. I feel like he doesn’t really care about me, but he does things that he can use to show he does. He just doesn’t say anything, or try nearly as hard as I do in our relationship. Am I being crazy?