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November 17, 2003

Posted by anoddphrase in Uncategorized.
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hmm, yeah, only things i wrote today r random, angsty poetry and since i really don’t feel like posting that here.. right now at any rate, i decided to put up sth new (for once…). see, last year, all LM’s (what they call a certain species in my school :P) have to write daily essays called daily themes and for the lack of better things to come up w/, basically i wrote about my family…. yeah, so basically all of my free-thought DT’s, were about my family. i thought it was kinda funny and since most of them turned out ok, here ya go…. 😛 (wow, that’s the longest prologue i’ve written in a while…)


 


Puzzle Pieces



 


“You didn’t knock, Angie.”


I had to squint at the bright, morning sunshine, that bounced off of the Hudson River and into my brother’s bedroom, before I could roll my eyes. Stepping over a half-finished 1,000 piece puzzle of the leaning tower of Piza to grind my heel into a pile of dirty, discarded clothes on the floor, I glared at the smirking form of my brother, David, as he regarded me smugly from his computer chair. Beside the chair, his desk was a cluttered chaotic mess of papers and pens overflowing from the drawers of the L-shaped furniture piece. Just above it, hung his collection of skiing medals, noticeably less than the array that were pinned to my wall. A smirk of my own formed on my lips.


“Has it downloaded yet?” My left thumb moved impatiently to pull at the back pocket of my jeans.


The corner of his mouth twitched as he pushed off the floor, swiveling the computer chair to face the faintly humming screen of his desktop. “Fifty-eight percent done.”


I sighed and flopped back onto David’s unmade, queen-sized bed. “It’s taking forever-”


“-and a day,” my little brother, Matthew, finished for me as he bounded into the room, barely missing stepping on several of the puzzle pieces that were strewn across the worn periwinkle carpet. I spared him a sneer, before lifting my head to grimace at David’s back.


He didn’t knock.”


“I don’t have to knock to get into his room,” David answered absently, an ace of spades hanging in midair of the computer screen as he paused to decide his next move.


“I can’t help being a girl,” I shot back, rolling my head back onto the bed. “And it’s not like he’s ever in his room anyway.”


The tinny sound of an acoustic guitar and the scratchy voice of a teenager masquerading as someone who would vote for the idiot in the next presidential election filled the room. David’s voice joined in, muttering the lyrics and clearing up the syllable-less mumbles, that I had been sure were words, in the song.


“I found it!” I shifted my head to the side to see Matthew dancing around the puzzle holding a small piece exaltedly over his head. “I found it! I found it!”


“That’s good for you, Matt,” I drawled, rolling my head back to stare at the ceiling. “You should win a prize.”


David craned his head to stare over his shoulder. “Which piece did you find?”


“The one with the woman’s head right next to the wall.”


My head shot up and I scrambled off the bed. “Whoa! Really?! I’ve been looking for that piece forever-”


“-and a day,” Matthew finished for me again, waving the piece braggingly in front of my face as I reached out for them. Grabbing his wrist, I pulled the piece out of his fingers, bringing it closer to my face to inspect more closely.


“Ack!” I tapped a hand on my cheek. “I thought that this was part of a bush. That doesn‘t look like a head at all.”


“Yes, it does.” Matthew snatched back the piece to kneel besides the puzzle and push it into a gap in the picture.


I leaned over, tilting my head to see the puzzle its right side up. “Yeah, you’re right.” Shrugging, I twisted to look back at David. “Done yet?”


“Sixty percent.”


“Damn.”


“Only forty percent to go,” Matthew piped from somewhere behind me.


“Wow, Matt! You can subtract. Go bake yourself a cake.”


“Mo-om!”


My mother‘s feet padded in quickly from the hallway. “Angie, what’d you do this time?”


“Nothing. Matthew’s just being a baby, again.”


“Am not.” His lower lip jutted out slightly in a pout. My mom set her hand placatingly on Matthew’s head as her eyes roamed the room, resting on David’s computer screen.


“Is Inun Asha done yet?”


“Inu Yasha,” I corrected her, bending down to pick up a puzzle piece, “and no, it’s not done yet.”


“You found that missing piece, huh?” she asked redundantly, as I angled the puzzle piece in my hand this way and that, looking for some type of give away to its correct place in the puzzle. “The puzzle’s almost done, you know.”


Almost, Mom,” I said, pushing the puzzle piece gently into place on the picture. It fit perfectly.

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