High waves crash on the sandy beach
Pale blue skies fade to lustrous yellow, purple, and red
For your heart I so often reached,
as your face leaned over mine I read
over the lock I thought could be breached
And as you told me so many things
I could not begin to contain,
I suddenly had a feeling, a ringing
that you would never come again
One day, I woke up and my bed was empty
“Go see Vanessa”, written on my desk,
filled my heart with despair and discord plenty
(Author’s Note: This is my personal adaptation of the The Timekeeper, written by John Holleman)
Daniel, at the age of 22, will meet his wife-to-be at Arrowhead Stadium during a Kansas City Chiefs game after accidentally spilling slurpee on her.
On July 1st, at 22 years, they will be married in a small ceremony among family.
On February 7th, at the age of 23, they will have their first child as the Chiefs win the Super Bowl.
On December 31st, at the age of 85, Daniel will rest at his wife’s side.
I speak truth because I am here to make sure he trips.
A Time Keeper: one unattached from time to ensure others’ lives happen according to the plan. Normally my assignments aren’t so involved, but truthfully I would welcome a little involvement. Here I am, joining two lives and making them one, while I’m forced to live this life of solitude. I’ll be here for the next few minutes, oversee the plan, then jump off to another life and do the exact same thing. I’ve been doing this for eternity, and it wears at my soul.
A football game. What an odd place to find your future partner. Then again, not everyone is blessed with perfect conditions every day. On a warm fall day like this you’d expect people to be more calm. Not in this house. The fans are jumping, screaming, crying, shouting, and banging their seats. Very uncomfortable for a person like me. I need quiet, as I must focus on the plan.
Cue the bride-to-be – right on time, sitting down next to me with two hot dogs in her hand. She’s hot as hell, with a curvaceous body, fiery red hair, and wearing an Eric Berry jersey. Apparently Daniel will find her cute enough, considering their timelines don’t part after this.
I watch her. She has to feel my eyes on her.
She looks prettier sitting next to me. She seems excited, as if she knows her fate. Or it’s the game. Whatever, I sure wish to trade places with her. If only she knew what would transpire in the next two minutes.
It just isn’t fair. Why should I arrange love while I meander in loneliness? Why can’t someone find love for me? Maybe I shouldn’t trip him? It is my right to go through with the plan or not. She already knows loneliness, and like everyone else she will learn to live with circumstance. Not finding Daniel wouldn’t change her life much.
Daniel must have heard me because there he is, walking towards us. Little does he know the power I have over him. I have determined his fate. These two. Mere strangers, and could be that forever, but look, she catches his eye and smiles.
He returned her smile: touchdown. He is walking towards us. This is it. I am here to keep the plan. Responsibility takes hold. My foot extends quickly. He trips. The slurpee falls on her. He curses, then quickly apologizes while grabbing a handful of napkins from under his seat.
Messy love.
Game over. Finally. I get up, and quickly disappear, off to the next assignment.
The purple? Your dress, blowing calmly in the summer breeze.
The fading light? My heart against yours, as I beg you on my knees.
The blue? The looming and vastness of my pleas.
You’re my evening, gone too soon.
Hi!
I’m Devereaux, seventeen years old and a proud Maryland native. You probably know me from my work at KCSportsNation, in which I cover the Kansas City Chiefs and all their latest news while providing analysis on games and roster moves. You may also know me from Twitter, where I tweet about those aforementioned Chiefs and enjoy interacting with all members of my beloved ChiefsKingdom.
What you may not know me for is my love of creative writing. That is something I’ve recently come to and intend on doing for the rest of my life. Since attending Stevenson University’s Creative Writers Workshop the last two years, being part of a writers group for almost a year, and talking with other authors, I have developed my skill as a writer and have been published twelve times on Teen Ink and multiple times on Literary Arts Review.
That is not enough. Not for me.
I started this blog not because I have a passion, but because I want to share that passion with others. Some teens, and even adults, feel that writing is just something you do for homework. It’s not. It is an art, and if you let it, it can take you anywhere you want it. Being a young black male in a country that is going through some tenuous times, writing has given me an escape, an outlet for anger, frustration, and is the trumpet to sound the call of change. As someone who suffers from Aspergers Syndrome, it is the voice I never had. I can say the words I’d never say in person. The voice and tone of many of my pieces is one of longing and desire, and that is because the words come from someone who cannot go a day without breaking down from the stresses of not being good with people, not understanding nonverbal communication, and being looked at in peculiar ways because I come from a family of extroverts.
My writing, be it poetry or short story, will vary in topic. Some, like love, nature, and looking back at relationships, are more common than others, but I try to be well rounded. Since I love Twitter so much, I will take requests for topics of stories or poetry. If you like, I could write a specific piece on you.
Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy my writing!
