Music

Music. It makes the world go round. I stops those who are at the edge from going over. Or, it sends them over the edge. Music also affects the mood of the listener.


Have you ever noticed that?


I could be perfectly happy, getting along with my siblings or doing something with my friends then --WHAM-- a heavy rock song, like Sweating Bullets by Megadeath, I really like comes on. Next thing I now I'm irritated at everything and everybody. Things that my friends always did that annoyed me that I've managed to ignore become ten times worse, and I just want to be alone and be angry.


But then there's softer music, like Superman (It's Not Easy) by Five for Fighting, or something like that comes on. I start to feel down. I try to avoid those songs at all costs. It's good music but not fun.


Then there's the upbeat music that makes you want to jump around and sing to it. Like Take Me On by A-ha. There's a good song. I'm trying to figure out how to abduct it from my dad. I can't find his cd of A-ha. But I know he's got the music.


Anyway...


Play me out, Johnny!


*Leaves to a catchy upbeat piano tune*

Part of Chapter One of My Book

“Hey, Ki.” a kid (Ryd I think) said in High Haltarian, using my name instead of some spiteful nickname, “Care to join us in a game of Combat?”

This should have been my first clue that something was amiss, but I wanted so much to be included and liked that I dared believe that they had a change of heart and actually wanted me to join their group.

“Ya,” Ty began calmly, “We're one player short from an even four teams.”

“Ummmm, y-yes, I would like to play” I should have turned and ran at the looks they were giving each other, but as I said before, I wanted so much to be accepted, to have friends.

“Excellent, here's your weapon.” He said, handing me a three foot stick. He then turned to a friend and said something in Common that I didn't understand. I only know the basics of Common, but he must have said something funny, 'cause the rest of the group burst out laughing.

I let a grin appear on my face, trying to look like I understood and thought it was mildly funny.

“Okay, here's your teammates.” He said gesturing to three other kids that I didn't know the name of. “Ready everyone. 'Kay, Start!”

He said this so fast that I didn't even have time to bring my stick up. The first and only thing I knew after that was pain. It seemed that even my own team was mercilessly beating me with their sticks. I threw my stick to the ground yelling “'Kay, 'kay, I'm dead!”

Somewhere deep inside me I knew this was probably going to happen, but that truthful feeling was overwhelmed with the desire to be accepted by these bullies.

I fell to my knees and covered my head with my arms, the beating was getting more ferocious. Every now and then I'd feel a kick to my side or a solid jab of a stick through my defenses and into my head.

I knew I was bleeding, but I didn't know from where. I knew I was in pain, but I couldn't pinpoint a specific spot. I was slowly loosing my senses, my ability to feel was replaced with agonizing pain. All I heard was my own screams and sobs and their laughter. All I saw was flying sticks, shoes and fists. I could only taste blood. I could smell my own fear, and the sweat, the blood and soon the smell of urine as I lost control of my facilities.

DOWN! SET! HIKE!

Hallo, mein Freunds!


It's November if you haven't noticed! Awesome, right?


But that's not the point of this blog post. I'm here to talk about football. No, not Fußball, nor Soccer. I mean good old American Football!


I actually played on a football team. The T-Wolves. It was during my eight grade year, and I sucked. I couldn't figure out why for quite a while. It wasn't for the lack of effort, I assure you. I tried, I really did. But I just seemed to have absolutely no talent. It got to the point that by the end of the season I never wanted to look at a football again.


But over the Off-Season and this most recent season I did some real thinking. And I came to the conclusion that two things were stopping me from playing my best.

• Confidence


• Ferocity

Reason 1


Confidence. It's important in any case. Whether it be interviewing for a job or playing football. If you don't have confidence then you don't have a chance.


Well, I lost mine the very first practice I went two. It really started when I lined up to tackle someone. I thought I was a very successful tackler, I could take down people two grades up from me. So I charged him, ready to hit him hard. And when we made contact I did what I always did while tackling. I swung around his neck. Immediately the Coaches shouted me down, I felt like an idiot. Ever since then I didn't have and confidence.




Reason 2




Ferocity is also important. Maybe not as important as confidence but definitely important. For this one I blame my parents. They trained violence right out me. Now, Papa, (who I can see shaking his head in disbeleif) siblings don't count. I used to really be a hardcore sports player, but my parents would always get mad at me for doing such. So eventually it became second nature to just not make contact with people while playing sports. And that carried on the football. So thanks Mom and Dad.


And personally that's what I think was wrong with the last time I played. True, I had never played before, but all the same.


So now I'm going to try again, this time with a little experience under my belt and I'm ready to hit some people!




Any who... I hope you enjoyed this installment of "A Very Sage Blog"


Coming Soon To Theaters Near You!




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