This day, June 15, 2005, a senior at my school just died.
He wasn't a druggie. He wasn't an alcoholic. He didn't have problems with his parents or with authority. He wasn't a Straight-A student or a flunker. He was quiet and humble and nice.
His name was Paul Manor. And today the students of our school mourn for him.
Paul was on his senior class trip up at a lake, where they were going to stay for three days on a couple of house boats. They drove up, and that night they decided to go water-skiing. Paul was floating in the water, waiting his turn on the skis. But he began to feel sick, so the boat came around, picked him up, and took him to the house boat.
That's when Paul lost consciousness. And he never woke up.
Our science teacher, who is everyone's friend, and the butt of a couple good-hearted jokes, did CPR on him long after he was dead, and the paramedics did, too, from what I've been told. He was pronounced dead in that houseboat.
His girlfriend was right there. His classmates were right there. They should have been enjoying the end of their high school careers, and instead they are mourning the loss of a dear friend. Who didn't drink, , or treat anyone with the slightest direspect.
Paul died because he had a weak heart. I can only imagine it was weak because it held so much love for everyone. It held so much love it couldn't take the weight. And now he's in a place where he doesn't have to worry about what college he'll go to, or if he becomes that chef he wanted to become. He gets to sing with the angels. And I hope he's smiling. Because that must be an awesome sight.
(Image deleted by the guards)
(Image deleted by the guards)
Role-Playing games I have either created or am a member of:
A new one I've just created is Achilles and Athena
I created Elven Rogues
about a year ago.
I am now a member of Tales of the Dragon Masters
Which is posted at ToTDM Playing Field
is an unfinished short story of mine.
Check out Elita's Oddities
. It's totally awesome. And then there's Chewbacca...he's there, too.
Remembrance payed as homages' due
as sky rolled on so white, ne'er blue.
Hopeless as the hunted's curse,
truth wound its way through her remorse.
And ne'ery a time did she reveal
the one whose memory made her feel
alive and dead come every peal
of thunder from the clouds above.
And rain came then to flood out hope,
though little hope remained.
The storm held no pity for dreamers-
emotions sought no gain.
So forgiven and cast out
by drops of stinging hate and love,
She still knew not what was in store-
fell to the ground by his wordless shove.
A final sigh escaped the lips
of one who had held on too long;
the rain covered her remains of flesh...
forgotten was her song.
Throw your shoulders back--
take the beating.
Winds howl, dust devils
devour the souls of
the plants they pass over.
Inhale the damp,
the foreign smell of
Give up your power,
succumb to the rage.
There is no need for fear
as long as you
feel the beat
of the water on your face.
Let the drenching torrent
your sun-bound body.
Lift your face
and let it rain.
Same as always;
never change their routines.
Close your eyes or open them--
the jokes stay the same
Laugh the first time
cry the second.
Forget the third
numb yourself thereafter.
A one-girl audience
for the jokesters,
not laughing anymore.
Never laughing past the first,
"You're such a pretty little girl."
The comics never change their routine.