yes, i am back. go figure. :o)

   guess whose been listening to the dark knight soundtrack? if you guessed me, then you got it. its full of beautiful amazingness. and because i've been listening to this almost non-stop, i now have a batman story floating around my head, and it won't give me peace. my solution for my dilema? write it.

   it seems that every weekend this month, i have been doing something. not that i'm complaining. i love doing stuff, it just stuck me as odd the other day when i was going through my wall calendar. and this trend continues for another month. woohoo!

   and without further ado, i give you a clip of afore mentioned batman story. warning: i never said it wasn't cliche.

"Humming a random tune to myself, I kept an easy pace as I walked along the sidewalk, easily weaving through the throngs of people making their way back to work after their lunch break.

With an old bag slung over my shoulders and a coat that had seen better days buttoned up to my chin, along with dirty sneakers, worn jeans and a hat that kept up (and hid) my hair, I knew I looked suspicious and poor.

Fighting a smile, I couldn’t help but find my situation rather funny. It was so cliché, it made my teeth hurt.

I had been born into a rich family, one of four kids. Daddy was the typical rich father, showering his children with presents, but never with love. Mother was the same, yet more distant than Daddy. Then, somehow, my parents died of some sickness within days of each other, and I was shipped of the to distant relatives in the South of Australia, while my other siblings also got dispersed between other relatives, since none of us were of age yet. I went through a bout of rebelliousness, and got kicked out of several schools, until life itself kicked me in the seat of my pants by almost killing my aunt and uncle. Then, I sobered up, and graduated from high-school, and got accepted into a prestigious college. Then, life came back around, and finally succeeded in taking my adopted family, leaving me nowhere to go but to the streets where I traveled over the world. I learned the ways of survival, while meeting several interesting people.

I snorted to myself at the memory, ignoring the shocked look I got from the middle class couple passing me, smothered by their faux fur coats.

It would seem that every person has in them, the little thing called homesickness, getting worse over time. And it had lain dormant until a month ago.

I had been sitting in my little hut on the outskirts of some big city in France, watching the rain drip though the holes in the tin roof, munching on day old bread, when my heart suddenly squeezed until I couldn’t breath.

Instead of panicking, I had waited until it passed. I had known what this was, hearing tales around campfires as old men told stories of their friends who had gotten the same thing.

It was time to go home.

So, I gathered some money (legally and illegally), found someone who would take me to the docks, and hopped on a ship that took me to Hawaii, where I spent some time gathering more money, before getting on a plane that brought me here. The plane that brought me home to Gotham.

A couple of minutes later, I was near the heart of the city, and started seeking out a pay phone to call someone I had not talked to in almost five years.

I must have let my mind wander, something that wasn’t smart in the streets of Gotham, because the next thing I knew, I was being grabbed by the shoulders as someone ran past and shoving me into the path of the pursuer.

“Stop, you bloody thief!” the man cried, not slowing down, but able to jump over and around me just in time. “Watch it, woman!” he growled before taking off again, the thief cutting through the crowds easily.

Sighing, I picked myself up, dusted my bottom off, and continued walking, all with nobody stopping to ask if I was all right.

This was Gotham all right. Home of the selfish, rude and just plain crazy.

And this is what I was homesick for? I must be crazy.  I thought to myself, shaking my head. I had to smile though. There was a reason I called this place home, though. Not just because of the places or people, but because of the hidden hope that lay in some peoples eyes. Hope that many people didn’t have, or didn’t want to have, in case they were let down."

It is a sure sign that summer has come and gone, and winter has come a callin' when the hoodie comes out of the closet.

And when I start writing more than usual. Which is pretty bad, because school this year is keeping me insanely busy, and the only time I am able to write is a night. Funny how that works...

-Megan