Things That I Complain About When I Wake Up In The Middle Of The Night:

it's too hot
it's too cold
it's too dark in here
it's too bright out there
it's too quiet
the neighbors are yelling
my back hurts
my feet are sore
my neck hurts
my hands hurt
my pillow is too fat
my pillow is too flat
my hair is too long
my bangs are too short
I left my watch on
I left my earrings on
I left my socks on
I left my bra on
I left the closet light on
I left the hall light on
I have to pee
I have to be up in an hour
this is the fourth time I've woken up tonight
this is the seventh time I've woken up tonight
my good dream is over
Harry Potter is over
The L Word is over
The Real L Word is stupid
girls are stupid
boys are stupid
going to work at 9am is stupid
my job is stupid
I hate opening the store
I hate closing
I hate my life
I hate my hair
I hate that I can't sleep
fuck sleep
fuck this
fuck me
fuck everything
...
I'm sorry for cursing, God
I'm just so fucking tired
please, let me fall asleep in the next five minutes
and help me to be a better person in the morning.
Amen.

Updates!

For those of you who have actually been reading this from the beginning, thank you!  For the newbies, welcome!  Let me explain a few things:

1) Almost everything on this blog is at least partially fictional.  So take everything with a grain of salt, as my mom says.  One of my good friends texted me after reading "Work" and "Camp" that the first few sentences of each had him extremely confused.  Sorry, Ben!  Since then, I have tried to tag all of my posts appropriately so that nobody else will mistake a short fictional story about a young girl during the Holocaust for a lighthearted blog entry about my real experience at a summer camp.

2) I don't really have any particular time frame for when I'll post new stuff.  Rest assured, I am always working on something, whether you see it right away or not.  Any comments or suggestions regarding how often you'd like to see something new from me would be greatly appreciated!

3) Consider yourself lucky, because this is the first time I've ever let anyone but an English teacher or classmate read any of my literary work.  Please keep that in mind, be kind, rewind, etc..

I guess that's that.  A hundred thanks to my avid readers ;]
-- Sienna

"A Poem About The Issues" - English Comp. 4/1/2011

I'm tired of waiting for
it to get better.
I'm tired of hiding my real life
so I can have a life.
I'm tired of praying
to a god
who loves me
but hates
everything
that I've "chosen" to be.
I'm tired of parents who
beg for grandchildren.
I'm tired of a society who
would take my children away
if they knew that they had
a mother like me.
Me.
Unfit Mother.
Because I like apples
instead of oranges.
Or should I say
bananas?
People don't like what they don't understand.
They don't understand me
or the deviant I've "chosen" to be.

"February 4, 2011"

I feel like

I was just on

another planet. 

The suburban streets of

my Texas town,

covered in snow look

completely different

 than normal.

 This early in the morning,

when there are no cars

on the road

and you

and your best friend

are the only ones

outside,

the only ones awake…

that’s magical. 

I truly hope

everyone

has a chance

to experience

what I have just experienced. 

The beautiful things

that God

has created

for us

often go unnoticed,

BUT

not by me,

at least not

today. 

I noticed,

and

I am thankful. 

I feel loved.

"Camp" - English Comp. 1/30/2011

            When the train finally stops, I can hardly breathe.  For once, it is not from the stench of the train car, the smell of death and human excrement that has filled my lungs for the past few days, but from something else.  Some indescribable feeling has caused my lungs to deflate and my heart to stop beating.  For a moment, I wonder if I am dying…another moment and I wonder if I care.  But when the door suddenly opens and a tall man starts barking German at everyone, I realize it was not death that took my breath away.  It was fear.  The sheer terror of not knowing where I am or what is about to happen has a grip on my heart like a vise.  As I am shoved from all directions out of the train car, the terror keeps its hold on me and pulls me forward into the cold.

            The sun seems ungodly bright and I squint to see a large metal sign up ahead.  It isn’t Polish, so I don’t know what it says, but the letters seem to spell out “fear.”  I inhale deeply, thinking that fresh air will be good after being in that hellish train.  Immediately, I cough and choke so hard that I collapse to the ground.  The air is thick with the most foul-smelling smoke.  I hear sounds from far away that almost sound like screaming.  I am about to get up from my hands and knees when the tall German man yells and kicks me hard in in the side and I go sprawling onto the hard ground, yet again.  He yells more curses that I can’t understand as I scramble to my feet.  I don’t bother brushing the dirt off, because I am already filthy.  The German man laughs at my haste in a voice that is as chilling as the air around me.  Both make me shiver violently.

            As I fall back in line with the train people, I really start to wonder where these awful people have brought us.  Before, I was too afraid to think too much about it, but as we march on through the giant gate, the curiosity consumes my mind.  It does not replace the fear, but mixes with it so they are one overwhelming emotion.  What will they do with us here in this great place that reeks of burning, rotting something and sounds like a slaughterhouse?  I can’t even begin to imagine.  Now I start to cry.  No tears leave my eyes, but a lump blocks my throat and I take tiny sobbing breaths.  We march on.

            I look to my left.  A skeleton in a prison uniform walks by with a wheelbarrow.  That can’t be right.   I look closer.  The skinniest man in the world walks by with a wheelbarrow full of…  That can’t be right.  I look again.  It is right.  I don’t want to look anymore, so I stare at my feet and try not to think about what I just saw.  I try not to think about what it means.  I try not to think about where I am or what I’m doing there.  I try not to think about how I want my mother and father.  I try not to think about where they are.  I try not to think.  I try not to feel.  I try not to cry.  Just keep marching and breathing in the sick smoke.

            Before I know it, we’ve stopped.  The wind is less harsh here, but I can hear the inhuman screaming much louder coming from the other side of this wall.  The smoke is thicker here too; I know its source is nearby.  For several minutes, my world is only the sound of screaming and the smell of burning death.  I don’t notice that the line is moving until a large man with a scarf over his face walks up close to me.  He leans in close to my face and yells.  More German.  I just look at him, wishing I had a scarf like that to block the cold and this God-awful smell.  I cough.  He reels back and hits me hard in the jaw.  I fall back against someone who quickly pushes me back up.  My head spins and I blink back tears.  I cough again, but this time I spit some blood.  The angry man grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me.  “English?”  I nod.  I know just a little, and I pray to God it is enough.  “How old are you?”  I tell him I’m fourteen.  He looks me up and down.  For half a second, something flashes in his eyes, but then the anger is back.  He shoves me to the left and says “Get in.”  That’s when I notice the door.  Another man with a scarf is inside.  He shuts the door after me and I walk on.

            I come to a room.  Some of the train people are inside, but only women and a few kids.  I think of my brother and I start to cry.  The tears cloud my vision, but I can make out the gun in my face when I hear one word: Strip.  I’m too afraid to be embarrassed.  Horrible thoughts of what’s to come fill my mind and my heart pounds louder than ever.  We walk into the next room.  A few men come in and sit us on wooden stools.  They shave off all of our hair, and now we are truly naked.  A little girl beside me whimpers when all her long pretty hair is on the floor.  Her mother shushes her and squeezes her hand.  I wish my own mother was with me to squeeze my hand.  We move into the next room.  There is only enough room for the handful of train people and me to stand up and I am reminded of the train.  A guard shuts the door hard and locks it.  The little girl starts to cry.  She calls to her mamma who is now crying too, as they embrace each other.  The others seem to be weeping with them; one old woman prays quietly to herself.

            I hear a loud hissing sound and look for the source: from the ceiling comes a waterfall of strange looking beads, which begin to emit a thick, awful smelling gas.  We all know now that this is the end for us.  I shut my eyes and take a deep breath, holding it for as long as I can.  For the first time since I lost my family, I think of them.  I think of my brother, who just could not stop crying after the Nazis took us from our home.  He didn’t even see when the guard raised his gun up to the little boy’s head.  I can hear my mother, screaming out in anguish, after my little brother was shot to death.  I think of how my father tried to control the both of them; he tried to keep them at least looking strong so that we could all be together, wherever they wanted to take us.  When they shot my brother, he held my mother so tightly to him that I thought they would both fall apart on the spot.  But my father could not control my poor mother from flinging herself onto my brother’s still bleeding body and weeping.  The look on Father’s face when they shot her told me it was the end for us.  He stood up straight and strong, but still he looked so helpless and broken.  I wish he and I had at least been taken to the same camp.  By this point, I have breathed in too much of the awful gas.  I sink to the ground.  My lights go out and all I hear is the screaming and clawing of the other train people in here with me, still trying in vain to escape.  I writhe on the ground in agony, and my entire world is screaming.  I wait for it to end.