East Side Public Library

East Side Public Library
The Ruins of Detroit

Friday, June 3, 2011


            Harmonious beats of straining wings propelled the raven forth as silent as a ghost’s whisper when the wind swayed his course in a whimsical fashion. Soaring high above the trees there was an aura of beauty as a rainbow captivated the sky giving the monochromes bird a grotesque appearance against the dreamer’s paradise. Ah, America. The raven felt like the perfect addition to the peaceful landscape; captivating. Into the distance he soared above the great plains of the bright summer day as the rainbow drifted into nothing. The adventurous raven dared to catch it before it vanished. The surge of emotion gripped the raven’s heart as the colors faded. “Exquisite, evasive, extraordinary” sung through his skull as fatigue sent him to rest in a tree and proclaim this beautiful evanescence in solitude.


            “It’s wretched hot in these ghastly bloomers and quite honestly those stuck up prats don’t need their precious water at this time, they’re too lazy to get off their white rumps anyway!” She peered left, glanced right and came to the content conclusion that all was clear. She slipped off her over-dress and wriggled out of the thick under garments.
            The sun reflected off the water in such an inviting fashion. The earth was smoldering under the unforgiving rays, even the little critters were too parched to chirp and click. Every organism seemed to hide in the shade, free from boiling and scorching under the safe haven of tree leaves. She viewed the surroundings, sweat glistening off of her skin. The mountains were so serene for the water made a splendid compliment. The trees loomed over the clearing of grass in a forgiving way, protecting the tiny kin from the ceaseless searing.
            She didn’t test the water but instead plummeted in bare-skinned and felt a cool refreshment rush over her, calming her skin and muscles. “Oh good god! Really, it’s dreadful cold but I reckon this is the better end of the deal.” She whispered to herself, greedily enjoying this pleasure as her masters waited for the pail of water. “Honestly, I’ve been a damn servant for years and I still have to sleep in the hay.” She untangled a strand of hay from her hair and threw it far into the distance.
            Through the trees a man stood unaware of the beautiful woman basking in the lake. He too was looking for sweet relief but not from a demanding household but a demanding nation. The prince stood in his knickers, about ready to feel the water through his thick burgundy hair. As he hung the last of his clothing on the branch he noticed the pail nestled in the lush greenery. Then, a glittering parade of ripples caught his eye, followed by the silhouette of a young woman with a seemingly perfect figure.
            Cheeks flushed he adverted his eyes, unsure of what route to take. It honestly was unbearable to view the lake and not want to take a dip in but he decided against pursuing this gorgeous maiden in such a fashion, but hell, he was the prince after all.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

A Life Changing Event

It had been in November, I was at my godmother’s wedding. It was right after taking pictures of the happy bride and groom when I checked my phone and my life changed forever. They had been my friends, my three best friends whom I had just planned a trip to Florida with without them knowing literally five minutes before they betrayed me. They had rejected my friendship, out of the blue, out of nowhere, without explanation, in a span of a few text messages. Really? Text Messages? We were juniors in high school and they didn’t have the audacity to confront me in person, they had to hide behind technology as they tore me down. “You’re not worth our friendship anymore” among with other very mean and inappropriate things were sent to me, by all three of them, all at the same time. Apparently I was a fun topic to talk about at sleepovers.
            So, there I was, at the wedding reception, bawling my eyes out just wanting some answers but, I guess I’m unworthy of that right. I’ll never know why they did it or what drove them to do it. No one really does but the next day at school was awful. They had tried their hardest to get people to hate me by telling them lies, telling them all of the fights we had. Eleven years of friendship meant jack in the end and they used everything against me to try to scrounge up enemies. This really forced me to reevaluate how I am as a friend and who really was a friend in the end. The result of this little “hate club” was devastating but necessary.
            With a void in my life it was pretty hard to even function. I was left broken with a boyfriend who became my support overnight. This automatic dependency on a boy I had been dating for only two months took a toll on our relationship. I was blind to how poor he had been treating me due to how much I needed him for a bit while I tried to regain my dignity. This event ruined a good portion of my junior year of high school because no matter what, those three would run their mouths and continue to give me reasons to loath every fiber of their being. It was impossible to come to school sometimes when I had so much anger built up so at one point I knew I was going to snap, sending fists of fury into their faces but I controlled it and thought to myself “that lack of social skills will hold them back as I move forward.”
            I had to be strong, I had to have a chin up and I learned how to just accept things and believe that life moves on. I had to embrace the concept that being nice to people who may not entirely deserves it is really good for the soul. Being nice because it feels nice is false, but being nice because it’s a yearning that needs to be fulfilled is true and that is what those three made me follow. Due to them I am more independent and nicer overall. Despite how much they influenced a terrible relationship I was in it really helped me develop as a person.
            A year and a half later it is clear to me that those three really needed to do that. I am better than that, I will move on and I strive to be the best I can be. My new friends don’t ridicule about my interests or scoff at my habits, my old but new friends have been through it all and will pick me up when I am down which is something I am not accustomed to. So really, at this point, I would like to thank those three that put me down for no reason in a text message. They showed me how much better I am than I thought I was. Now I can put one foot in front of the other and get moving to a life that I am independent in.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Assigned by a Buttface

Agatha Christie, what a gal. She’s mellow when she wants to be, hyper when she wants to be. With flowing black hair and an addiction to cottage cheese and peanut butter she is someone people find all too fond. Sure, her exotic appearance forces people to stare but most of them find her to be a beautiful young lady. Only a few years after her teens her youth is charming and inviting. I suppose you could say she is ideal; however, some characteristics hinder perfection but those are all minimal.
She loves hockey oddly enough. Get her in a hockey stadium and you’ll hear her cheer from across the rink, and whether it’s appropriate for children I’ll spoil the fun and fill you in that no, no it is not. I mean, this isn’t to say she isn’t a good role model…she is one of the most athletic people I know, running faster than anyone I’ve ever seen with an eye that can spot any high ball.
Aggie is such a daddy’s girl too. Pops is her favorite and everyone knows it, they’re always playing catch in the park and always walk together and he simply adores her. I mean, yeah, sometimes she gets out of line and he isn’t afraid to scold her but their friendship is gained soon enough. This isn’t to say Aggie doesn’t love her mama but it’s kind of clear who she prefers.
As for her sisters we get along lovely. We’re always bathing in the sun together, always hanging out, always skateboarding. Our similar intellect make us quite compatible, along with our sleeping habits of…none. We have a lot of the same facial features as well which make us quite the hoot at dinner; her eyebrows are very expressive as mine. We both even hate shopping, she’s not a prissy little thing which is quite a relief. In the winter we’re two peas in a pod, she loves the cold, I love the cold. In the spring we’re twins, she hates the cold rain, I hate the cold rain. In the summer it’s like we’re separated at birth, she loves basking, I love basking. Even in the fall we are soul mates, she loves being outside, I love being outside.
Yeah, Aggie is pretty great, a bit vulgar, totally active, a fool, and someone I really enjoy and get along with. I mean even while rooming with her she was a joy. Sometimes her half of the room was a little messy but overall she picked her stuff up and put it where it belonged. She had a simple taste like I do so really we were the perfect pair. Aggie will never have children though, not her thing really. That’s fine though, I don’t think the world could handle another Agatha Christie…spoiler alert…Aggie is my pet dog.

Thursday, May 12, 2011

Evoking Couplets

This is something I wrote to really just evoke a response. It isn't about anyone that I actually know, there wasn't even a real muse...unless you want to count Lindsay Lohan's character in "Mean Girls."

*  *  *

To walk in a row two by two
I hardly even realize that one is you.
With you hair and make-up all the same
Honestly now, I am not the one to blame.
You declare yourself unique and different,
And there is no way you are your claimed misfit.
So as you sit there and gossip and speak of pseudo-truths
Don’t you ever dare speak a word against Ruth.
Ruth is an individual and Ruth is true
And Ruth is living a life quite unlike you.
She actually cares about others and is one in a million
Unlike your plastic cut-out self manufactured by the billion.
All you ever crave is to look "cute" and "important."
Well let me tell you, your personality is dirtier than my doormat.
Look at me and sneer all you want,
But honey, mother gave me more to flaunt.
So hike down your shirt and yank up your shorts,
And I'll see you in a few years during a custody battle in court.
Call me blunt all you want, even call me brutal,
But you are the media's tiny toy poodle.
They carry you around and dress you as the intend;
You are hanging on a leash, you know, don't pretend.
I stand before you, ranting and raving,
But I can see through to the personality you're saving.
Please break free from your fake outer shell,
And honestly ask, what purpose you attempt to sell?
Exactly, there is none, you have no crowd.
So stop writing a speech for society's acceptance for they only frown.
Don't plead to good ol' mirror mirror on the wall,
Because it won't show your outer beauty but your defeat and fall
For those who shine from the inside then beyond
Have a true character and beauty most find fond.
So remember not the snicker at Ruth, a girl so quaint,
But rather think of her as Genuine’s saint.
Because you aren't so great and you're not so grand,
And despite your high GPA and "friends" you're rather quite bland.
I was once a friend when convenient but now just a burden,
But hell, your real "friends" go on and herd 'em;
Because they, like you, are just sheep in life,
And I'd be ashamed if I was a man and you were my wife.
I know that you would lack care and compassion
For being plastic is your favorite past-time interaction.
And I ask you one more time to not be what you act like, scum,
But instead defy the plastic and be real from toe to mind to thumb.
Once you do that you won't be filed in a line.
Then after that you and I can be friends and be kind.

Friday, April 29, 2011

Minisode Two

     Quite honestly she saw him as too good to be true. They were surrounded by a crowd of flirtatious singles, nervous new couples, and old friends. He had held the door, helped take her jacket off, and even pulled the chair out for her. As the crowd bustled around them there was a subtle shell of calmness that kept the conversation light but intimate. He was interested in Olivia and she began searching for reasons to see a flash of white. The defiant jaw line emphasized his straight teeth and charming dimples.
     "Oh but really now, a girl like you, slaving away behind a mountain of gloriously wasted paper and terrible writing? Seems like you could be well on your way by now, somewhere bigger and better. What is it that you want to do anyway? You keep dancing around the topic."
     "The things that I want to do and the things that I will do are so far from each other it doesn't really matter. We'll just go with the idea that I'll forever be dealing with the minuscule and tedious task of accounting."
     "There you go again, what the hell do you want to do? Why settle for less?" His fingertips were less than an inch from her folded hands. She could feel the heat radiating off of his body as she noted his chivalrous behavior.
     "If I could I would just get out of this place. I want to really hold all of the accounts of those high-end snobs that blow their money on 'fine art' because really, who doesn't want a large wall-sized painting of three colored lines for $68,000? Sometimes I cannot understand art. I'd really only use that as an excuse to go out and travel, wasting oodles of money that they would never notice gone." There was a sliver of teeth and a deep chuckle as Connor Rouge's eyes burned deep. Connor Rouge, a gentleman. Connor Rouge who had graduated from college two years prior. "Well, what about you Mr. Mysterious? Why are you still in this town? I don't see you starving your social life by hitting the books every day and night."
     There was an odd air suddenly where the shield of serenity faded, his smile faltered in a moment, and for a second Olivia's attention was focused on the crowd. The magic came back as quickly as it left and the meeting carried through the night.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Zachary Joel ButtFace

     Zach is really mean. You think he is one of those characters who is genuine and who really cares about you and who really is into what you write and all that jazz but NO! Zachary Joel Butzlaff is the spawn of SATAN. He is Lucifer's child, his beloved. The fallen angel took someone under his wing, his dark, black, soulless wing and converted him into a gremlin of hate.
     If you were to cut open one of his arteries there wouldn't be blood, no, just a poisonous spew that can melt the flesh off of any normal human being. His teeth aren't normal teeth either, they inject the spew into his victims, paralyzing them for a slow decay that manifests from the inside out. He lures his prey in by whispers of sweet nothings, taunting of the dreams and aspirations of those around him.
     He does, in fact, have horns as well. They are hidden of course, under a large cap that acts as a skull, enlarging his head tenfold. His eyeballs are those like Medusa's, one quick glance from him (only when he wishes) and you're as frozen as Antarctica’s ice cream. It's not as pleasant though, you don't taste like sweets and goodies, you're a stone bro, a stone.
     His hair? Completely and utterly course and wiry, one touch of that and you'll be bleeding out two pints of crimson faster than you can say "ow," so...basically, he's like a porcupine. His hands are cold, freezing to be exact, like liquid nitrogen. He could touch you with one of those bad boys and you won't know what hit you till you found fragments of collagen and other skin-related tissues.
     Mr. Butzlaff even has deadly snot. Watch out for that sneeze, it will project vile liquid that is notorious for blinding thousands by the nanosecond. Sure, it's green and looks friendly like the leaves of the tree but HELL NO! That stuff can evaporate any hopes and dreams of watching your baby girl walk down the isle. Yeah, think about it. Just because he had a tickle in his nose you can't see your daughter get married. Talk about inconsiderate.
     Don't even get me started on all of his other bodily functions. Take a side step from those sweat glands as well. Ever wondered what someone would look like covered in blood blisters? I haven't but if you're a sick freak and think about that, wonder no further, he can make it happen. It's like the water from his body is at a boiling degree and can burn your skin so severely the blood rises in protest. Sorry, but, ew. Way to go Zach, way to not wear deodorant to clog up those pores. Now dear Aunt Sally has to worry about blood blisters at her next high school reunion.
     What about after his meal? Sometimes you really just have to see a man about a wallaby. In this case, don't enter that toilet chamber anytime soon for the smell of
that raunchy business would don you incapable of moving, swelling up the joints. Yup, paralytic sniff. Talk about that for a lovely treat, walking in to do your thing and suddenly can't move with your drawers at your ankles. What a way to go, sorry Grandma. So then comes the fun part, what really made that stank so deadly?
     I'll give you the answer, his diet, or dare I say...a lack there of. Zach has a habit of eating whatever, wherever, and however. You're trapped in a room with him? Sorry bud, cannibalism is a nice way to kick start a whole meal, you're just a squirming appetizer. Now, the good stuff comes from the land of Oz, Toto? Oh man, he wasn't just in Kansas but on a fast track to a stomach filled of insane gastric juices. Bye bye puppy, you've been served in a good ol' pot pie. Missing a baby? Probably on a rotisserie rod and roasting over a roaring fire. Remember that kitten that you found in the park the other day? Oh yeah, he wasn't an only child. Zach has a habit of hack sawing kittens in two, they taste lovely on crackers apparently. So there you have it, a meal fit for a king (of death.)
     Let's get a few things straight though, when he was welcomed into the world, it wasn't in a bit fit of spit and flames, no, he was popped out of a woman disguised as a wrinkled wad of skin. When he made his first debut it wasn't under some girl's bed or in her closet, it was in school, amongst children. The hunter needs to understand his prey. I have the poor fortune of being one of his prey for this morning Zach was malicious against me in word. Never have I been so offended in my life but before he could start carrying out more sinister deeds I ducked and covered, barely escaping the cynical grasp of Zachary Joel ButtFace.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Villains Readers Love to Hate


     This article, written by Tess Collins on January 10, 2001, gives some tips of the trade of creating the perfect villain that readers love to hate. Simply slapping an evil trademark on some outline of a man won't really stir the emotional side of any reader. To be an antagonist takes skill! To be a well developed character is difficult! To be grayscale instead of black and white is talent! So, here we go...I will become Victor Frankentstein and create my own villain out of remains of other protagonists, antagonists, and a little bit of magic called "words."

     Connor Rouge, a highly complex fellow with a positive past but a tragic prior event that changed his life forever. Upon the surface he is a sinister male with no affection toward any female partner or anyone for that matter but deep down he has a soft side, one much like an oyster. Olivia Martin, a victim of this tale that falls helplessly in love with Connor despite his lack of humane actions. Connor disregards Olivia as another woman and goes about his merry way without a care in the world. Olivia is crushed, heartbroken, the protagonist with everything going with her and the tragic past to enhance the empathy.
     Connor, being the evil and malicious man that he is, goes around town and dates as he wish, frollicing in the fruits of the single life. Of course the reader (if this were ever a well developed story) feels awful for Olivia, what a poor girl, with a poor past, with a poor situation of being head over heels. And, well, since the reader has no idea what Connor's past is all about or even that he had a past, hates the charming young man, his smooth ways, and ease with manipulating women to fall at his feet.

     Connor is not a regular guy though, his actions are completely unpredictable and completely untrustworthy. This adds a slight bit of suspense with what Connor has to say and as the past of Connor slowly is revealed the audience begins to want to know more and want to sympathize for him but simply can't because of all the malicious things he has done to Olivia. Wonderful! A character people just love to hate...evil, sporatic, but sympathetic! The creation is ready to start to live his life, just add a jolt of electricy and we have our very own Frankenstein-ish monster.

     I think this calls for a short story...don't you?!

*  *  *

   She sat alone at a coffee table just studying. per usual, three text books stacked high on one side, planners and calendars on the other side, and notebooks in front. Typical Olivia, chugging down a quick fix of a triple espresso to quench the thirst of sleep deprivation. Hardly has she ever noticed the characters around her, even the usuals like the woman adorned in kitten sweaters, the two hipster teens in love, or even the shy man in the corner with darting eyes. Today was no other; it wasn't particularly bright, not stormy, not even a day of great importance on the calendar. Far into a discussion analysis Olivia paused for a moment and signed her name in the corner, Olivia Martin, oh what a basic name she thought. Just as she was about to dive into another few paragraphs a cup of coffee was placed in the only empty spot on the tiny table nearly a half inch away from the precious essay. Startled she looked up to see a handsome man, a few years older, smiling down. "Thought you could use a lift." Without looking back he just strolled on out.
     There was a number on the side of the cup and Olivia smiled to herself at the horrible invitation for a conversation. Regardless she drank the pick-up thankfully and continued with her studies but found herself looking at the number scrawled on there time and time again. Just as she was about to take her things and leave she hastily decided to write the number on the top of her folder. She thought about the man on her walk back to her apartment. He had on a simple black tee shirt, no logos, jeans that were a little frayed on the bottom. She remembered vividly light brown hair, maybe blonde in the summer time and a few freckles. His eyes didn't really sparkle, they seemed to burn like little gold orbs under a wise temple.

Okay, I think it's time we pause here. AH! Can you say "mini-series?"

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Imagine Me and You

Again, this is within the same task given a title that we have to roll with (see "Feels Like Home" and "The Perks of Being a Wallflower).

*  *  *

Imagine Me and You
            “Imagine me and you running outside naked.” Swig. The liquid slammed the side of the bottle as the neck hit her lips and the spirits hit her head. I let out an intoxicated giggle as I pictured two inebriated teens gallivanting around the block. Dear Captain Morgan was passed my way.
            “Imagine me and you riding on the back of a dinosaur.” Lift, tip, chug. The rusty colored liquid rushed down my throat, stinging my eyes but warming my body. I sat the bottle down and laughed at my own thought. Criss-crossed she sat, or more so swayed, a light-headed buzz overtook my thoughts as I looked her way.
            “Imagine me and you in ten years.” She said this with a slight sadness the liquor couldn’t hide.
            “Best friends as we’ve always been” This was our last night together before we head out separate ways.
            She was so beautiful, even with her hair in a state of disaster but her eyes never ceased to shimmer, even in the dim lighting of my basement, the same basement where we met for “Little Meg” had the chicken pox and poor “Billy Willy” hadn’t gotten them yet.
            Eleven hours and forty-seven minutes was too far of a distance to let the night slip away into many others. The bottle was pushed aside, by her or me I can’t recall, such a blur. Soft skin, smooth lips, and a rush of blood to the head…a chance finally grasped.

Now, I know this can be better but again, just a writing task. If I really wanted to improve it I would change probably some sentence structures to make it fit better. Meh, it still got the job done in the end!

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

The Perks of Being a Wallflower

This was a short writing task where we were able to chose from a list of titles of songs, books, movies, etc. "Feels Like Home" (from An Introduction: The Sequel) was from the same writing task. Enjoy

*  *  *
The Perks of Being a Wallflower
            “Gabrielle, my dear! Oh how that sun blesses your skin so! Oft have those ringlets graced those flushed cheeks and today it is no less divine!”
            There were no butterflies, no dizzy head, and no ache of desire. Ah, the perks of being a wallflower. Gabrielle sat in the light autumn breeze, basking in the clearing of trees with a suitor. She looked into the distance, beyond the leaves, past the ravine, through the everglades and gazed into the ever ebbing sea of thoughts and twisted emotions, perhaps a lack there of.
            No emotions gripped her heart as she softly heard there woos of her future husband. “Oh Gabrielle, whose amber eyes are so pure…” The simplicity of that statement stirred a complexity in her mind. She was reminded of her dear friend, Miss Olivia, whose heart swayed like the trees, whose love flowed in her veins life the ravine, and whose affair has become as complex as the everglades’ ever-changing bristles.
            Miss Olivia was not pure. As day lit up the perfect expressions and serenity of a charming woman, the night shadowed the actions of a forbidden mingle. Oft her heart beat for another and oft were her cheeks streaming with salty tears, flowing freely of a distressed girl, tied into a tangle web of a lover.
            Ah, the perks of being a beautiful wallflower. Gabrielle found her hand being clasped by a gentleman in the changing season. Not a care in the world as a necklace was placed around her neck and a locket perched on her bosom, one that complimented her corset ever so slightly. Forever shall Gabrielle be a wallflower.

Monday, April 4, 2011

Cigarette Dispenser

This was an assignment where we were allowed to pick an object from a show and write about it. In an episode of some "junk" show there were two cigarette dispensers and this is what came of it.

*   *   *

     She brushed a curl out of her hair as she pranced her way onto the floor. The smell of lipstick clung to her nose, unfamiliar to her just like the fake eyelashes interfering ever so slightly with her peripheral vision. She was quickly whisked away, hand in hand and another on her hip, and a lit up smile that could outshine the sun spread across her face. The beat of the drums crashed through her body, the big band trumpets gave a chill up her spine and the sultry sound of those saxophones put her hairs on end. This is exactly why she crept out at night. This is exactly why she risked it all for a few nights of freedom to just dance the night away.
     The smokey room was dense with laughter, a noise never heard above ground. Ciggy’s were seen in the clasps of  every hand and the gin mill was overflowing with hooch and it was evident that the spirits were indeed flying, in more ways than one. Couple’s weren’t closing bank’s and they were sure cashing in for underground no one had to snub their crushes. This sure wasn’t the only juice joint around, they were being busted left and right but this was definitely the best kept secret. Rita knew that the man she ran into wasn’t any ole’ drugstore cowboy looking for some dolled up dame, he was a real classy guy who looked quite darb and looked like he was going places, the big cheese.
     The first number was over and Rita bid farewell to her first dancing partner and strolled across the floor over to the bar where some bell bottoms stood, looking fine in their uniforms. She wasn’t a bug-eyed Betty but it was the first night on the job, all she cared about was the dance. Rita made her way around the men and moved to the side of the bar where a cigarette dispenser stood, it was something never really seen apart from these hidden speakeasies and she had a craving to blend in with the crowd. 
     Her heels clicked against the wooden floor but it couldn’t be heard above all the chatter, everyone was beating their gums. As she approached the machine she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning around there was a man smiling at her, a keen fella with probably enough dough to be a sugar-daddy. 
     “Hey there little lady, mind if I take the tab on that hope chest?” She stepped aside and made room for the man to reach over and slide some coins through the slot, push the button and lean over to grab the pack of cigarettes. She could smell the fragarance of spirits and pricy  cologne as he brushed by but it was a faint smell, easily over powered by all of the other smells in the small dingy parlour.
     With an underlying charm he handed her the pack and eyed her up. She wasn’t too interested in any one night stand, she was offered a job as a dancer to ring in more customers and sell more bootleg, not to have a fling and forever have the reputation of being a dumb Dora. Women weren’t supposed to act like her, they weren’t supposed to have colored lips, short hair, and even shorter dresses. It was in the house they belonged, good religious mothers forever bound by society’s want and need of regulators as the men go drink their troubles away. Rita wouldn’t have that, she escapes the invisible shakles of that thought and is breaking the rules, cursing prohibition indirectly and defying everyone’s thought of “Good Rita.”
     She looked at the pack of cigarettes and smiled, not taking them though but led him to the bar with smoldering eyes. This was the true test though, she knew she could make him buy some hooch, she knew she had the curves to tempt any man to do any bidding and this was exactly what she was hired for.

An Introduction: The Sequel

Upon further review I guess I really should add some tidbits about my actual writing style instead of just saying "Hey, read it and figure it out for yourself kid."
So here goes some examples!

*  *  *
Three shoes. Three shoes are the sole items I can see. Three shoes are the sole items I can bare to see. Three shoes within a five foot radius that my eyes stay within. Two were his, one was hers. He had laces, laces I taught him to tie, laces whose ends were frayed, whose frayed ends were held in his hands, those tiny hands, those tiny hands that once held my hand. Hers were Velcro. I’d never get the chance to teach her how to tie the frayed ends. Hers were red, she loved red, her eyes would brighten at the sight of red, those gorgeous eyes that would once look up to me in wonder. There was a siren in the distance, smudged lights in the corners of my eyes, something wet rolling down my face and a pain in my heart greater than the force of impact that took my angels.

Sorry that wasn't exactly the happiest story on the face of the planet but I love writing fiction. Every nonfiction assignment I get I will turn into a fictional story...well at least in my head. Another example!

*  *  *
Feels Like Home
Unfamiliarity. Charred carpet. Soot, ashes, dust. It was all too quick, all too much, all too unexpected. There was no threshold, no welcoming, just the smell of stale embers. Step after step and crunch after crunch. Broken glass had scattered the floor, a melted chair sat in the corner. The worn marks had vanished, the broken and split seams had disappeared and the indent of generation in the cushion had slipped away into nothing. A moment of eyes closed brought a lifetime of tears shed. The cane's aid was dampened by a soft layer of filth and by an even softer sob. Children, grandchildren, and those from before, all was lost in an instant of flames, all but the feeling of home.

Again, sorry that wasn't happy. I do write happier things! Trust me! Those two short stories are ones that I personally enjoyed writing...as odd as it sounds. Sad song on loop? Check. Dull and dim lighting? Check. Lack of contact with the human race? Check. I feel like Henry David Thoreau listening to the lovesick song of a morning dove when I'm cooped up and on a mission. However, if there is one person who has mastered the art of bringing a reader to tears it is my sister. Miss Malynda Mae once read me a short story and literally brought me to tears. I have much to learn and she's had years of practice but that is definitely a feat that I want to accomplish, complete emotional control via text. Well, hello aspirations, meet your doom. 

Sunday, April 3, 2011

An Introductory of Sorts

Oh! Ohey there! Didn't see you there.
So, I'm not really sure what to expect any more than you do. I can't really predict how I will write or what I will write about so let's just wing it. Let's start with "Getting to know Alex Jackson."
1. I've been skiing since I was 6...yup, wittle Awex was a wee skiing machine.
2. I've been playing the cello since 4th grade and I wouldn't dare part from it now!
3. I did play drums at one point and I still practice but that is dying in me, meh, oh well.
4. I'm excited that Webster thinks "meh" is a word now.
5. Look it up if you don't believe me.
6. I swam competitively from 5th to 12th grade.
7. I've been in track since 7th grade and would love to continue it in college.
8. I'm attending UW Eau-Claire for secondary English education...aka, high school teacher, I'm a fool.
9. If not that I really want to study architecture. Mmm, look at those buttresses.
10. I'm too busy, social, and sarcastic for my own good.
11. My favorite color is yellow.
12. Favorite band? Silly of you to ask...impossible to say!
13. I eat like an overweight man who had been deprived of food for a few hours, attractive, aye?
14. I work at Spencer's Gifts at Southridge Mall as a sales associate, it is such an interesting job, no joke.
15. I have two wonderful parents that are high school sweethearts, a lovely sister who lives in Chicago, a pet snake named Baxter, and the cutest dog named Agatha Christie (Aggie for short).

Well, we'll take a break from those tidbits of information since there is other information in the convenient side bar, yesss.

Since this blog was created for a class I should probably say a few words about my actual writing. In these blogs I'll have to complete certain tasks while making it "my best writing." This first assignment was to introduce ourselves and/or how/what we'll be writing about. I'll probably dabble in a few different styles of writing because I like to just try new things...it's a blessing and a curse! Well, enjoy!