East Side Public Library

East Side Public Library
The Ruins of Detroit

Monday, April 4, 2011

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!

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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!

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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. 

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