I unfolded the flimsy pieces of paper that had been folded over to hide the note. I recognized the sloppy handwriting contained within.
"I only need one more word," it said, "and I need your help." There were then the words "I (love/hate) you. Please circle your choice."(more)
Whatever words the teacher had been saying were drowned out. The pencil shook in my hand as I lifted it and circled one of the words, folded it back together, and passed it back to him. What did I put? I'm not telling.(less)
I've been off heroin for almost a year. I wish I could go back. If I had the money, I'd be smoking it tomorrow. But all I can get is alcohol. I sneak out of class to walk down to the corner sore for some malt liquor. It tastes(more) like shit but it's cheap and gets me drunk. After a few months of this, I get tired of it and quit drinking. I can't stay sober, though. It's too hard. I'm taking medicine for the depression but it doesn't work anymore. I can't take more pills unless they're Vicodin's or Xanax. So I finally bought a gun and a small box of bullets. I have it buried in my sock draw fully loaded and ready to go. I'm just waiting for the day reality catches up to me so I have an excuse to pull the trigger. (less)
I dream of her every night and it always starts off the same. On the edge of a cliff a woman stands alone, looking down. Her white dress whips in the wind and rain against the dark night, clinging on to her skin, offering as much protection as a(more) drop of water in a desert.
I soon find myself slowly moving toward her, with my hand out bracing myself against the rain. Each step towards her generates an urgent feeling within my heart. As if this were my last moments with her. My heart races as fast as my feet as I approach her. The pounding of my heart drowns out the howling winds and freezing rain. She turns and looks at me.
Her gentle face seemed to calm down everything around me. As our eyes locked, time itself seemed to stop just for us. I dared not to look away, fearful that I would be pulled back to the unrelenting storm.
I tried to speak but the flood of questions and words that came to me became clogged in my throat. I finally managed to utter the word, "Hi". She slowly opened up her mouth to reply when the ground beneath us began to shake.
Before I knew it the cliff was giving way to the storm, falling into an abyss. My hands shot forward reaching out hoping to catch any part of her. Our fingers touch and I hold on with all my strength. I looked at her and her eyes told me that there was nothing needed to be said. Her fingers start to slip through mine as I desperately hold on. She falls without a word. Now I stand there waiting alone on the edge of a cliff, looking down, alone thinking of her last words. (less)
Tramping through thickets of wild mint and rogue kale, I reached the apple tree near the back fence. Weeds ringed its arthritic trunk, bends and knobs at angles that proved perfect platforms for climbing into the center to poke around for fruit. Just weeks ago, the first fruits finally(more) turned from a pucker-provoking sour to tart-sweet and crisp, peerless for pie. I pushed my head through the nearest branches, eying them up and down, but no apples.
I shaded my eyes with a flat palm, gazing skyward into the limbs above. Empty, but for slowly turning leaves mixed among those still green with late summer life.
"Babe. Where the hell are all the apples?" I shouted toward the house. He couldn't hear me over the Rolling Stones vinyl piping through the vintage amp, or, he just didn't want to hear me.
With my knee placed precariously on a knot of wood nearly piercing my skin, I reached up to pull the last shriveled and pecked pome hiding beneath a small grouping of leaves. It was pitiful. And it was all the tree had left. I huffed back to the house with it perched in the palm of my hand.
"Babe," I repeated, projecting my voice louder than Mick's as I walked through the double doors from the patio. "Babe," I said again, louder still. He looked up from his laptop and stood to walk toward the stereo. Turning the knob in front of the glowing tubes in the open-case amp, he regarded the fruit in my hand.
"You making pie?" he asked, an anticipation colored by a certain spoiled-ness revealed in the expression on his face.
"Why don't you ask your ex-wife if she's making pie? There would be no sweet ending to dinner tonight.(less)
Seeker of solitude
If for just a moment
But as the day dawns
No escape becomes apparent
From the misery of the whispers
(more) The cortle cloaked in laughter
So in the end
Even the mind offers no shelter.(less)
Yeah, I'm a pretty ambitious person.
It's not evident when you first meet me, but I aim high, sometimes too high. I have a lot of ideas and things like that.
What do I want? Well,
a lot of things.
(more) I want to be a full-time author with a comfortable lifestyle, I want to say many, many things, I want to help, I want to -
I want I want I want
I don't want to want.
The geese fly overhead, and I stare at ripples on the surface of the river, made by invisible undertows.(less)
She takes her camera into the old library and walks among its lightly dusted shelves, but the silence is too much for her, especially against the sheer number of students bowing their heads to their books.
She enters a bathroom. She is by herself now, yes, but there(more) is the fishy scent of monthly pains coming from a nearby trashcan. In less than a minute, she leaves.
A short while later, she is seated on a bench in the organizational clubhouse. The air is fresh, and the silence is bearable. There are even rectangular patches of four-o-clock sunlight decorating the floor. Now it's the loneliness that's overpowering, because everyone else has late afternoon class.
She ends up walking around the oval a couple of times, after which she crumples onto the shaded grass by the inside lane. From the ground, she spots a familar face, head also bowed to an open book yet eyes closed and barely visible behind freely hanging locks of hair. Light spills between the leaves of the tree this person leans against, sprinkling a black shirt and dark blue denims with patches of orange-yellow.
The camera goes off a few times.
She rolls onto her stomach and glances between her two friends, and she silently thanks them for the image of serenity she has finally captured.(less)
“Wow dad, awesome movie!” said the excited little boy as he ran into the living room.
Grinning and thinking to himself dad thought, “Yeah little buddy it was one of the favorites from my childhood.” He liked it because it had kids looking for treasures, pirate ships(more) and gangsters that had broken out of jail. One part in particular was a scene where one of the kids met an “unlikely hero” and it opens with a giant making guttural, animal sounds as he tries to get to the food that his asshole brother left just out of reach. This always scared the boy and his father knew it. Upon said scene starting up, he chuckles when the boy runs to his usual hiding spot behind the recliner.
Asking with mock concern dad asks, “What are you hiding from boy, are you still scared of this scene?”
Replying in a small voice his son says, “No daddy I’m hiding from invisible monsters.”
Chuckling, his father raises a blue jean clad leg and rips an impressive butt cheek flapping fart.
Cry’s of “Gross and Ewww” sound from the son’s hiding place.
Laughing louder his dad states, “Now son, that there is the only invisible monster you will ever need to worry about!”(less)