I’m backed into the damned corner. Again. Not a physical corner formed by the union of two solid walls. The place in my mind, it’s a black dusty mine that waits for a gap in my happiness so I might fall into it. Haplessly, I do arms around my knees and head tucked in. My sooty lungs press hard against rib cages not built to take the rpm of my beating heart.
I am not nice. I do not belong the name “Mia”. I am not the scarred brown skin that thinly veils my continued existence. I am not the tentative smile centered by two brown eyes.
I am a dark night dappled in stars, covered in howling wind and cold rain like hard fingers.
Sometimes I am the words I read, the shows I watch, a part of a far flung community of inside jokes.
Mostly though, i am the banshee heralding my own demise. That wretched woman who screams and screams that falls on deaf ears of the living. The things she knows about the all things she does not, insanity. Wailing wailing waling, unnoticed by passersby caught up in their own affairs.
i … i am lost among people who love me. i, who know not how to pull off the leaches that suck the light out of me, surely do not deserve that warmth nor can carry that weight of it.
There is a silent horror that lives behind the eyes of the tortured, i’ve come to know. It’s masked by a habitual tiredness.
The following is a snip from a short story I’m working on right now. I love it when kids are like best friends with their parents, usually I find that those cross out the unnecessary drama that depict cliched relationships. What do you think?
I slouched on the bean bag, my dress in a mess. I never slouch. I’m the chick that preaches “thou shalt not slouch” and I’m in a state where I don’t give two ducks, or geese which are actually more nasty.
“Look dad, this is going to sound all poetic and dangerously cheesy but here it is: when love is the religion, trust is king and truth is queen – or whatever – and together they make it work. You do want it to work, don’t you?”
He looked up at the ceiling, lips pursed. Then he smirked, looking a bit evil with eyes red and puffy from crying.
Here’s my offering for this week’s Picture it and Write! photo prompts hosted by Ermilia Blog. I must admit this was was a half hearted attempt but I would truly appreciate your thoughts. Cheers!
Another day has caught up with me. The night giving way to the morning, but not without a struggle, for I sensed the rain before I heard it pelting on the cold zinc roof. The chaotic many-tiny-fisted pounding echoed with the way I’ve took a habit of feeling these days. What am I doing staying up, reading books that only feed imagination? At this point Percy Jackson is having a ball finding his path on his way of becoming a hero. In what way was that helpful? When see people my age getting jobs and slowly becoming adults, it prods an uneasy spot in me that gives way to hopeless panic.
I can follow up on the AL biology texts I’d thrown in a corner. But it’s not like I get into that field. I haven’t a clue in which way direction to stumble towards. The wind howled past me, sending the closed window to my right into a fit of nervous shuddering. I fancy it was trying to make up its mind too, hearing my mental distress and was attempting to choose a proper cardinal point.
If I was honest with myself I would admit that I knew exactly what I wanted but I find that my sense of duty a somewhat reluctant obstacle. I mean, it’s not like I could pack up and go exploring. I’m almost broke and living with my aunt and her husband to whom both I already owe a lot.
I should probably find a profession that involves traveling and learning. Archeology was shot down pretty gently and I’m quite embarrassed for myself for submitting to that conclusion they’d drawn up so confidently; my “Indiana Jones” phase. There’s this restlessness inside me that stirs at the glimpse of the churning sea, or at the uneven horizon of mist shrouded mountain tops, the drifting scent of fresh dew and the far cry of a high flying bird.
Aunt Em says that I am pining for my parents. That I want to somehow go out in the big yonder in search for a long gone trail. How do I explain to her that I gave up on them? Continue reading “Strangers on my wall”→
Here I am, with a glaring gap of prompts eyeing me. Here you are, probably unawares of the fact up to the point I gave myself away. Why do I mention this every time? A bit guilty perhaps. But that’s fine. Here’s mine in fifty words!
Okay, so I know we don’t usually do creative writing – in the form of shot stories – around here but it’s good be eclectic. Today’s piece is probably the briefest one so far and designed in mind to make you smile, or so I hope 🙂
Little Johnathon Rhodes was a dying slow death in the painfully long line to the Ferris Wheel right beside his mum. There was a smelly old man behind them who looked like he crawled out of Mr. Humphrey’s dumpster. Not a comforting thought in these troubling times. He tugged at his mum’s skirt in panic. He was going to explode. Any. Minute. Now.
She turned around and peered down. Frustration etched in her wrinkles, tired white flags of a battle lost. “What is it?”
He could not speak. If he did the dam would break. Shifting uneasily from right to left, he held…
It was so cold Lori could feel the bones in her little body go slowly numb. She hugged herself tightly but it did nothing to ward off the nibbling shards of winter wind. But it was still pretty. Yes. Remember the good things her daddy said when things feel bad. But it was more than bad this time and didn’t think there was anything good enough in the world that could heal the hurt inside her. But she let the delicate lattice of the snowflakes, her most favourite thing, distract her from a fact she had to face. Lori hung on to the moment as long as she could, letting the tears from the sky land gracefully on her upturned face and feather chilly kisses in mock comfort. Painfully, she lowered herself to the unyielding ground to the truth.
She was there for who knows how long, it was at dawn when the baker opened his door to find the milkman still standing on the steps, limp hands hung at his sides and together they looked on helplessly at the opposite side of the narrow street Continue reading “Out in the cold”→
This is my piece for this week’s Picture it and write! entry. I wanted to write fiction on the following themes for a long time this prompt gave me an opening. It has a lot of teenage sentiments thrown in and a couple of names girls would throw around. In other words, it has a few swears in here. No F-bombs, be assured, and also one R rated scene. Be warned.
One more year. It was a chant at the back of my head that kept me moving along to the motions of the living for the past two years. High school takes a toll on everybody and it was killing me like slow poison. Labels, labels, labels. The hate was a stale perfume in the air but it gets intense when the rival cliques pass each other in the hall or the cafeteria. Jerk jocks, hulking around like they were God’s gift to us fawning women. I’d really like to think about the good parts of these people but they prove me wrong. Just one more year. Twelve months and twenty days, fourteen hours, twenty five minutes and 30 seconds, give or take a few, and counting.
I have two best friends, both of whom were guys, and as time crawled on I learned it wasn’t something that was very common these days unless you were a tomboy which I suppose I was but not in the strictest sense, or if you were gay. The other kids call me names I don’t care for, Don and Patch were just friends. We would all laugh about it at the end of the day, it’s something you learn to live with and it’s not that hard once you know yourself but I came a long way from the insecure girl I once was, the world was way scarier then.
I was in the locker room washing off from tennis practice. I stepped out of the shower and reached for my towel. I wasn’t alone as I thought I was. I hurried up and dried off, not wanting anyone to see my nakedness and make use of some snarky comment they no doubt practiced a hundred times in their little heads. I grabbed my things but my glasses were clouding up with the steam and by the time I got them reasonably clear I realized I was heading in the wrong direction.