Sunday, May 10, 2009
Final Short Story: Can You Keep a Secret
The room is dark; the light bothers his eyes. The television is off; the racket gives him a headache. Tubes hang down beside the bed connected to the man I once knew as my father. He and I are the only ones who know his secret. None of my brothers or my sisters know, just me his youngest son Anthony. The last one to always find out some kind of news. For once I wish that were the case.
Honestly, I wish I didn’t know. Even more so I want it to not be true, but I know it is. I would have never believed it if I hadn't seen my old man’s tears when that priest came to see him. Now I’m left to carry the burden my father has carried his entire life.
For what? So my sisters and brothers can live their lives in peace instead of hate? I want to scream it out at the top of my lungs. Scream out what we really are. It’s like vomit creeping up my throat; every word is trying to make its way out. But I fight the urge with all my will. My father is dying and as angry as I am with him, that doesn’t mean I’ll stop loving him.
My father is leaving me alone with this plague upon my life. If only I would have never peeked through that door.
If only...
*****************************************
Death feels like waiting for a phone call. It never comes when you expect it. I thought my day to die was two weeks ago, but I guess I was wrong. Today…today could definitely be that day; the phone call I’ve been expecting.
I look skeleton like; I haven’t eaten. I’m tired. The only thing I’m going to miss are my kids and these joints. I never thought I’d see the day when pot was considered medical treatment. God bless America.
My kids are the best. They’re smart, good-looking, kind and healthy, thank goodness. What more can a man ask for? I loved the same woman for 46 years and still do, God rest her soul. I have a family, I’ve traveled around the world, and through it all truly have no regrets. But still, as I smoke this weed, my mind keeps wondering about things I haven't thought about in years. Like my parents and my brothers and sisters.
Actually… I do have one regret. Running away from home leaving my bothers and sisters behind in that hell whole I once knew of as home. But time has revealed that everything has a price and I learned all of it the hard way.
“Hey, dad, the priest is here. Can I let him in,” said Anthony, the youngest of my sons.
“Sure, son. I’m ready.”
I knew that I wanted to do this; finally make my peace with God and hope for His mercy and forgiveness. I’m ready to confess the secret that I've hidden for the last 46 years of my life. This is the only chance I have to get this off my chest. And of all people, to a man who’s vowed to never tell a soul, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
He was tall and skinny with a crooked nose. But he wasn't bad looking. Actually, he looked a lot like Paul Newman; well an old Paul Newman that is. His voice was calm, even as he said, “Hello, my son.”
“Hello, Father.” He stood near the door and slowly walked toward me. He stopped at the foot of my bed and sat on the edge as if we were old pals getting ready for an afternoon chat.
You could tell he was kind as he went on talking about God’s path and how a man of God has no need to fear death. He finished by telling me my life will continue through hearts and souls of my children. Out of all the priest’s bullshit that was the one thing I agree with.
I wasn’t scared of dying. I was ready to be with the love of my life again. Without her, my life hasn’t been the same. My kids are the best accomplishment I could have ever wished for. But this man still has yet to hear what I’ve done all those years ago. Will he tell me I can still go to heaven or will he think I’m an abomination on the church? Or could he have enough love in his heart to understand the choices we make when we, as humans fall in love?
“Father… can I tell you something before I die?”
He looked at me surprised by my urgency, almost pleased to know that I wasn't squeaky clean. Oh those priests. You got to love them, besides God, of course. I’ve come to find they love two things: hearing sins and forgiving them.
“Of course, my son. Go on ahead and tell me. Clear you’re conscience of any wrong doing,” he said.
Damn... talk about words of encouragement to spill out my deepest, darkest secret from the depths of my soul. It felt so easy three minutes ago. I was so ready to let it all flow out of me. Now the only thing I feel are my guts twisting in knots.
Where is that joint I was smoking? I badly need another hit!
For the pain of course. I forgot the priest was still in the room, he was looking right at me and here I was high as a kite.
“Here I go,” I kept whispering to myself over and over softly.
How the hell do you start a conversation with someone, especially a priest, about incest?
In the midst of all this thinking, words finally spilled out of my mouth like marsh mellows in a game of chubby bunny.
“I married my sister.”
It was over; I finally said it and I felt relieved. But from what, I had no idea? Nothing had changed, but for the first time I was honest about everything. And I felt free from the chains of society and all the guilt that has trudged along with me. But it was the price I had to pay in order to build a family with my soul mate, who just so happened to be my little sister.
The priest didn’t see this one coming and I bet he was expecting the usual. Something along the line of I slept with a dirty whore named Candy. Nope. Instead he got me; the incest case. By the looks of him, I bet he wished he wasn’t here, wished he’d never heard those four words.
“I see,” said the priest.
No judgment, no hate or disgust came from his heart, just the understanding and pity in his eyes.
“How did this come about, my son?”
I began to remember my old home in Kansas with my three sisters, three brothers. My mom burning us kids with cigarettes when we disobeyed her orders. I still recall the smell of the gasoline outside my window from the time my father burned all our toys and books in the back yard for forgetting to clean the disks. No child was meant to live in constant fear and torment but our parents felt differently about the situation. Those sick bastards enjoyed watching us completely dominated begging for mercy.
But there were some good times like when Albert, Tom, Jim, and I use to go fishing while my sisters Maria, Beth, and Sarah would come along shrieking at the sight of the dead fish.
“It all changed when I was 17 years old,” I said to the priest. “Maria and I were inseparable as kids. We could talk for hours. We had everything in common; our taste in music, our taste in food. It was weird. Our parents use to hate our friendship. Years later when I was more of a man we grew into each other’s support system. Until one day, our fondness grew into something more. That even I was not prepared for. She would give me these long looks like she wanted more from me. I started to feel different too, as if I could not breathe if she wasn’t around. I would miss her so much even if it was just two hours.”
“Until one day, when I was 17 years old, I realized at the dinner table while eating spam again, I was in love with my sixteen year old sister. I puked spam all night. I felt so dirty and sick with myself. After all, the only person I wanted to love in this world was forbidden. I felt like a freak and a disgrace.”
“It all changed one night in December when Maria gave me her Christmas gift. She said, ‘Here is my heart. Promise you’ll never break it,’ as she handed me a tiny glass heart pin that looked almost like a snowflake.”
I just remember being confused until she kissed me and I pushed her off. She told me she knew she was in love with me. She knew it was wrong. But her heart told her it was right. I knew from that moment on my life was never going to be the same again. So after a year trying to forget our love for one another, it turned out that it was just too strong.
At 18 years old, we ran away together from home. We got married in Vegas. Maria and I knew it was wrong, according to society, for us to be together. We never saw our sisters and brothers again or even know what happened to them. Therefore, we left everything behind and came to California, lived our lives as normal people and had seven amazing kids.
Ever since her death, I can say I already know what it feels like to be dead already. My kids are the only thing I have lived for in the last few years.
I have kept this secret hidden from them so they don’t have to pay the price for my unconditional love that I had, and still have, for their mother.
*******************************************
In my father’s last breath of life he said, “ I love you kids with all my heart and soul. I have to go now your mother is waiting for me.” I knew in that moment that no matter what our parents did, they would always be our parents and that would never change. I loved them and continue too, even with this black “X” among my gene strand. This secret is not mine to keep. As my sisters and brothers sat, stood, cried among my father’s deathbed I said, “I have something to tell you all that can only be said, now that our beloved father has pasted.” As I looked into all their faces I thought of the results from my actions. Will we get in contact with our uncles and aunts? Will some of the family not be able to handle the shocking news? It didn’t matter this was not my secret to keep.
“Our parents were the happiest people I knew and they were also brother and sister,” I said.
Honestly, I wish I didn’t know. Even more so I want it to not be true, but I know it is. I would have never believed it if I hadn't seen my old man’s tears when that priest came to see him. Now I’m left to carry the burden my father has carried his entire life.
For what? So my sisters and brothers can live their lives in peace instead of hate? I want to scream it out at the top of my lungs. Scream out what we really are. It’s like vomit creeping up my throat; every word is trying to make its way out. But I fight the urge with all my will. My father is dying and as angry as I am with him, that doesn’t mean I’ll stop loving him.
My father is leaving me alone with this plague upon my life. If only I would have never peeked through that door.
If only...
*****************************************
Death feels like waiting for a phone call. It never comes when you expect it. I thought my day to die was two weeks ago, but I guess I was wrong. Today…today could definitely be that day; the phone call I’ve been expecting.
I look skeleton like; I haven’t eaten. I’m tired. The only thing I’m going to miss are my kids and these joints. I never thought I’d see the day when pot was considered medical treatment. God bless America.
My kids are the best. They’re smart, good-looking, kind and healthy, thank goodness. What more can a man ask for? I loved the same woman for 46 years and still do, God rest her soul. I have a family, I’ve traveled around the world, and through it all truly have no regrets. But still, as I smoke this weed, my mind keeps wondering about things I haven't thought about in years. Like my parents and my brothers and sisters.
Actually… I do have one regret. Running away from home leaving my bothers and sisters behind in that hell whole I once knew of as home. But time has revealed that everything has a price and I learned all of it the hard way.
“Hey, dad, the priest is here. Can I let him in,” said Anthony, the youngest of my sons.
“Sure, son. I’m ready.”
I knew that I wanted to do this; finally make my peace with God and hope for His mercy and forgiveness. I’m ready to confess the secret that I've hidden for the last 46 years of my life. This is the only chance I have to get this off my chest. And of all people, to a man who’s vowed to never tell a soul, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
He was tall and skinny with a crooked nose. But he wasn't bad looking. Actually, he looked a lot like Paul Newman; well an old Paul Newman that is. His voice was calm, even as he said, “Hello, my son.”
“Hello, Father.” He stood near the door and slowly walked toward me. He stopped at the foot of my bed and sat on the edge as if we were old pals getting ready for an afternoon chat.
You could tell he was kind as he went on talking about God’s path and how a man of God has no need to fear death. He finished by telling me my life will continue through hearts and souls of my children. Out of all the priest’s bullshit that was the one thing I agree with.
I wasn’t scared of dying. I was ready to be with the love of my life again. Without her, my life hasn’t been the same. My kids are the best accomplishment I could have ever wished for. But this man still has yet to hear what I’ve done all those years ago. Will he tell me I can still go to heaven or will he think I’m an abomination on the church? Or could he have enough love in his heart to understand the choices we make when we, as humans fall in love?
“Father… can I tell you something before I die?”
He looked at me surprised by my urgency, almost pleased to know that I wasn't squeaky clean. Oh those priests. You got to love them, besides God, of course. I’ve come to find they love two things: hearing sins and forgiving them.
“Of course, my son. Go on ahead and tell me. Clear you’re conscience of any wrong doing,” he said.
Damn... talk about words of encouragement to spill out my deepest, darkest secret from the depths of my soul. It felt so easy three minutes ago. I was so ready to let it all flow out of me. Now the only thing I feel are my guts twisting in knots.
Where is that joint I was smoking? I badly need another hit!
For the pain of course. I forgot the priest was still in the room, he was looking right at me and here I was high as a kite.
“Here I go,” I kept whispering to myself over and over softly.
How the hell do you start a conversation with someone, especially a priest, about incest?
In the midst of all this thinking, words finally spilled out of my mouth like marsh mellows in a game of chubby bunny.
“I married my sister.”
It was over; I finally said it and I felt relieved. But from what, I had no idea? Nothing had changed, but for the first time I was honest about everything. And I felt free from the chains of society and all the guilt that has trudged along with me. But it was the price I had to pay in order to build a family with my soul mate, who just so happened to be my little sister.
The priest didn’t see this one coming and I bet he was expecting the usual. Something along the line of I slept with a dirty whore named Candy. Nope. Instead he got me; the incest case. By the looks of him, I bet he wished he wasn’t here, wished he’d never heard those four words.
“I see,” said the priest.
No judgment, no hate or disgust came from his heart, just the understanding and pity in his eyes.
“How did this come about, my son?”
I began to remember my old home in Kansas with my three sisters, three brothers. My mom burning us kids with cigarettes when we disobeyed her orders. I still recall the smell of the gasoline outside my window from the time my father burned all our toys and books in the back yard for forgetting to clean the disks. No child was meant to live in constant fear and torment but our parents felt differently about the situation. Those sick bastards enjoyed watching us completely dominated begging for mercy.
But there were some good times like when Albert, Tom, Jim, and I use to go fishing while my sisters Maria, Beth, and Sarah would come along shrieking at the sight of the dead fish.
“It all changed when I was 17 years old,” I said to the priest. “Maria and I were inseparable as kids. We could talk for hours. We had everything in common; our taste in music, our taste in food. It was weird. Our parents use to hate our friendship. Years later when I was more of a man we grew into each other’s support system. Until one day, our fondness grew into something more. That even I was not prepared for. She would give me these long looks like she wanted more from me. I started to feel different too, as if I could not breathe if she wasn’t around. I would miss her so much even if it was just two hours.”
“Until one day, when I was 17 years old, I realized at the dinner table while eating spam again, I was in love with my sixteen year old sister. I puked spam all night. I felt so dirty and sick with myself. After all, the only person I wanted to love in this world was forbidden. I felt like a freak and a disgrace.”
“It all changed one night in December when Maria gave me her Christmas gift. She said, ‘Here is my heart. Promise you’ll never break it,’ as she handed me a tiny glass heart pin that looked almost like a snowflake.”
I just remember being confused until she kissed me and I pushed her off. She told me she knew she was in love with me. She knew it was wrong. But her heart told her it was right. I knew from that moment on my life was never going to be the same again. So after a year trying to forget our love for one another, it turned out that it was just too strong.
At 18 years old, we ran away together from home. We got married in Vegas. Maria and I knew it was wrong, according to society, for us to be together. We never saw our sisters and brothers again or even know what happened to them. Therefore, we left everything behind and came to California, lived our lives as normal people and had seven amazing kids.
Ever since her death, I can say I already know what it feels like to be dead already. My kids are the only thing I have lived for in the last few years.
I have kept this secret hidden from them so they don’t have to pay the price for my unconditional love that I had, and still have, for their mother.
*******************************************
In my father’s last breath of life he said, “ I love you kids with all my heart and soul. I have to go now your mother is waiting for me.” I knew in that moment that no matter what our parents did, they would always be our parents and that would never change. I loved them and continue too, even with this black “X” among my gene strand. This secret is not mine to keep. As my sisters and brothers sat, stood, cried among my father’s deathbed I said, “I have something to tell you all that can only be said, now that our beloved father has pasted.” As I looked into all their faces I thought of the results from my actions. Will we get in contact with our uncles and aunts? Will some of the family not be able to handle the shocking news? It didn’t matter this was not my secret to keep.
“Our parents were the happiest people I knew and they were also brother and sister,” I said.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
The love letter
I love you so much it hurts. No but really it hurts me too love you. When I think of you thousands of thoughts fling into my mind. Where are you? When will I be with you next? I need to get ready to see you? What about all the homework I need to do before I see you? I hate this. Its like nothing else exists in my world except you. I don’t want to change into the person I think you think I should be but it seems like when you’re in the picture I do. Its not your fault… completely its mine I should learn to control these girly emotions and learn to have self control. You should be better behaved and stop making me feel like I have to chase you to keep up. You’re always on the move but never toward my direction. I go right you go left. You only follow when I turn and run the opposite direction. I understand the concept of making the man chase you in relationships but give me a break game playing is exhausted. Aren’t you tried? I love you. You love me. What else is there to know the rest will play its self out. We might get lucky and last. Or we might not and one day we might potentially hate each others guts at the end. One thing I am certain of is that you are the person I want to give a chance to be the “one”. I know were young and things might change but I will never forget fond memories we have shared or the misery you have brought into my life. Lets see where things go and make a plan not to make a plan. I want no pressure or expectations I just want to be in the moment and stop worrying about everything else.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
The worst meal I ever had
Red Lobster looks like a really happy fun family place to eat at except it not. It’s a place of childhood fears and future childhood traumas. They try to act all sweet when you walk through the door with there “ Hi, welcome to RED LOBSTER table or booth today?” Then they sit you in that small waiting area while they get your table ready. Where only a few hard bench await you. There it is… the tank. The tank is a home for all the cute little lobsters to play in with their friends and live. Or should I say live for the time being. I remember it like it was 15 years ago. I was wearing my favorite sweater with pink poke a dots all over the sleeves. This nice young lady came over and asked if I would like to pet a lobster. I was so thrilled. It felt similar to the excitement when opening a gift on Christmas. A blinding over powering bliss illuminated through you. She told me, “Pick out a friend you would like to pet?” I looked all around the tank. All the lobsters were doing their own thing. Some were fighting amongst themselves. Others were sleeping, while some were simply not interested in meeting me. Except one. There was little lobster in the corner that was separated from all the other lobsters. I guess you could have called him the Rudolph of the group since he was half the size of some of the other lobsters. But he was looking right at me. With these little black dots for eyes. He moved towards me as if to take a better look. “He’s the one,” I yelled gleefully at the girl. He even stood still when the girl scooped him out of the tank. Like him and I were meant to met. When he submerged from the tank I knew this creature from the sea was something that had connected with me. Next thing I knew I was eating dinner with my family and my uncle said “tried this you’ll like it.” He presented me this steaming string cheese like fish covered in intoxicating butter. I tried it without questions. A moment later the pure enjoyment of taste my uncle said “ Liked it?” I nodded my head. “Good that little fellow was a special breed from Alaska, what expensive my Changa has,” said me uncle. Then it hit me like falling in a pool filed with cold water. I ate that little lobster the one I thought…
I learned that day to look beyond the obvious and to ask the serious questions like why is that little helpless lobster lying in that tank helpless unable to fight his fate?
I learned that day to look beyond the obvious and to ask the serious questions like why is that little helpless lobster lying in that tank helpless unable to fight his fate?
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Jill Tells Her Side
MOTHERFUCKER! I told him! I told him not to go so fast. Ok your probably thinking what is this crazy bitch talking about. But after the three days I’ve had…you too would be a bitch ready to claw out any ones eyes if they cross you. Let me start at the beginning my name is Jill. My boyfriend Jack and I came to Cancun, Mexico for some relaxation and fun. But instead we got hell served with our chips and salsa. Three days ago we were lying on the beach baking under the sun just like I like it. Then Jack suggested we go for a ride on one of the Jet Skies that some Mexican’s were renting. He can’t sit five minutes with me without having some other form of entertainment. He claims that he likes to do activities with me. Activities my ass! I don’t think it’s too much to ask for a little romantic quality time. But whatever this is beside the point. I didn’t argue with Jack, because after all I do love jet Skiing. So we walked over to this guy named Jesus. I think he was named after Jesus Christ. And he said “Twenty Five dollar…for ride…30 minute.” The gringos we are we paid his outrageous price to spear the confrontation of argument. We get one Jet Ski Jack is driving and I’m sitting behind him. Staring at his little neck hairs that really irate me. As I came out of my thought Jack screams over to this other couple on a Jet Ski. Until I realized it were some friends of ours Barbie and Ken. I love Ken he’s so funny he pulls the best jokes. He literally made me pee my pants once… with one of his jokes. But Barbie what a pretentious whore she gives females a bad name. Bad mouthing everyone and everything, but some how holds authority because her daddy owns his own company. As Jack and Ken finish up their conversation, I realized I spaced out for the entire thing. Jack just turns to me and says, “Ready Baby… this is going to be fun.” When I realized what had happen I was under water looking directly at a little fish that I swear resembled Nemo. Yes, my dumb ass boyfriend decided to race our friends. But we were the ones that ate shit, because Jack decided to speed up during going up a wave. Jack did a summersault over the handlebars and honestly I have no idea what happened to me. Except that it involved me hitting my arm against something cause it felt like it was ripping off from some creature pulling at it. I see Jack… he’s floating face up and all I can hear are these little moaning sounds coming from his direction. Next to the bubbles from where the Jet Ski used to be floating or should I say sinking. And Ken he’s an asshole. He and Barbie were made for each other. They left us. Oh no panic I see a repeat from the feature film Open Water made in 2003 about a couple that were accidentally left behind by their scuba diving group eaten by sharks. Not a happy ending. Please don’t let this be the sequel. We begin to float with the current taking us closer and closer to this cruise ship. I think I rather died from being chopped up to death from a propeller then from shark teeth. Until Jack and I see a boat getting closer to closer to us. Were saved no thanks to Jack, but instead by my new Mexican hero Juan Tamale a Mexican navy officer. I wish I would have realized at that moment I should have jumped back into the water and take my chances with the sharks. Instead, the Mexican Navy held me hostage for three days. I sleep in a cockroach-infested cell the size of a McDonald’s bathroom stall. I have never missed Jack so much in my life, but he was taken to his own cell with a few less roaches. Lucky bastard. So you see Mr. Cockroach I have no one else to talk too, but you here and all you relatives.
Where I'm From
I’m from a place where the wind cuts through you skin and the cold numbs the rest. Hibernation is more than six months only surfacing for food and bare necessities. I’m from the north side of town a ten-minute drive from the city. First you pass the football stadium then the History museum followed by the aquarium outlined by the white ice of Michigan Lake. Turing your head to the right you’ll see a completely different view. Your eyes wander toward the sky straining to see the tips of the towering buildings. Different smells roam the city. At one corner the smell of steam emerges from one of those hot dog stands. Leaving my mouth watering to fulfill the taste. It’s a place where people walk, talk, and eat. It’s lights shine bright at the end of the day. Only the mist can hide something so large.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
My Bloody Valentine
Bridget: I love you so much it hurts
Amanda: I know you love me. but your life can’t revolve around me.
You need to get out there are and have your own.
Bridget: Well, it doesn't matter any more because I’m going to make you hurt just as much as you hurt me. I ‘m tired of you always taking and I’m always giving and what do i have to show for it. Nothing. A girlfriend who after five still won’t commit too. But don’t worry you’ll see soon enough were mean to be together.
Amanda: What do you mean Bridget?
Bridget:Oh, please i was just joking i cant believe you fell for it. I know it wasn't funny i took it to far. Sorry its just that I’m angry and I use hateful word somethings. Sorry Puky!
Amanda: Your still acting weird.
Bridget: It because I’m moody from my period. God give me a Fucking break. I got you a gift and this is how you repay me?
Amanda: You got me a gift? That’s so sweet. Your forgiven.
Bridget: Of course its Valentine’s Day, even though its been a year since I’ve seen you due to the court order you got against me.
Amanda: Look you really get scary sometimes and I thought we were trying to be friends. You know I’m engaged to Sarah and I told you she’s my soulmate. And when she gets back from Rome in month were getting married. So either get over it or leave.
Bridget:I brought you a little treat for old times sake your favorite cheesecake.
Amanda: I shouldn't I’ve been trying to lose 5 pounds. But I do love the little chocolate mini hearts covering the entire cheesecake.
Bridget: One bite... For me?
Amanda: FIne. OH MY GOD SO GOOD!
Bridget: Wow Amanda you finished the entire cheesecake.
Amanda: It was so good!
Bridget: I know, wait about ten minutes and it gets even better.
Amanda: Bridget what did you do?
Bridget: You’ll find out soon enough.
Amanda: Bridget why can’t i move? My legs are numb and my arms. What the fuck did you put in me? Psycho!
Bridget:Now that your finally listening Puky. I love you s much it hurts. And if i can’t have you no one will. Does that sound fair? Wow you didn’t even disagree with me. So were going to be here together for awhile and don’t worry I’ve brought plenty of your medication a month’s supply. Love you Puky
Amanda: I know you love me. but your life can’t revolve around me.
You need to get out there are and have your own.
Bridget: Well, it doesn't matter any more because I’m going to make you hurt just as much as you hurt me. I ‘m tired of you always taking and I’m always giving and what do i have to show for it. Nothing. A girlfriend who after five still won’t commit too. But don’t worry you’ll see soon enough were mean to be together.
Amanda: What do you mean Bridget?
Bridget:Oh, please i was just joking i cant believe you fell for it. I know it wasn't funny i took it to far. Sorry its just that I’m angry and I use hateful word somethings. Sorry Puky!
Amanda: Your still acting weird.
Bridget: It because I’m moody from my period. God give me a Fucking break. I got you a gift and this is how you repay me?
Amanda: You got me a gift? That’s so sweet. Your forgiven.
Bridget: Of course its Valentine’s Day, even though its been a year since I’ve seen you due to the court order you got against me.
Amanda: Look you really get scary sometimes and I thought we were trying to be friends. You know I’m engaged to Sarah and I told you she’s my soulmate. And when she gets back from Rome in month were getting married. So either get over it or leave.
Bridget:I brought you a little treat for old times sake your favorite cheesecake.
Amanda: I shouldn't I’ve been trying to lose 5 pounds. But I do love the little chocolate mini hearts covering the entire cheesecake.
Bridget: One bite... For me?
Amanda: FIne. OH MY GOD SO GOOD!
Bridget: Wow Amanda you finished the entire cheesecake.
Amanda: It was so good!
Bridget: I know, wait about ten minutes and it gets even better.
Amanda: Bridget what did you do?
Bridget: You’ll find out soon enough.
Amanda: Bridget why can’t i move? My legs are numb and my arms. What the fuck did you put in me? Psycho!
Bridget:Now that your finally listening Puky. I love you s much it hurts. And if i can’t have you no one will. Does that sound fair? Wow you didn’t even disagree with me. So were going to be here together for awhile and don’t worry I’ve brought plenty of your medication a month’s supply. Love you Puky
Thursday, February 12, 2009
"Writing about Place"
Wiggling back and forth in my seat, to the extent it looks like I have some kind of disease. My heart was beating as loud as a drum drowning out all the noise. My palms were sweating as if I were supplying the ocean with water. All the while my teeth exposed from the enormous smile on my face hurting the sides of my mouth. I was home in a place I had never been. It was hot and my throat felt dry. I wanted a sip of water ever so badly. From the moment I arrived the thirst was unbearable. The sun was warm like a sweater touching my skin. The sand in my shoes was irratating. But the view was breath taking: three pyramids standing so tall for thousands of years was mind bottling. I was in awe and didn’t want to break eye contact from the biggest thing I had ever seen. It was worth all the terrible hours on plane, near death experiences in Cairo traffic, and almost being taken hostage by unlikely suitor. Who probably wanted me to marry him exchange for a few camels. As I stood in then shade near the oldest of the pyramids my neck was craned up to see blue peaking around the enormous triangle figure.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
“How to Tell a True War Story” character narrative
“Today’s a beautiful day,” said Lemon as he was walking with platoon into the wilderness. Thinking that today did not suck too much, even almost peaceful he would say. Which was a stretch since Lemon hated the mountains. The mountains to him were like quicksand sucking in the living and the dead. He was tired of death, it surround them everywhere they went. There is the constant idea of death. Never returning home and remembered as a hero of war. Then there is death itself watching your fellow soldiers next to you dieing left and right from the most horrible things imaginable. Bullets, knives, machine guns, bombs, combat all coming at you. Death has a stench that no person can ignore, but they all want too.
Lemon’s thoughts turned to his death, wondering again if his number was up like every other man here. Lemon knew like that the men around him; he would die with honor and courage, because there was no choice. The men around him were more then just his comrades they were his friends. Like Rat, without him I would be in a metal coffin flying home. Out of nowhere Lemon said, “Thanks Rat.” Rat replied, “What the fuck for?” Lemon simply turned around, smiled, and said, “For being my wingman.” Rat did not say anything and just patted Lemon on the back like a big brother would to his little brother he loved so dear.
Lemon’s thoughts turned to his death, wondering again if his number was up like every other man here. Lemon knew like that the men around him; he would die with honor and courage, because there was no choice. The men around him were more then just his comrades they were his friends. Like Rat, without him I would be in a metal coffin flying home. Out of nowhere Lemon said, “Thanks Rat.” Rat replied, “What the fuck for?” Lemon simply turned around, smiled, and said, “For being my wingman.” Rat did not say anything and just patted Lemon on the back like a big brother would to his little brother he loved so dear.
Blogs of my classmates
I really enjoyed the two blogs I read, I could relate to my classmates on another level besides academics. The first blog I looked at was http://samrocs0212.blogspot.com/ this one interested me, because this person commented on my blog and could relate to things I wrote. In addition, I read hers curious to see if we had other things in common. The second blog I looked at was http://pr3ttym3.blogspot.com/ , which I chose at random. It was interesting to read about her hopes for this class to spark her creatively, because I hope the same thing for myself as well.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Characterization
Goodbye Snow Hello Sun
There is a young woman who lives in a far away desert where it never rains and it shines all the time. Her parents took her away at an early age from the big city of Chicago. She has never had the chance to miss the snow or her once called home. From the moment she arrived in Tucson the heat was overwhelming, but at the same time intoxicating. Her story is like any other trying to make her mark on the world. She is a typical girl with hazel greens eyes and brown hair. Gina is 21 years old and a bit of a girly girl with her own qirks.
Like her love for the oldies like her girls Donna summer, the Supremes, Martha and the Vandellas, and the queen of gospel, Aretha Franklin..
Gina is the type of girl that over prepares. For instance on her 2008 Euro summer trip, Gina could not go without her entire closet. She had to be prepared for every situation; sweaters for the cold, bathing suits for the beach, extra shirts in case no washing machine, medicine for allgries, stomach pain, headaches and even cough drops for a cough. Not to mention the number of shoes. She took a suitcase that was twice her size!
Silly Gina. She didn’t take into consideration the weight difference between American airlines and European airlines when it came to baggage; which might have been a helpful to know when she was originally packing.
Needless to say she ran in to a bit of trouble. Because there were plenty of flights left for her to board, she felt that when it came time to weigh her luggage, she’d get a flight without a problem. She suddenly came to realize this wasn’t so and there after made every trip to the airport to be a living nightmare.
The memory of boarding in the London airport left a burning sting in her memory, and decided that after being there she knew what Hell is like.
As matter of fact, Hell is a woman with red hair working the scales in the airport with the look of irritation strewing in her eyes as she watched Gina approach the counter who was bright eyed and all smiles. Silently as the woman watched with bitterness and a smirk on her pasty face, she thought, bullocks, another American.
With no doubt or worry in Gina’s mind, she patiently watched the numbers rise on the scale; after all, this was not the first airport she’s been to since the beginning of her journey.
The bright eyes, the angelic smile, the calm and cool exterior she was notoriously known for, flew out the window like a bat out of hell, as the devil with greasy red hair said, “Take the ticket to the counter on your right hand side to pay your fee for exceeding the weight limit.”
As the woman began to explain the weight limit difference compared to the United States, Gina stood in silence waiting for this devilish woman to shut her tea stained yapper. Meanwhile, the friend she was traveling felt the need to yell at her to pay the fee and keep a move on.
If there is one thing Gina is known for is speaking up when she feels she’s in the right. She refused to just “keep a move on;” two hundred dollars was a lot of money! The clock was ticking, people in line were losing their patience ever so quickly, her friend seemed to get more nervous by the second, and the devil herself looked upon Gina with fire in her eyes.
With speedy hands, Gina opened her suitcase right there at the check-in line and began to rearrange everything. Jeans were thrashed and sweaters flew out of the suitcase as if they had wings. Anything heavy that could be taken out was shoved into her already stuffed backpack and duffle bag and evenly exchanged for lighter items to be put in her suitcase.
With arms full of sweaters, jackets and other pieces of clothing, she anxiously watched the scale yet again. Her skilled hands, her fast movement and determined will, saved her one hundred and thirty dollars. It mattered not that a whole line of passengers were beginning to emit steam with anger because they were losing their patience, neither did it matter that the employee who was helping her in fact hated her job and tried to make someone else’s life miserable because of her terrible choice in employment. Hell, not even public humiliation from her traveling partner could bring her down.
Everyone has a personal hell, and as most experiences there is redemption to be found. Gina was not about to give in and let some lady having a bad hair day and an English accent ruin it for her. Never. An event like that wouldn’t happen in Tucson, and she surely was not going to let it happen in London. That’s just the kind of girl she is.
There is a young woman who lives in a far away desert where it never rains and it shines all the time. Her parents took her away at an early age from the big city of Chicago. She has never had the chance to miss the snow or her once called home. From the moment she arrived in Tucson the heat was overwhelming, but at the same time intoxicating. Her story is like any other trying to make her mark on the world. She is a typical girl with hazel greens eyes and brown hair. Gina is 21 years old and a bit of a girly girl with her own qirks.
Like her love for the oldies like her girls Donna summer, the Supremes, Martha and the Vandellas, and the queen of gospel, Aretha Franklin..
Gina is the type of girl that over prepares. For instance on her 2008 Euro summer trip, Gina could not go without her entire closet. She had to be prepared for every situation; sweaters for the cold, bathing suits for the beach, extra shirts in case no washing machine, medicine for allgries, stomach pain, headaches and even cough drops for a cough. Not to mention the number of shoes. She took a suitcase that was twice her size!
Silly Gina. She didn’t take into consideration the weight difference between American airlines and European airlines when it came to baggage; which might have been a helpful to know when she was originally packing.
Needless to say she ran in to a bit of trouble. Because there were plenty of flights left for her to board, she felt that when it came time to weigh her luggage, she’d get a flight without a problem. She suddenly came to realize this wasn’t so and there after made every trip to the airport to be a living nightmare.
The memory of boarding in the London airport left a burning sting in her memory, and decided that after being there she knew what Hell is like.
As matter of fact, Hell is a woman with red hair working the scales in the airport with the look of irritation strewing in her eyes as she watched Gina approach the counter who was bright eyed and all smiles. Silently as the woman watched with bitterness and a smirk on her pasty face, she thought, bullocks, another American.
With no doubt or worry in Gina’s mind, she patiently watched the numbers rise on the scale; after all, this was not the first airport she’s been to since the beginning of her journey.
The bright eyes, the angelic smile, the calm and cool exterior she was notoriously known for, flew out the window like a bat out of hell, as the devil with greasy red hair said, “Take the ticket to the counter on your right hand side to pay your fee for exceeding the weight limit.”
As the woman began to explain the weight limit difference compared to the United States, Gina stood in silence waiting for this devilish woman to shut her tea stained yapper. Meanwhile, the friend she was traveling felt the need to yell at her to pay the fee and keep a move on.
If there is one thing Gina is known for is speaking up when she feels she’s in the right. She refused to just “keep a move on;” two hundred dollars was a lot of money! The clock was ticking, people in line were losing their patience ever so quickly, her friend seemed to get more nervous by the second, and the devil herself looked upon Gina with fire in her eyes.
With speedy hands, Gina opened her suitcase right there at the check-in line and began to rearrange everything. Jeans were thrashed and sweaters flew out of the suitcase as if they had wings. Anything heavy that could be taken out was shoved into her already stuffed backpack and duffle bag and evenly exchanged for lighter items to be put in her suitcase.
With arms full of sweaters, jackets and other pieces of clothing, she anxiously watched the scale yet again. Her skilled hands, her fast movement and determined will, saved her one hundred and thirty dollars. It mattered not that a whole line of passengers were beginning to emit steam with anger because they were losing their patience, neither did it matter that the employee who was helping her in fact hated her job and tried to make someone else’s life miserable because of her terrible choice in employment. Hell, not even public humiliation from her traveling partner could bring her down.
Everyone has a personal hell, and as most experiences there is redemption to be found. Gina was not about to give in and let some lady having a bad hair day and an English accent ruin it for her. Never. An event like that wouldn’t happen in Tucson, and she surely was not going to let it happen in London. That’s just the kind of girl she is.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
"Letter to my Friends"
Hi, everybody in case we haven't met my name in Gina Moreno. I’m a student at the University of Arizona majoring in Journalism and Spanish. I've lived in Tucson for 18 years, but I am originally from Chicago. I'll be honest I'm not a huge reader. I just recently have begun to enjoy reading. I've always been envious of people who are passionate readers. But before a few years ago you couldn’t pay me to read a book. Now I go through days I barely leave my room to eat dinner, because I’m so into my book. It’s weird going from extreme from to another. I’m glad I can finally appreciate books, because they are honestly better the movies. As a reader I hate people ruining the end of a book for me. I never skip or look at head in a book I’m reading for the complete element of surprise. When I read I have to have silence and hate reading short periods of time because I end up forgetting what I read. I prefer to read for longer periods getting more involved in the story as time goes by. I’m excited to explore my imagination in this class. It sounds easy to have imagination but it actually take time and thought. This class will give me the opportunity to become a stronger writer and that's something to look forward too.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)