Apr
27

A Work In Progress

You don’t actually go to heaven when you die. I hate to spoil the suprise or let you down, but you don’t.
You go to this place with nothing around but more people and an almost beige light that covers everyone. They, or rather we, aren’t actually beige, just the light. There are no clouds or gates or people with wings. There are no halos or white gowns in sight. There is no one waiting by an entryway with a big book that contains the life story of every man, woman and child on the planet. Nothing like that.
It seems sad but it’s not. Well, that is to say that it’s not sad in the same way that a Denny’s isn’t sad. That was the first thing I thought of when I got here. I felt like if I saw a claw machine and a spinning rack of pies I wouldn’t be shocked. Denny’s has a strange way of being comfortable without making you feel as though you want to stay there a while and relax. That’s how this place is: almost familiar in its comforts with a total lack of other appeal.
Everyone looks the same too. We aren’t all the same age but we all look as we remember looking on Earth. At least we guess so. There are no mirrors so we have to rely on what others see in us and how they describe those traits. I wanted to make that a game on my first day but no one would play along. I guess they already had that idea. I didn’t let that stop me though. I came up with no less than ten other games in the following five day. That’s two games a day! But still no one would play. I couldn’t figure out why until I finally upset someone with my constant line of questioning.
“We won’t play because we all hate it here!” the man said. He spit when he talked and as it turned out even though our physical bodies were gone, saliva travels with the soul. I realized that others had been here for a very long time. When I tried to figure out who had been here the longest I kept coming to the same conclusion: no one kept track. I had because I had only been here a few days but even I reluctantly stopped counting too.
I had always assumed that there would be a place like this. In Sunday school as a kid they would tell me about purgatory. It always sounded to me like Heaven’s waiting room or a halfway house between life and eternity, regardless if you went up or down when they let you out. Unfortunately it’s seeming more and more like a destination. Maybe we here are the adequate ones. The C students. The high school diploma people. Maybe we never killed anyone but we did have a lot of premartial sex. I know I did. Regardless, we are all here for an unknown length of time and none of us know what happens next.
We also don’t know how we got here. I can’t remember how I came to this place. The few people who have exploded at me out of contempt or confusion admitted not knowing how they had arrived here either. I know it isn’t really that important a fact to understand but my curiosity came here with me and it seems to be my only constant compainion. I’ve been trying for the last few day to make friends with one of the younger guys. I noticed him on my first day and I’ve been following him ever since, but he doesn’t know it. I’ve been keeping my distance but I’ll talk to him eventually. Maybe then I’ll have another companion. I remember when I first saw him. Our eyes didn’t meet but I felt – I knew – I needed to get closer to him. Maybe not out of any romantic feelings but rather out of survival. I’m going to need friends, I recall thinking, if I’m going to make it here for any amount of time. That, and…well, he was very cute.
His name was Tom but everyone called him Boy. It hurts to talk about him in the past tense but that can’t be helped now. Boy was tall, six feet four if he was an inch. His shoulders were broad but his chest was flat and shapeless. His chin was so slight that from many angles it looked as though his bottom lip melted into his neck. His nose was sharply pointed but somehow looked right at home where it was. It was probably because of his eyes. The eyes were the bluest I’ve ever seen. I can’t liken the color to anything here given the lack of colors other than beige but maybe there was a blue back home…maybe.

Mar
06

Where Do Ghosts Go In The Daytime?

(Here is another little piece – not yet complete – of what was supposed to be flash fiction but since it seems that I am getting carried away I think it’ll be a short story! Please excuse the choppy prose…it’s a WIP!)

You don’t actually go to heaven when you die. I hate to spoil the suprise or let you down, but you don’t.
You go to this place with nothing around but more people and an almost beige light that covers everyone. They, or rather we, aren’t actually beige, just the light. There are no clouds or gates or people with wings. There are no halos or white gowns in sight. There is no one waiting by an entryway with a big book that contains the life story of every man, woman and child on the planet. Nothing like that.
It seems sad but it’s not. Well, that is to say that it’s not sad in the same way that a Denny’s isn’t sad. That was the first thing I thought of when I got here. I felt like if I saw a claw machine and a spinning rack of pies I wouldn’t be shocked. Denny’s has a strange way of being comfortable without making you feel as though you want to stay there a while and relax. That’s how this place is: almost familiar in its comforts with a total lack of other appeal.
Everyone looks the same too. Not that we are all the same age but we all look as we remember looking on Earth. At least we guess so. Among the nothing here are mirrors so we have to rely on what others see in us and how they describe those traits. I wanted to make that a game on my first day but no one would play along. I guess they already had that idea. I didn’t let that stop me though. I came up with no less than ten other games in the following five day. That’s two games a day! But still no one would play. I couldn’t figure out why until I finally upset someone with my constant line of questioning.
“We won’t play because we all hate it here!” the man said. He spit when he talked and as it turned out even though our physical bodies were gone, saliva travels with the soul. I realized that others had been here for a very long time. When I tried to figure out who had been here the longest I kept coming to the same conclusion: no one kept track. I had because I had only been here a few days but even I reluctantly stopped counting too.
I had always assumed that there would be a place like this. In Sunday school as a kid they would tell me about purgatory. It always sounded to me like Heaven’s waiting room or a halfway house between life and eternity, regardless if you went up or down when they let you out. Unfortunately it’s seeming more and more like a destination. Maybe we here are the adequate ones. The C students. The high school diploma people. Maybe we never killed anyone but we did have a lot of premartial sex. I know I did. Regardless, we are all here for an unknown length of time and none of us know what happens next.
We also don’t know how we got here.

Mar
01

Come and Go With Me

(This is a bit of flash fiction I wrote today…)

He watched her leave the coffeehouse with an attention to detail that, had he shown it for the six months prior, would have avoided his having to watch her leave the coffeehouse. He studied her intently, waiting for her to falter and turn. At the very least she was going to pause and take a ragged breath before getting into her car and driving off. But she did none of this. Emily Campo strolled confidently to her car and slipped in. She turned the motor and put the car in gear. Even as she backed up and rolled parallel to the window Jon was sitting at, looking like an eager puppy in a pet store, she kept a laser focus on the road ahead, something Jon just was not capable of. Even if the tears weren’t welling up in his eyes his focus was much too scattered. The car quickly disappeared from sight and Jon wiped away the proof that Emily had had any effect on him. He breathed hard, got to his feet and ordered another latte.

Jon smiled as he ordered. He wasn’t flirting or even trying to make pleasantries. It was more of a defense mechanism that he had picked up in high school. The girl with the lip ring called his order and he went to the counter to pick it up. He smiled again without making eye contact. The girl spoke, but Jon didn’t hear it.

“Everything okay?” she repeated.

“Huh? Um, yeah. Yeah. Just fine.” He faked another smile and began to walk back to his table.

“Well, Mister Just Fine, I’ll be right here if you need anything.” She paused and winked without knowing it. Quickly she added, “Else! Anything else.” she said, wiping her eyes.

The fleeting notion that the girl might have been coming on to him made Jon wince. He was supposed to be heartbroken. He was supposed have feelings of loss and denial and all of the other intense reactions to having been dumped. But even at this early moment those feelings had already seemed to vanish, if they were there in the first place. He stole a sideways glance at her and began typing.

 

She was ivory skinned. Perhaps it was a trick of the florescent light but the whole of her body seemed to glow ever so lightly. Just light enough, he thought, to make her seem ethereal. The light that shone from within escaped from every pore of her body and blinded him, a feeling he never knew could be so damn enjoyable.

 

Jon stopped typing and glanced back to the girl. For a moment he wasn’t sure he was making up the words he was writing or just providing a running commentary of his thoughts for all to read. He wasn’t even sure if it mattered. She was busy pouring milk from jugs into the steel carafes they put out for customers. Her back was to him, hair pulled back in a messy and hastily gathered ponytail. He continued writing.

 

The milky sheen of her soft neck made his breath catch in his throat. He had never seen such a pure shade and struggled to liken to something – anything – he had seen before. He failed. The man was sitting as still as possible in the small cafe he had wandered into quite accidentally. He was just passing thorough, he reminded himself. He had somewhere to be in the morning and it was best he didn’t call attention to himself and start a conversation with a well meaning waitress and get thrown off schedule. Or worse. He shook his head hard to purge that thought and grabbed at the menu. He studied it vainly, not being able to resist looking up and taking in more of the woman. Just then it hit him: what if she was his waitress?

His breath caught again as he buried his face in the menu. The pictures of stacks of pancakes, sides of bacon and bowls of oatmeal blurred into one pool of brown and tan. He glanced up and saw the woman just as she had been with her back still to him. Only now she was talking to the cook through an opening that exposed the entire kitchen to the patrons. The cook pointed to the dining room, and although he couldn’t be sure, to him in particular. He threw the menu back in front of his face and counted to ten. When no one approached him he slowly lowered his fortress. His eyes darted around but couldn’t come to rest on the woman. She wasn’t where he had left her. Had she gone in the kitchen? On break? He had no idea. Someone tapped his shoulder.

 

Jon jumped. The girl let out a yelp.

“I’m so sorry!” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” She smiled. “I’m Molly.” She offered her hand.

“Jon,” he said, and shook her small hand.

“What are you writing?”

“What? Oh this? Nothing.” He was too nervous to remember to hide his nervousness. He tried to cover up the screen but Molly stopped him.

“Can I see?” Jon hesitated. “It’s okay, I’m on my break.” She could see that he wasn’t sure what to do so Molly helped him but taking the computer and turing it toward her. As she adjusted the screen she said, “So you like what you see?”

“W-w-what?”

“I mean, I noticed you looking at me. Really, I couldn’t help it. You were pretty much boring a hole though me!” She smiled and the ring in her lip caught the glare of the track lighting in the ceiling. Jon thought he flinched. “You have a nice smile.”

“Smile? Did I smile?”

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “Man, you are a jumpy one, aren’t you?” She showed a thin, sly look and began reading the words on the screen.

“Not jumpy really. Just…surprised.”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“Well, you’re sitting at my table and I don’t know you and you just called me out for staring at you and -”

“Calm down. It’s okay. We in the service industry are used to that.” She looked up. “This is good. Is it about anyone I know?”

“Well, I mean…”

“That’s what I thought.” She smiled. “It was the girl that left a little bit ago, huh?”

“Oh God no!” The volume of the statement surprised them both. Jon blushed. Molly let out a loud infectious laugh that seemed to go on just a little longer than the situation had called for.

“I know. I know. I’m just kidding. It’s about me, then?” Jon didn’t answer verbally but raised his eyebrows. “You don’t have to look so guilty.” She reached across the table to touched his arm. The feeling was much different than it had been when they shook hands. There was something more to it. Something tangible.

“Sorry. I just, I just do that a lot. You know, work people I see into stories.”

“It’s fine. I’m actually flattered. No one had ever written about me before. At least, not that I know of.” Jon smiled faintly. “So who was she?”

“Girlfriend. Well, ex, now.” Jon noticed a lack of emotion in his words, and so did Molly.

“Don’t sound so sad about it, man!” The joke cracked her up but only made Jon blush again.

“Yeah. It’s a new thing. Maybe it just hasn’t had a chance to sink in yet?”

“Was that a question you wanted me to answer?” Molly asked.

“Um, no. I guess I should probably answer that myself, shouldn’t I?”

“Probably,” she agreed. “But I can help.”

“Help?” Jon sounded skeptical.

“Yup! I can help for sure. Of course you’ll have to tell me the whole story.”

“Right…” Jon trailed off, still not sure where this was going.

“So you can tell me when you take me out tonight.”

“Take you out?”

“Yeah. Here,” she began typing on his computer. “Here’s my number and address. Now, understand, I never do this. But something is making me and I’ve learned to never distrust something you can’t put your finger on.”

“That seems a very dangerous way to live,” Jon said.

“Dangerous. Or exhilarating.” Molly hopped to her feet and winked. “I’ll see you at six.”

Jul
28

A Beginning Prompted By Mother Nature

20110728-123917.jpg

Mar
26

TCA Word Rebels – Prompt 2

Let me know what you think by commenting below!  As always, you can click on the typecast to enlarge it.

Mar
16

TCA Wordrebels Writing Prompt 1

(Just a note – I’m not exactly fond of what I have here.  It seems as though that is the majority feeling of the group, so I don’t feel so bad!  And the first draft of this was written on my SC Classic 12, but eveyone at work kept interrupting my progress to talk about the typewriter, so I had to finish it on the computer…)

—–

“Funny.  I always thought of myself as a ladies man.”

“You didn’t actually say that, did you?”

“Yeah.  Why?  Should I have not?”

“Take it from a girl, that’s about the last thing we want to hear.  You might as well have told her that you’re a player.”  She smiled, trying to lighten what she was about to say.  “You blew it.”

“Wow.  That’s honest.”  He hung his head, defeated.

“Well, would you rather me lie?  You’re in, buddy!  She loves you and you’ll have three kids and live happily-”

“Okay.  Okay.  Stop. I get it.  I never seem to say the right thing, do I?”

“Well,” she began, again trying to cushion what she was about to say, “you aren’t exactly socially retarded but I wouldn’t rule out wearing a helmet when you interact with women.”  She smiled, hoping he would take her words as the jest they were mostly meant to be.  He didn’t smile.  She continued, “She just doesn’t get you.  You’re a straight shooter.  You say exactly what’s on your mind.  You don’t have a filter.  That’s the problem: you don’t have a filter.  It takes a certain kind of woman to understand and accept that from word one.”

“How about you?” he asked.  “I’ve know you for what, two years now?”  She nodded.  “What did you think when we met?”

That was a very loaded question as far as she was concerned.  She knew the answer he was looking for but it didn’t come to her right away.  Instead she was flooded with the memory of everything else from their first meeting.  What he was wearing, how he smelled, the way he smiled, how his hair was just a little wind blown.  Everything was still fresh in her mind and she fell in love with him again in that moment.  But her reply, without looking up, was a simple, “You were nice.”

Mar
01

Belongings

This is a little piece of flash fiction I wrote today.  Mona was “talking my ear off” as it were at work today, so I had to get her on paper.  I like her so far…maybe even enough to give her a full story.  Let me know what you think…

Dec
10

Life Comes Fast – Sneak Peek!

Friday hadn’t planned on going back alone.  There was so much riding on the next few hours that she honestly didn’t think she could do it herself.  When she thought about it harder she was certain of it.  There was nothing to keep her father from never talking to her again.  Nothing to keep him from denying her visits and replacing all the love in his heart with animosity.  There was more than enough reason for him to do his and she would understand.  She just wouldn’t be happy about it.

She stood in front of the full length mirror and looked herself over.  This wasn’t something she did often, making sure she looked perfect.  Friday resigned herself to the fact that she wouldn’t look as good as she wanted to given the surroundings and now lack of a bra.  She made the best of what she had, dampening the wrinkled shirt and using the blow dryer she was surprised to find bolted to the bathroom wall to dry it and release all the imperfections from the night it spent balled up on the floor.  The thin blue fabric was doing a poor job of hiding the fact that her bra was missing.  She recalled the sticky warmth of the visitation room and felt relief, but she would cross her arms over her chest as a precaution.

Her skirt had also been balled up but fit her snugly enough that the tautness of the fabric over her thin thighs hid all the lines.  The tan skirt was purchased for a family photo that never actually happened.  Her mother was supposed to accompany her to visit her father two months before she died.  As usual she got drunk before lunch and ended up passed out in front of the television.  Friday bristled as she remembered that day and the disappointment in her father’s eyes when he found out that his wife wouldn’t be coming to see him.  Then she thought of what expression he would wear when she dropped the bomb on him.  She could only guess, but was quite sure, that he would break down.  It was entirely possible that he would become violent.

What then?  What would happen, she thought, if he just lost all control and threw his chair across the room?  She couldn’t imagine how she would react if she were in his shoes.  He was so close to getting out and had always been the model inmate.  He wanted to assure himself and his family that he was going to get out on time.  He was going to come back and take care of them again.  He was going to pick up right where he left off.  This family was who he was.  He loved them and lived every day with the thought of being a free man and being able to hug his wife and daughter when ever he felt like it, instead of when a guard wasn’t looking.

Friday shook her head to snap herself back to reality.  She blinked hard as all the blood in her body seemed to rush to her ears.  The deafening sound of the empty room and the fear inside her made her want to scream.  She knew that there was no one listening.  No one would be able to help her and for the first time in her eighteen years Friday shivered at the thought of being alone.  She felt the knot tighten so quickly in her stomach that it made her eyes water.  And at the first sensation of the wetness she let go and sobbed.  Big drippy tears streamed rapidly down her flat cheeks and dripped onto the dingy motel carpet.

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