One of my favorite songs that I've written.
She tiptoed quietly across the glassy, wet pavement in front of her home. She quickly stopped as she heard the sound of her front door. Breathing softly and quietly as she could, she turned around and saw a man stick his head out of the door, look around and re-enter the home. She looked down towards the street with a sigh of relief. She saw a pale, skinny girl, whose straight brown and hot pink hair slipped down into her tear-stained eyes. This couldn't be her, but it was. This was what she had done to herself. She looked up and continued to walk. Her walking slowly becoming faster, more hurried. Her phone rang and she slid her small hand into her pocket, pressing a button and answering it.
-"Hello?" No response.
Suddenly, whoever was on the other end began to softly cry.
-"I knew you wouldn't answer. It seems crazy, but I thought that if I heard your voice, you'd come back to me."
-"Jack?! Jack! I'm here! I'm fine!"
-"Your dad keeps looking for you. Everytime he hears a noise, he checks."
-"JACK! Why can't you hear me?! I'm here!"
-"I can't sleep anymore, baby, I need you here. I guess I'll never see you again. Some wishes don't come true. Besides at the funeral, I'll never see your eyes again. I love you always."
Her phone hit the cold, hard ground as she dropped to her knees. She really did it, this time...
By the way...I will be uploading the first page or two of a piece that I'm working on. I had a dream a few nights ago about this world of my own, and I want to share it with you, so that is upcoming, hopefully tonight. :) peace off, audience!
The familiar ring of the alarm clock startled him out of a sound sleep. Beside him, her equally familiar grumbles began, as she groped along the edge of the bedside table to find her phone and shut the ringing off. Cracking open his own eyelids, he looked over at her, at the curve of her shoulder as she turned onto her side and re-buried her face in her pillow.
He chuckled, more at her obvious reluctance to greet the morning with any of the respect it deserved than anything else. Kissing the exposed skin, he threw back his half of the blankets without uncovering her body and got up to make coffee.
Their kitchen was in a casual state of disarray from the evening's get-together the night before. They'd made dinner for a few guests, a not so transparent attempt on her part to set up his brother with one of her best friends. The dishes were piled in the sink, her edged china and his sterile pots and pans. Wine glasses from the over-indulgent were stacked on the counter, along with two empty wine bottles. Between the six of them, they'd had maybe a little too much to drink.
Plugging in their coffee pot, he selected her favorite hazelnut blend and began to boil the water. Once the coffee was percolating away, he meandered into the living room and began to tidy up, refolding the blankets and straightening couch cushions that had been left askew. They were charged up the ass for their electricity--which included heat, as she was so fond of pointing out. Usually this meant that when they had guests over they would pass out blankets and encourage couch sharing to minimize the length of time they had to crank up the thermostat to seventy.
If he had their way they'd find a new place, hopefully bigger and better, by the first of the year. The location and amenities mattered, but not as much as his choice of roommate. As long as he had her, he would be okay living anywhere--no matter how crappy the place was.
Settling for crappy didn't much appeal to him though. If they were going to take the next step in their relationship, he wanted to be able to prove that he could provide for her. Picking a place that would suit both of them was an easy way of doing just that.
Once the coffee had finished, he poured out a steaming cup, doctoring it just the way she liked with a little half and half, but no sugar. Then he went back to their bedroom and stood in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame until she smelled her drink and inevitably woke up enough to get it.
This was one of his favorite parts of the morning. Seeing her stir, freeing both hands from beneath the blankets before she finally rolled onto her back and sat up. The simple repetition of the process always made him smile. "Morning," he said, when she propped herself up on her hands and looked at him.
"Morning, you." Tucking a long strand of reddish-gold hair behind one ear, she said, "You come bearing gifts."
"Two," she corrected him. "The coffee, and yourself."
He smiled at her, coming around to her side of the bed to set the coffee on the night table. The second he was seated on
Free writing to the prompt for March 1, 2012.
and it's like a
laundry-list of acquaintances,
name-marked and chilled condiments;
squeeze-filled "hello!" embraces
or a clumsy slumberkiss.
impartial sandman relations and
impact to sway an axis;
care without condition,
unbiased opinions or
a scar-free appendage.
siblings. childhood friends.
a domesticated orca,
a drink void of caution,
a late night walk without keys in hand or
a beach in which to submerge my toes and
those scenarios premiering in dreamland;
a well-paid career [or
at least equal to that of a man's].
life without currencysocietyand
without the mundane, routine progression
of green, grey, gone;
singular sentiment, automated sleep,
parents capable of satiety and
a world lacking dishes and trash-taking.
winter white and frigid,
an early completion;
someone to wait on me
without an inevitable aberration.
the assuagement of afterlife, the
divine intervention of hands
the quiet murmur of ideals and desires within
the ear of some orphic entity
presumed to care.
a kiss clean of guilt,
solicitous reassurance, and
a sigh at the stars in the arms of a
it's like you:
something I can never have.
and it was less sleep;
overstylized, I stir to
head collaborating into
the easy irrational.
neon-flashes of screen,
of dagger-laced text in
my deceitful subconscious,
like a spiteful,
pangs of grief, an undulation of panic,
searchingsearching and too delirious
to distinguish your voice from the
mourning in my ears—
audible anguish, still? still.
at 6am I thought—
I needed you
the ice-tipped relief did
little to douse this
inflammation of heart;
it's swelled, its illness
until my stomach becomes rock-bottom—
it sunk me back to sleep.
like a wave
end over end over
throat knots and
she/ her/ you know,
nouns and adjectives.
could you believe it
still turns my stomach?
quickens the beat of bitter
and ripens resentment;
it doesn't matter,
this piece is a week-long collaboration between katie & I. there had been virtually no prior planning, save for an agreement to compose a fictional piece and to write from separate character perspectives. I portrayed liam, whereas she portrayed ethan.