Categories
Poetry

Inktober Day #3: Bait

To the sea,

I went.

To see,

from shore to shore.

Not in search,

for any forsaken mystery.

In search,

for a yearning to come from inside me.

To the sea,

I sailed.

To see,

if there was more to live for.

Waiting for fate,

to come like a fish to bait.

Came so far,

for an escape to the stars.

To the sea,

I waited.

To see,

if the stars would rattle me to the core.

Now the day,

has come as I am old and grey.

I’ve wasted my life,

waiting for a yearning to come from the sea.

Categories
Short Stories

Inktober Day #2: Mindless

From a young age Adam was taught that he had to stand up to his fears and to others so that he grow up to be a strong man like his father. No matter what happened to Adam, he never got any empathy from his parents. Some days he came home bruised and battered from the bullies at school, other days he came home crying to have his father do the bruising and battering for them.

“Get stronger, stop crying” his father said. Maybe the years of serving in the military deafened the father’s hearing to the pain and suffering from his son. A few times his mother stepped in to try to protect her poor boy from this angry tyrant but it was of no use, he had muscles built up from years of service and heavy lifting.

“Even if they had the courage to escape, what would they do?” the mother always thought. She always came to the same conclusion that in all reality that her and her son have nothing outside of this house. They were in all aspects broke except the dividends that came in the mail from the military once a month. If they were to leave, they would be inflicting months maybe years of homelessness in the streets. In this path of logic, Adam’s mother decided it would be best to keep quiet and take the beatings when she can to protect herself and her son.

From this Adam wasn’t getting attention from anyone and when he was getting attention it was only through a negative perspective. Even at school it was too far into these cruel punishments that every time a teacher found new scars and bruises they always assumed them to be from the bullies. Adam knew it was better have them believe that than to tell them otherwise in fear of what his retaliation at home would be.

All of this continued until one day something inside of Adam just snapped. He didn’t care anymore. Every punch thrown, he just took it. Tears first stopped falling from his eyes. Then tears stop swelling in his eyes all together. For once in Adam’s entire life this led to positive results. His dad stopped beating him because he finally  in his eyes became a man. His bullies stopped picking on him because he was no longer a victim and was just cold to the senseless beatings. Once the bullies caught wind of this, they gained almost a respect for Adam and treated him as one of their own.

From here Adam went from bullied to bully. The bullies moved on to a new victim and this time Adam found himself in a position of power. The victim was a new student who just moved from a different state. He was always talking about how his old school was so much better than it was here.

“We’ll show him” thought Adam and the bullies. They were up to their usual tricks, wait for the end of school and find him on the walk home from the school yard. As they just got out of sight, they sprung on their prey. The first bully goes in and throws a punch to the new kid’s gut. The second punches him right in the throat. The third goes straight for the face. Adam went in with a fury of punches and as soon as the new kid hit the ground, he continued with a round of kicks straight to his gut. Adam kept at the new kid until one of the other attackers pulled him back. Adam went too far, now the new kid laid there in front of them just an inch from death as blood slowly pours from his body. If they left to go get help now, there was hope for the new kid but in this fateful day, luck would have none of it.

“RUN!” One of the bullies squeals as he realizes that they were done with this kid’s beating. They all took off to their normal hideout in the back of the woods. All ran as quickly as possible as the new kid took his last few gulps of air before his windpipe collapsed.

Run, run and run they did until they made it to a small cave in the hill side.

“Adam, you nearly killed him?! What were you thinking?” One of the bullies asked him as he was trying to catch his breath and light a cigarette.

“Yeah what the hell man.” Said another of the bullies as he took the light from the first bully.

“We never beat you that bad.” Said the third bully, as he lit his cigarette, took a deep breath, exhaled and continued “We only do it as far to teach a lesson.” 

“He deserved it. That brat coming from who the hell knows where. I wish I got the chance to cave in his skull.” Adam said taking the cigarettes and lighter.

They continued smoking and talking as the sun faded away behind the hill side and the only thing they could see is their faces from the light given off of their cigarettes and the silhouettes of the trees.

“I think we should head home, guys. It is getting way too dark out.” One of the bullies said.

“I mean you can go if you want, unless you are too scared of the dark to go alone.” Another one of the bullies said.

“I’m not- scared of the dark.” The first bully responded.

“Then go by yourself, I have to wait until my parents are asleep to go home.” The second bully scolded back.

In this response the first bully took stride to leave because he knew he couldn’t should fear to the group otherwise the group would target him again for his weakness. Step after step he took into the dark forest around him. His silhouette faded into the dark trees and surroundings and he was never seen again.

For awhile the three remaining stayed as they talked and smoked. One more of the bullies decided he had to go to the bathroom and left to go find a tree. He stepped further and further into the trees until the two left were out of earshot. Then unzipped his pants and  went about his business.  Soon he heard bushes move behind him.

“Stop messing with me g-” He barely mustered out. Then, a snap was heard and the birds resting near by flew into the night sky.

“Did you hear that I think he fell on his way out to go take a piss!” The bully said barely containing his laughter.

“What a moron, he probably wasn’t looking where he was going.” Adam added in and they started laughing. Just loud enough to not hear something step out of the bushes behind them. Step, after step the creature continues into the cave. Getting closer and closer; until the laughing stops and the creature was close enough for anyone to hear just by his breathing.

The two bullies turned around.

“How did you- find your way out here?” The other bully asked to the pale, bloodied kid that stands before them.

“The loser is probably here to try to hang out with us-” Adam says as just like a bolt of lightning the new kid with one punch decapitates the last bully. The new kid turns and faces Adam and with a slight smile says:

You’ll have to live with what you’ve done
’till the day you die.


Eye for an eye,
makes the whole world blind.


So let me remind you of this,
Don’t be mindless of your deeds.


Because when your last day shall come,
your judgement shall be done.

The walking corpse dropped the lifeless skull in his hands and walked away from Adam back into that dark, dark night.

Categories
Short Stories

Inktober Day #1: Ring

A gentle summer breeze blows across the blades of grass along the hillside; gently picking them up and laying them back down before the breeze reaches the man and woman. The breeze gives the man and woman a temporary escape from the warm air that surrounds them as the next breeze is waiting to reach them. In the sky away from them and over the ocean is the sun as it meanders toward the water and as it does so, the sky gently fades from a bright blue to a light purple. They wish that they could stop all of time and just feel this moment for an eternity. As the sky fades closer and closer to a dark purple, the man feels as if his opportunity is fading and needs to act fast if he was to act at all. His hand slips in his pocket as he feels around the velvet box to make sure it is still there. As his fingers caress the box, he takes a deep breath and thinks of all of the great moments over the years together.

From the time of their first date, where he embarrassed himself tremendously as he accidentally spilled his drink on his lap. They still laugh about this moment so many dates after. From the time he first visited her parents and that incredible nervousness that later was for nothing as they were the best and most supportive people he ever met. From the time he first stayed the night at her place and how they cuddled for hours for warmth as they laid and watched TV. He thought of all these moments that led to where he was now and where it could lead him.

To the future; where the church bells ring of song of their love and unending relationship. As he stands at the end of aisle waiting for his bride. When she appears in her dress and Here Comes the Bride starts playing on that old church organ. It takes all of his might to not cry in awe of this majestic scene unravel before him as he waits for his bride. In the end his strength wasn’t enough as the tears of joy and awe slowly start to fall across face. In order to keep his composure he has to take out his handkerchief and quickly wipe his face clean of tears. Step by step she approaches him as she walks down the aisle with a slow measured pace. Finally when she reaches the altar and the man sees her in her wedding dress and veil, he is reconfirmed that this is the one he’ll love forever. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death does them part.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the ring out of the velvet box. Drops to a knee and asks:

“Will you marry me?”

Categories
Short Stories

The Book of Life

Have you ever felt that you were living inside of a book? A book that has its tragedies, has its comedic moments, has its romantic zest. Every moment is yet another swipe of a pen in the long term story of the world. Every event is just another point in the plot diagram of where your story is taking you. 

Every choice didn’t matter because it is what the plot planned from the beginning. If this was the case think to yourself who would be the main character in the book of life. Would it be the most wealthy guy in the world on his yacht thinking about the days of his youth? Would it be a homeless man lying on a park bench facing the stars dreaming of how he is going change the world? Is it you reading this story and realizing that you are just as important to this story as everyone else involved in it?

That is the beauty of the book of life. Everyone has say of where we go next in the story. From the day you were born, you had a pencil. While you were a baby you had no ideas of the intricacies of this pen you were endowed. But you grew into this pen as you hurt and felt hurt. With the hurt came the knowledge that people can effect your story even without meaning to. With the hurting came the knowledge that you can effect others stories without meaning to. This pencil is your tool, this pencil is your sword, this pencil is your shield.

With every pencil there is always two sides. The side for writing beautiful dreams and stories that fill your heart with rhythm and music that sometimes only you can feel. The other side for feeling pain, regret and remorse for what is on page that you use to quickly erase the page. You can dream out the best words to fill the story of your life but if you don’t have the strength to stand to those words and quickly erase them. You will never live up to the words that lay before you because those words simply do not lay before you. Other people can also erase your words if the words before you intersects  with where they want to go. But remember even at intersections of plots there is no need to fear, we can go on with our story together.

If you wouldn’t mind I would like to write something in your story:

In this moment was when a writer came into your life and gave you some advice. Advice that many may know but even so he wanted to share it anyways.

He wanted to share:

“You have a pen. You have a story. The only thing that is missing is the writing. The writing is what you have to do, no one will do it for you. They can give you inspiration as  what to write about whether that inspiration comes in the form of companionship, friendship or love. Just let the ink flow on the page as you follow every dream and every passion with a fury of lowercase letters, uppercase letters and punctuation.”

He paused for a second while writing to find the next best words to fit. With a burst of inspiration he found them:

“You can do anything in your writing but remember that you only have so much ink to write until your inkwell runs dry and once that inkwell dries up your story is finished.  So until then write, write and write about the bad times, about the good times for they’ll be few and they’ll be many. Because the best stories are those filled with adversity.”

Categories
Poetry

Standin’ in the Rain

In the rain,

feelin’ insane.

As I just stood there,

losin’ my brain.

 

In the rain,

sayin’ nothing in vain.

As I just waited there,

stayin’ in the cold.

 

I waited and waited for Mr. Blue Sky,

to come and take me away.

For me to soar to the heavens and fly,

only thing that came was rain in its stay.

 

When Mr. Blue Sky didn’t show,

I couldn’t wait anymore.

So I got in my car and began to go,

go where… I wasn’t necessarily sure.

 

All I could think of was the wheels turning,

under me as I drove away from my past.

Not thinking too much where I was yearning,

or even making my getaway too fast.

 

Those wheels turning,

round, round, round.

Not sure where they are going,

bound, bound, bound.

 

Towards a new future,

for you and me.

Our past is unsure,

until it turns into a memory.

 

As I drove I saw loads of people,

that reminded me of you: Mr. Blue Sky.

Happy faces all about, couples holding hands.

As my hands grasped the cold wheel.

 

 

 

 

 

Categories
Poetry

I Love You

I don’t know who you are,

but I love you.

I know it is bizarre,

but I hope you love me too.




Why is it so taboo

to say I love you?




I love you, you and you.

I don’t care of your culture,

race or religion,

I love you all the same.




I love the way you are so similar to me

but different in all the right ways.

I love the way you disagree with me

but still let my words phase your heart.




I love you in all of the inexplicable ways,

for all of the rest of my inexplicable days.

I hope you love me too,

I hope you love you too.

Categories
Short Stories

Runaway

It was the day of my 20th birthday. A package came in from my mother. I haven’t seen my mother in a while and my father in an even longer time.

My father wasn’t in my life for most of it. I never really understood why. I always saw pictures of the three of us where we were playing around outside, everyone as happy as can be. So I’ve always had theories that maybe my dad cheated and left his wife and me behind to settle and just become dust of what was his life long ago. Maybe he was secretly an alcoholic and  it was so long ago I don’t remember his moments of spite and anger as he went on with his drunken rage and ire.

In any case I had a cardboard box in front of me from times that I since have left behind. For a second I just let the box linger in hopes that it was just an apparition and that it would fade away. It didn’t so I went and got a knife to open the box. The knife slid through the tape on top of the box with ease and the box opened and released a musty smell of wet and damp paper.

Inside the box laid a stack of letters several of which were tied together with a delicate red ribbon and had a slight yellow stain to them. On top of those letters laid a white clean letter with “To Emily” on the outside of it. Since the white letter was the cleanest and most recent I decided to open it just for a clue of what might lay inside of the other letters within the bow.

The letter went:

Dear Emily,

I’ve been holding on to a secret for too long and with your 20th birthday coming up, I think it is time for me to finally tell you the truth. In this box lays letters from your father that he left you to read before he left. As a kid you always asked me where your father went and I just couldn’t tell you the truth, it hurt too much. Before I knew it you grew in to a young woman before my eyes and I was still telling you the same lie I told you as a young girl. That pain I felt went deep to my core and I felt it every day. I loved your father very much. But after feeling that pain for so long it morphed into anger and confusion as why he could’ve left us to be so alone. Anger that you might of felt at sometimes was directed towards you and I’m sorry for it. If I could go back into the past and change it I would but I can’t. So here I am writing this letter from a point of view of regret and sorrow. I hope you can forgive me someday with the knowledge that I might never forgive myself. I don’t know exactly what these letters from your father may contain as I never had the heart to open them as he left them for you to open. Please enjoy the letters and try not to be angry at me for not giving them to you sooner. I love you.

Sincerely,

Your mother

As I got closer and closer to the end of the letter I became less and less focused on it but rather focused on the many yellow envelopes that now sat unopened in front of me. Confusion, sadness and a little anger swelled up inside me as I cut loose the envelopes from the red ribbon and sprawled them in front of me. Without a whole lot of certainty I took the envelop to the left of me that was on top of the pile and opened it with care. Inside the envelope was a tan shaded letter with a black handwritten message.

My dearest,

Happy 5th birthday! I just want you to know I love you with all my heart and me not being there doesn’t mean I’m not thinking of you. Hopefully someday I can return but this situation is one I do not fully understand yet. A situation of men being men and acting awfully foolhardy. For now just remember that your mama is there for you when you need her and that I’ll be thinking of you. Love you.

 

Sincerely,

Your Dad

The words on the page slowly leaked into my brain as I soaked in every detail. Every word hitting like a bomb shell as I explored into the letters that presumably my father left me on the day he left. Tears began to swell in front of my eyes and even though I hated crying, I had to read more. I took the next letter with less delicacy than before and tore it open.

My beloved daughter,

Happy 10th birthday. If I’m not back yet I fear the worst has happened. Remember that I love you with all my heart dear. I will always be with you in spirit and I’ll never leave your side. You may have days of trouble, hurt and pain but I just want you to know that it’ll be okay. Just keep your head up and stay strong but don’t forget to reach out to people when you need help. I love you so much and I miss you.

 

Sincerely,

Your Dad

What is the worst that he feared happened? That my mom and I left him behind to sink back into the fog of our memories. That he drank himself into oblivion and couldn’t find his way home. How could he carry such love and passion for me but have the gut instinct that he wouldn’t be back to care for me? The letter left me with more questions than answers before so I had to keep reading the envelopes. I took the next envelop and ripped it open to reveal the next message in this evolving mystery.

 

My dear daughter,

Happy 15th birthday. I love you. I thought writing these letters would be easier than it has been so far. But it is hard to think of an appropriate thing to say when I know you are going to be reading this in 10 years from where I am now. Sincerely I hope you don’t hate me for leaving but men have to right the wrongs of other men. I don’t know if your mother has told you anything about me or has just left the letters to describe my untimely disappearance. I just want to let you know I left for you, for your mother, for your kids, for a better tomorrow. I still don’t think you are old enough to understand quite yet but just remember that I stood up for you and everyone we know.

 

Sincerely,

Your Papa

Words shot out of the page like bullets from a machine gun. At first I tried to dodge each bullet but soon the gunfire was too intense that every word exploded on my heart and brain. My entire life seemed like an fabricated lie that waited until this moment to unravel and leave me more confused than I was before. The only thing that seemed real was the last letter that laid before me. Everything else faded into a blur around me as the letter fell directly into the focal point of my attention.  Hesitation is what I felt before opening the last letter. Hesitation that I might be better off not reading the last letter. Hesitation that fueled my entire childhood as I felt abandoned, lost and confused. After a deep breath I picked up the letter and slowly tore open the last letter.

 

 

 

Categories
Poetry

Ildsjel

Ildsjel –

1. A fire soul.

A fire burns,
A fire burns so bright.
A warm color of red and orange.

Where there is darkness,
the fire illuminates.
Where there is fear,
the fire leads.
Where there is unrest,
the fire calms.

A fire burns,
inside of you.
A fire burns,
inside of me.

Days come when the fire,
may be put to ash and smut.

And the darkness,
blinds.
And the fear,
misleads.
And the unrest,
angers.

We can watch,
as glows and embers pass by.
We can hope,
as torch bearers draw near.
We can rest,
as familiar faces are lit up in the dark.

Afraid to move into the darkness,
lost and confused as Kurtz on the sea.
Waiting for the day for our fires,
to be set aflame again by those who bear torches.

Those who bear torches,
that travel in the dark to find:
those who are lost,
those who are hopeless,
those who are in turmoil.

Those who bear torches,
who will keep their eyes open,
who do not lose hope,
who believe in others,
An ildsjel.

Categories
Poetry

The Man at Sea

As a kid I always looked towards the sea.

A fondness of water and dreams of what to be.

Maybe a captain of a ship out to explore and see.

Those days are all long past and just a memory.

 

As an adult I always look towards the land.

An ideology that separates me from what I planned.

I loved the sea and over it now I stand.

Those days of being kid are gone, now I am a man.

 

A man who misses home.

A man at sea.

 

 

 

Categories
Poetry

Where the Sidewalk Ends

Inspired by: Shel Silverstein’s work by the same name, “Where  the Sidewalk Ends”

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins
And there love and courage mends what hate creates
And there hope and sacrifice defends what hate debates
And there truth and honesty amends what hate narrates
To cool the societies trends

Let us leave this place where the smog blows black
And dark news blinds our vision to no ends
Past the divisions that causes odd beauties to grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go,
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

I’ll take your hand, you’ll shall take mine.
Together we’ll go away from this place and find,
Where love and courage creates: unity.
Where hope and sacrifice debates: hate.
Where truth and honesty narrates: love.
To the place where the sidewalk ends.