Don't be afraid,
she whispers perfectly into my ear.
Her tear-sticky cheek is pressed to mine and
I can feel her lips painting their color
onto my overstretched lobes.
I wish I could say I don't know what she's talking about. "This girl is clearly insane." I'll later say to my companions, a half raised glass masking my words. That, like much of what I say, will be a lie. I try to think back to when I first encountered the crazy-not-crazy girl, and find that I cannot. It seems she's always been there, hovering on the borderland of my memories.
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
They're here to protect you
"If you think I am capable to doing something that terrible to someone I love, imagine what I'm capable of doing to you."
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Session Two
The WOMAN lets herself in through the back door. The GIRL is in the kitchen fixing two cups of tea, one with sugar, one without. GIRL enters into the living room to meet the WOMAN, who sits in her previous chair.
GIRL:
There's a woman somewhere. Somewhere near, or maybe not. I don't know. She is young, beautiful, and a widow. Her husband died in a car wreck, on his way home from working late. The Widow hates herself for thinking he was having an affair. She was going to confront him about his 'late work' and missed phone calls. She was going to do it that weekend. But he died instead. Right now it is snowing where she is. It's cold, but the air is still. It's been a week since they put her Groom in the ground. She walks around the house, carrying an icy mug of coffee. It used to be warm, but she can't bring herself to drink, she just goes through the motions of life, of humanity. The Widow wanders from empty room to empty room. She hasn't slept in her bed since he died. Sometimes she lies there, on her side of the mattress, just staring at his pillow, still holding the shape of his head. The blankets are still formed around the empty nest he formed for himself the night before he left. Widow should have made the bed in the morining, but was too upset about the hypothetical affair. Now she lies still in her cold bed, staring at the nest of sheets and blankets. The bed feels cold in the stillest way. Widow thinks she may be able to snap the corners of his pillowcase clean off, if only she had the strenght to reach out and try. She lifts her arm and stretches her fingers, but finds herself unable to cross the invisable lines of his body. Tears come to her eyes, but never fall, catching themselves in her eyelashes and swimming there instead.
The Widow sits in her home, where time has no hold and sips from glasses her Groom left around the house. Her lips settle to cover the spaces where his did. Even when the glasses are emptied of their dusty water she still does this. Her small ritual to remember not just his mouth, the way his lips formed not only for kisses but for the simple, necessary act of drinking water. She does this to remember that he was alive and in need of hydration. He was, but he is no longer. The widow breathes the scent of him from stale clothes. She wears his socks when she naps on the couch. She checks her voicemail obsessively, only to listen to his old messages.
GIRL:
There's a woman somewhere. Somewhere near, or maybe not. I don't know. She is young, beautiful, and a widow. Her husband died in a car wreck, on his way home from working late. The Widow hates herself for thinking he was having an affair. She was going to confront him about his 'late work' and missed phone calls. She was going to do it that weekend. But he died instead. Right now it is snowing where she is. It's cold, but the air is still. It's been a week since they put her Groom in the ground. She walks around the house, carrying an icy mug of coffee. It used to be warm, but she can't bring herself to drink, she just goes through the motions of life, of humanity. The Widow wanders from empty room to empty room. She hasn't slept in her bed since he died. Sometimes she lies there, on her side of the mattress, just staring at his pillow, still holding the shape of his head. The blankets are still formed around the empty nest he formed for himself the night before he left. Widow should have made the bed in the morining, but was too upset about the hypothetical affair. Now she lies still in her cold bed, staring at the nest of sheets and blankets. The bed feels cold in the stillest way. Widow thinks she may be able to snap the corners of his pillowcase clean off, if only she had the strenght to reach out and try. She lifts her arm and stretches her fingers, but finds herself unable to cross the invisable lines of his body. Tears come to her eyes, but never fall, catching themselves in her eyelashes and swimming there instead.
The Widow sits in her home, where time has no hold and sips from glasses her Groom left around the house. Her lips settle to cover the spaces where his did. Even when the glasses are emptied of their dusty water she still does this. Her small ritual to remember not just his mouth, the way his lips formed not only for kisses but for the simple, necessary act of drinking water. She does this to remember that he was alive and in need of hydration. He was, but he is no longer. The widow breathes the scent of him from stale clothes. She wears his socks when she naps on the couch. She checks her voicemail obsessively, only to listen to his old messages.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Bones need Flesh
Usually I reserve stuff like this for another arena, but here are the bones of a story I am looking to write. Maybe. I can't decide and I haven't gotten far, but I like the concept and I think it's going to be one of those things that I won't stop dreaming until I finish it. Anyway, here goes nothing:
We open on two people sitting in an unkempt living room. The GIRL sits opposite the WOMAN. The WOMAN is clearly out of place, but tries to look comfortable. Perhaps it is her estranged mother or step-mother. As GIRL speaks, we, the audience, catch visual glimpses of what she describes. The GIRL begins to speak.
"You wanna know the story? Okay. Okay, here's a story. There's this girl, see, and she decides to go out to the club with a few of her girlfriends. They're having fun, having a good time. Drinking. Dancing. But then her friends get tired and they want to leave. The girl, though, she doesn't want to leave, she's having too much fun and she just met these guys who say they know an afterparty. And the girl, the girl just really wants to go. So, so she says goodbye to her friends and tells them she'll call when she gets there and she'll call when she gets home. Nothing shady if everyone is informed, right? Right say the friends, and they leave. Girl has a drink, has another drink and has another drink and pretty soon she can't see so good, can't walk so good. The guys she's with though, they seem real nice and they offer to take her on home. Poor thing can't drive, not in this condition. So she gets in the car and she calls the girlfriends, but it's late and they don't answer. The girl is still together enough to know this aint the way home, this aint where she lives, so she calls her guy friends, 'cause, you know, a girl all alone needs some backup. She calls and calls and leaves messages without remembering she hit 'dial'. But it's late and they don't answer. She seems antsy so the guys give her another drink. Then the girl can't remember anything. She's asleep and then she's awake and it's cold and it's damp and dark and it smells moldy. She catches conversation before she falls asleep again.
"...out cold..."
"..then?"
"....dump her....done"
"Overdose?"
"Does....matter, really?"
"...one for the road.."
And then she's awake and she's in someones arms and the ground is frosty, crunching under his feet. Sleep. Awake. Pavement and weeds. A parking lot? She's awake now and lost and only has one shoe. Her clutch is there, but no money, no I.D. Her phone lost somewhere in the grass. She gets up and walks toward the lights lining the road. She can't really see and she can't really walk and she stumbles like a zombie. She tries to close her mouth, but her lips are cut and swollen. All that registers is the iron taste of blood.
"Holy shit, is that Abby!?" the red headed boy in the car asks his driver. "Stop, stop, we've gotta get her!"
A car drives by, slams on its brakes and reverses back to the girl. She doesn't stop walking even when Norris, a boy she's met a few times thru some mutual guy friends, jumps out of the passanger seat and grabs her.
"Ab? Ab? What happened, oh my god oh my god, what happened to you?"
The girl doesn't respond, she can't really hear him anyway, her mind is a million places and none of them are on earth. Norris hauls her to the car, places her in the backseat and wipes some of the blood from her face. When he offers her a bottle of water, she starts to cry.
"What d'we do? Hospital?"
The girl screams, the only word she can form is 'No'.
"No, not the hospital"
Norris doesn't want to get in trouble, doesn't want to get the girl in trouble, not until he knows what happened, but he don't really know her, so he decided to bring her to her friends house. The place where they met a few times thru their mutual guy friends.
Norris rushes into the house, holding the once again unconcious girl in his arms. His friend the driver follows closely behind.
"Neil! Jesse! Where are you?"
Neil and Jesse run into the living room.
"What the fuck? What happened? Is she okay?"
Norris explains the situation and the girl begins to wake up again. Jesse holds a towel to the back of her head, trying to stop the bleeding. They get her to drink some water and then put in a the bath, running hot water over her clothes. When the water turns red, they drain it and Neil strips the silent and complient girl to her bra and underwear then dresses her in his own clothes. They put her to bed. In the morning the white pillow cases of Neil's bed are brown with dried blood and the girl is gone. They find her by following her whimpering. She has curled up in the corner of Neil's closet and refuses to move. Her hands are bleeding where her fingernails have bitten into the flesh of her palms. She looks up at the boys, asks for a trashcan. They provide and she empties her stomach. The boys back up and she closes the door on them."
The WOMAN has grown increasingly uncomfortable throughout the GIRL'S tale. The WOMAN gets up to leave and is only stopped by the GIRL'S words.
"Be sure to drop by next week to find out what happens to our brave herione."
The WOMAN exits.
We open on two people sitting in an unkempt living room. The GIRL sits opposite the WOMAN. The WOMAN is clearly out of place, but tries to look comfortable. Perhaps it is her estranged mother or step-mother. As GIRL speaks, we, the audience, catch visual glimpses of what she describes. The GIRL begins to speak.
"You wanna know the story? Okay. Okay, here's a story. There's this girl, see, and she decides to go out to the club with a few of her girlfriends. They're having fun, having a good time. Drinking. Dancing. But then her friends get tired and they want to leave. The girl, though, she doesn't want to leave, she's having too much fun and she just met these guys who say they know an afterparty. And the girl, the girl just really wants to go. So, so she says goodbye to her friends and tells them she'll call when she gets there and she'll call when she gets home. Nothing shady if everyone is informed, right? Right say the friends, and they leave. Girl has a drink, has another drink and has another drink and pretty soon she can't see so good, can't walk so good. The guys she's with though, they seem real nice and they offer to take her on home. Poor thing can't drive, not in this condition. So she gets in the car and she calls the girlfriends, but it's late and they don't answer. The girl is still together enough to know this aint the way home, this aint where she lives, so she calls her guy friends, 'cause, you know, a girl all alone needs some backup. She calls and calls and leaves messages without remembering she hit 'dial'. But it's late and they don't answer. She seems antsy so the guys give her another drink. Then the girl can't remember anything. She's asleep and then she's awake and it's cold and it's damp and dark and it smells moldy. She catches conversation before she falls asleep again.
"...out cold..."
"..then?"
"....dump her....done"
"Overdose?"
"Does....matter, really?"
"...one for the road.."
And then she's awake and she's in someones arms and the ground is frosty, crunching under his feet. Sleep. Awake. Pavement and weeds. A parking lot? She's awake now and lost and only has one shoe. Her clutch is there, but no money, no I.D. Her phone lost somewhere in the grass. She gets up and walks toward the lights lining the road. She can't really see and she can't really walk and she stumbles like a zombie. She tries to close her mouth, but her lips are cut and swollen. All that registers is the iron taste of blood.
"Holy shit, is that Abby!?" the red headed boy in the car asks his driver. "Stop, stop, we've gotta get her!"
A car drives by, slams on its brakes and reverses back to the girl. She doesn't stop walking even when Norris, a boy she's met a few times thru some mutual guy friends, jumps out of the passanger seat and grabs her.
"Ab? Ab? What happened, oh my god oh my god, what happened to you?"
The girl doesn't respond, she can't really hear him anyway, her mind is a million places and none of them are on earth. Norris hauls her to the car, places her in the backseat and wipes some of the blood from her face. When he offers her a bottle of water, she starts to cry.
"What d'we do? Hospital?"
The girl screams, the only word she can form is 'No'.
"No, not the hospital"
Norris doesn't want to get in trouble, doesn't want to get the girl in trouble, not until he knows what happened, but he don't really know her, so he decided to bring her to her friends house. The place where they met a few times thru their mutual guy friends.
Norris rushes into the house, holding the once again unconcious girl in his arms. His friend the driver follows closely behind.
"Neil! Jesse! Where are you?"
Neil and Jesse run into the living room.
"What the fuck? What happened? Is she okay?"
Norris explains the situation and the girl begins to wake up again. Jesse holds a towel to the back of her head, trying to stop the bleeding. They get her to drink some water and then put in a the bath, running hot water over her clothes. When the water turns red, they drain it and Neil strips the silent and complient girl to her bra and underwear then dresses her in his own clothes. They put her to bed. In the morning the white pillow cases of Neil's bed are brown with dried blood and the girl is gone. They find her by following her whimpering. She has curled up in the corner of Neil's closet and refuses to move. Her hands are bleeding where her fingernails have bitten into the flesh of her palms. She looks up at the boys, asks for a trashcan. They provide and she empties her stomach. The boys back up and she closes the door on them."
The WOMAN has grown increasingly uncomfortable throughout the GIRL'S tale. The WOMAN gets up to leave and is only stopped by the GIRL'S words.
"Be sure to drop by next week to find out what happens to our brave herione."
The WOMAN exits.
Monday, December 21, 2009
so i don't forget
That's the thing about love. It demands information. We will break your teeth out to get it, and then we will feed them back to you.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
There's something here, something that needs to be said, needs to be let go, but it's all wrapped up in there. All twisted and digging into the coils of my brain. It's one of those days where the backspace key is the one i hit the most because my fingers can't correctly keep up with the trip my brain is taking. Things have been shady, but it's only because of the light that there are ever shadows.
"If you wanna be their friend, be honest and un-merciful"
"Rock and roll can save the world, the chicks are great. I sound like a dick!"
Okay, so that last one didn't have a thing to do with a thing, but it's something I wanted to write. Because it's awesome. I have no moods these days. At the beginning of this page, I'm all emo and dark and then, two sentences ago, things are awesome. What the eff. Who the eff is this kid, this girl, this silly thing? Hahahaha
I don't know.
You don't know.
You don't know who you are!
That reminds me of a mewithoutyou song, but I can't remember the lyrics. I sound like a crazy person. This happens sometimes when i need to write. i just write the things that come up, they dont make sense, maybe, later, if i think any of it was any good i'll go back and dig some stuff out and add capitals (capitols?) {I think it's with an a} and puncutation. Do you see what happened there? i got all caught up in that shiz i was writing that i lost all sense of grammar. It comes and goes. like that. see? Did it again. hahahahahahaaaaa
I.am.a.crazy.person
i/am/a/writer
There's this sense of restlessness in the air for me right now. i want to travel, i want to eat, i want to write. but i dont want to work for any of that to happen. i guessi grew up dreaming that if i wanted something badly enough it would just sort of happen for/to me. i think it stems from the following incident:
I'm 6 or so years old and i'm at this christmas crafts fair (my mahmaw {mom} used to make stuff to sell and people ate that shit up!) and i really really really want this hand painted wooden cut out of a rocking horse. some old lady was selling them. i wanted it soooo bad. you have no idea. we mature adults never want things the way kids do. sure, we want things in a different, more hormonal way, but it's not stronger. not stronger, just deeper. grosser. (more gross?)
anyhow, i wanted that cheap little ornament, but my mom wouldn't give me the cash and my dad said i could have money, but only for a hotdog. actually, i think that's a lie. i don't remember my dad being there that day. i think he was at work. maybe. or he was sleeping. the night shift, you know? SO. I'm looking at this rocking horse with my pockets turned out and i'm conciously letting this old bird know i want this thing. she notices me looking, picking it up, turning it about, making it gallop down the display. and i remember, i swear this is true, i remember thinking, if i look cute enough, she'll give me this horse.
and she did.
she gave me that fucking horse because i was 'such a sweet, cute little girl'
sucker.
but really, that old lady ruined my work ethic.
"If you wanna be their friend, be honest and un-merciful"
"Rock and roll can save the world, the chicks are great. I sound like a dick!"
Okay, so that last one didn't have a thing to do with a thing, but it's something I wanted to write. Because it's awesome. I have no moods these days. At the beginning of this page, I'm all emo and dark and then, two sentences ago, things are awesome. What the eff. Who the eff is this kid, this girl, this silly thing? Hahahaha
I don't know.
You don't know.
You don't know who you are!
That reminds me of a mewithoutyou song, but I can't remember the lyrics. I sound like a crazy person. This happens sometimes when i need to write. i just write the things that come up, they dont make sense, maybe, later, if i think any of it was any good i'll go back and dig some stuff out and add capitals (capitols?) {I think it's with an a} and puncutation. Do you see what happened there? i got all caught up in that shiz i was writing that i lost all sense of grammar. It comes and goes. like that. see? Did it again. hahahahahahaaaaa
I.am.a.crazy.person
i/am/a/writer
There's this sense of restlessness in the air for me right now. i want to travel, i want to eat, i want to write. but i dont want to work for any of that to happen. i guessi grew up dreaming that if i wanted something badly enough it would just sort of happen for/to me. i think it stems from the following incident:
I'm 6 or so years old and i'm at this christmas crafts fair (my mahmaw {mom} used to make stuff to sell and people ate that shit up!) and i really really really want this hand painted wooden cut out of a rocking horse. some old lady was selling them. i wanted it soooo bad. you have no idea. we mature adults never want things the way kids do. sure, we want things in a different, more hormonal way, but it's not stronger. not stronger, just deeper. grosser. (more gross?)
anyhow, i wanted that cheap little ornament, but my mom wouldn't give me the cash and my dad said i could have money, but only for a hotdog. actually, i think that's a lie. i don't remember my dad being there that day. i think he was at work. maybe. or he was sleeping. the night shift, you know? SO. I'm looking at this rocking horse with my pockets turned out and i'm conciously letting this old bird know i want this thing. she notices me looking, picking it up, turning it about, making it gallop down the display. and i remember, i swear this is true, i remember thinking, if i look cute enough, she'll give me this horse.
and she did.
she gave me that fucking horse because i was 'such a sweet, cute little girl'
sucker.
but really, that old lady ruined my work ethic.
Friday, June 19, 2009
I had a dream
I think it was all the talk about Jurrasic Park last night, or that I've been watching movies with Jeff Goldblum lately, but last night I had a dream about dinosaurs.
I was with a lot of people that I knew, but I really don't know them. There was some sort of break-out of dinosaurs (all carnivores, of course) and we the humans were spending our days running from the raptors. I was at one point hiding on top of a pile of furniture and some other girl kept trying to hide with me. I was not having it, seeing as she kept squealing and attracting the man-eaters. At one point I held my hand over her mouth and said
"If you don't shutup, I will kill you myself."
Dream me is kind of a hardass.
Then the dinosaur stuck his big tooth filled head in our hiding place and I guess he was really dumb because he was breathing all on my face, but didn't see/smell me. Thank God.
I don't really remember the rest, just a lot of running and threatening the stupid 'I belong in a horror movie' girl, but still managing to save her ass. Lucky. There was a dance recital in a really different Craig Hall too. I spent my time there in the catacomb like basement of Craig, dodging dinos and watching ballet.
I don't make much sense.
I was with a lot of people that I knew, but I really don't know them. There was some sort of break-out of dinosaurs (all carnivores, of course) and we the humans were spending our days running from the raptors. I was at one point hiding on top of a pile of furniture and some other girl kept trying to hide with me. I was not having it, seeing as she kept squealing and attracting the man-eaters. At one point I held my hand over her mouth and said
"If you don't shutup, I will kill you myself."
Dream me is kind of a hardass.
Then the dinosaur stuck his big tooth filled head in our hiding place and I guess he was really dumb because he was breathing all on my face, but didn't see/smell me. Thank God.
I don't really remember the rest, just a lot of running and threatening the stupid 'I belong in a horror movie' girl, but still managing to save her ass. Lucky. There was a dance recital in a really different Craig Hall too. I spent my time there in the catacomb like basement of Craig, dodging dinos and watching ballet.
I don't make much sense.
Monday, June 15, 2009
The Young Mrs. Gaines
There is a woman laying on a park bench that has been uprooted and placed on a balcony. She smokes and blows rings into the air above her. Her body shivers and shakes despite the warmth of the night. Her eyes, when they open, seem unable to focus. She keeps eyeing the empty armchair across the space from her.
"You've gotta go now Neal. You gotta leave me. Gotta go."
The silloutte of a man is shown in the armchair, but he makes no responce. The woman begins to weep.
The widow is at the grave. She wears textured black in the dead of winter. Thick smoke escapes thru her veil. She is the dark one, so internally broken by her loss that she chooses not to grieve at all. To the outsider, her husband's untimely death is meaningless to her, even to the point of arousing small-town suspicion.
When she is alone, however, she is the outward expression of pain. What she does not show publicly, she privately boarders on indulgence. She will wear black for the rest of her life. She cannot bear to remove her wedding band. This widow hasn't changed the sheets on her bed, she still lays there breathing in her husband's lingering scent. She takes small sips from the glass of water he left next to the bed. Some days she does nothing at all but lay in bed, wrapped in her dead husband's memory.
"You've gotta go now Neal. You gotta leave me. Gotta go."
The silloutte of a man is shown in the armchair, but he makes no responce. The woman begins to weep.
The widow is at the grave. She wears textured black in the dead of winter. Thick smoke escapes thru her veil. She is the dark one, so internally broken by her loss that she chooses not to grieve at all. To the outsider, her husband's untimely death is meaningless to her, even to the point of arousing small-town suspicion.
When she is alone, however, she is the outward expression of pain. What she does not show publicly, she privately boarders on indulgence. She will wear black for the rest of her life. She cannot bear to remove her wedding band. This widow hasn't changed the sheets on her bed, she still lays there breathing in her husband's lingering scent. She takes small sips from the glass of water he left next to the bed. Some days she does nothing at all but lay in bed, wrapped in her dead husband's memory.
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