Can’t Sleep…

*  * *

It was nights like this when I’d write. Bloodshot eyes, whiskey on my breath, and a joint in the hand to help me relax. I’m also typing this with my right hand. A few mistakes but well worth the few puffs I get in before the fire dies out. It’s 3:51 in the mornin’. I miss him like the heavens miss a fallen angel. You feel bad for it up until a certain point. The cats are fed and the dog is filled with poo. Can’t sleep, what am I to do? I made a mistake and prepared for the best, but in my own interest. This joint is working its voodoo. I’m tired now. Goodnight. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

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Pardon My Excuses

Pardon my excuses, results of damage, post abuses.

I spent my last dime chasing that fast high.

 My conscience, a goody two shoes.
 
Constant battle, bad temper, short fuse.
 
There’s more than what meets the eye.
 
Years of issue wrapped up nice.
 
Closed eyes grant instant escape.
 
Temporary fix, short getaway.

Writing 101: Don’t Stop the Rockin’

Today is a free writing day. Write at least four-hundred words, and once you start typing, don’t stop. No self-editing, no trash-talking, and no second guessing: just go. Bonus points if you tackle an idea you’ve been playing with but think is too silly to post about.

Daylight had crept through the openings of the curtains giving me a chance to wake before the rooster crowed. Dan’s 80s sing-a-long and thumping throughout the apartment was a sure sign I had overslept. The four hour rest period was more than enough to keep me on my feet and if not the images of Donzilan flashing through my head would do the trick. I forgot how many people I had told in my drunken state and now my phone was lighting up every minute. After responding to the final “did you get pictures?” text there was a normal one asking me out for breakfast this morning. It was Stella, who I had met earlier in the night. She seemed to be a very fun girl and apparently had a sense of humor; there was no way I’d make breakfast but I would do lunch.

“Eww wee, girl what time did you get in last night?” Dan asked.  “Or should I say this morning?”

“It wasn’t that late, almost five, I think,” I answered.

“Child, you kids today and your partying.” He said handing me the glass of water. “Don’t get me wrong you need to have fun, but every night? I couldn’t do it.”

Dan was a flaming Puerto Rican with a chiseled physique and high cheekbones. He moved from Virginia and lived in the city for fifteen years. Besides working on his fitness he was an LGBT camp counselor who had just been laid off a few weeks ago.

“New night, new adventure,” I teased. “I actually met Donzilan last night!”

“Shut up! That must’ve been exciting.”

“It was crazy, I also ran into a former classmate from Atlanta and I’m having lunch with his friend who lives here.”

“Girl that’s the universe for you, but you needs to get on those castings.”

“I promise I will.”

Dan had more interest in my modelling career than I did, he always asked for pictures and if I had castings. He was melodramatic but very thoughtful.

Looking in the mirror didn’t help me, I wasn’t expecting to see my polished self but at least appear halfway decent, eww wee was right. My eyeliner and mascara were smeared all over my under eyes and my false lashes hanging at the end of my lash line. My hair was a big tousled mess, matted into a stringy poof. The left side of my face seemed a bit puffy and I felt exactly how I looked, gross. All in all it was the evidence of a very good night and I would do it again if I had to. A cold shower would rid the zombie like feeling. I wasn’t a big drinker when I went out but some nights I felt the urge to go overboard and always regretted it the morning after. The cool water running down my limp body felt like a surge of energy bringing me back to life, it was just what I needed.

Writing 101: Hone Your Point of View

Craft a story from the perspective of a twelve-year-old observing it all. For your twist, focus on specific character qualities, drawing from elements we’ve worked on in this course, like voice and dialogue.

Mama asked me to watch Floyd and Luke fa her while she made supper fa us. Daddy wasn’t home yet but he be comin soon. I always had to look afta my brothers, they always knew how to find trouble. Me and Joyce and them could barely talk about how cute Henry Ellis looked at school today without them little rascals interrupting. Today they wasn’t the only one interrupting. That man with the nice black suit, who come around once a month was at Mrs. Pauley’s house with a police man. It look like Mrs. Pauley got herself into some trouble. I don’t know what they was doing to her but she was crying and readin some papers that the man with the nice black suit gave her. Mr. Pauley went to be with the Lord few months back and mama said Mrs. Pauley been having hard times by herself. I only seent Freddie and Jack come around and visit I wonder where the rest of them boys of hers are. When mama makes pie on Sunday she makes me take Mrs. Pauley a piece, she always invite me inside, ask me how school is. She always gives me three peppermints for me and my brothers and a note to give mama. I wish I knew how to help her right now. Daddy was finally pulling up and I know he would help Mrs. Pauley.

“Daddy, daddy!” I rant up and hugged him pointing at Mrs. Pauley’s house.

He picked me up and gave me a kiss smiling as he turned his head and put me down.

“I know baby, I see it,” he said. “Go on and get your brothers and go inside.”

“You gon’ help Mrs. Pauley?” Poking my lip out with my left hand on my hip.

“Yes sweetie, I will.”

I gave him the biggest hug and a warm smile, I knew everything was going to be okay.

“Floyd… Luke… supper ready!!!”

Writing 101: Your Voice Will Find You

It was nothing more than a landfill of iron rusted debris and mounds of deconstructed rubble. I still couldn’t believe that this place was once Hardee’s Amusement Park. The unsightly view saddened me, this was a place that had been a dear part of my life growing up. Every summer when my dad took time off from the 40 hour work week we took the  two hour drive for our weekend trip. There were rumors that the 75 year old amusement park was being sought after by a corporate conglomerate but not to preserve it but to build a larger one. Now the abandoned park is just a wasteland of memories. No more candied apples, buttered popcorn, and my favorite, cotton candy. The bumper cars, roller coasters, and prized games now all gone. Hardee’s will always have a special place in my heart and remind me of the good times of my childhood.

Writing 101: Point of View

The past seven months had been hard for them and they were finally beginning to heal.  The crisp air was a perfect medium from the fluorescent sky. A morning stroll was exactly what they needed.  The park was quiet this time of day, just a few joggers, nannies strolling little people to their playdates, and the usual seniors feeding the birds. They wandered down the path hand in hand; in between John planting gentle kisses on Mary’s forehead whispering to her I love you.  As they neared the exit they saw a silver-haired elderly woman sitting alone on the bench. She was weaving away at an infant size red sweater smiling at them as they passed her.  John turned and looked at Mary with wide eyes, he broke down.

John:

I was sure that I was ready. I almost made it out of the entire park without shedding a single tear.  I’m supposed to be strong for her, for us, what am I doing? It was the exact same sweater my mother knitted for Dylan.  I refused to let Mary get rid of any of his clothes or change his room; we will have another son.  Sometimes I catch her staring at his sonogram pictures framed in his room telling him how she will hold him again someday. Dr. Ian suggests we grieve for some time before we try again.

Mary:

“We should have found a surrogate.” I told him. Sometimes I feel like I’m the one to blame for all of this. Coping with Dylan’s loss is still hard for us; he would’ve been seven months today. I know John tries to be strong in front of me but I told him it’s okay to cry.  We are going to get through this.

Old Lady:

Oh shoot, I forgot to put my teeth in again. If only my dear Henry was still here to remind me of these silly things. I didn’t mean to frighten the poor boy; they seemed like such a lovely couple.