Tuesday, November 26, 2013
The same heart shaped birthmark on her hip was visible; this confirmed it was indeed his first love, Sirena. Kevin wrote down her address on the back of one of the photos. She lived in New York City, but he would not let the distance come between them. His mind was made up the moment her eyes seduced him right through the photograph. Now he would go to the ends of the earth to see her one more time. Besides Kevin was still in New York, and he had to personally thank him for the excellent job he did.
As he drove home from another long day at the office, he plotted. He needed to come up with a plausible story to explain an impromptu trip to
New York City.
His wife Nancy wasn’t naïve.
Antonio looked up at the sky as he waited in traffic. The dark purple skies above him mirrored the storm which was brewing his heart. Storms were unpredictable in this time in the
Caribbean, in a moment the glistening
sun would retreat and rain would flood down in violent outbursts. Antonio was
accustomed to it by now. The rain added an extra twenty minutes to his commute
time but he didn’t care. The storm was only the beginning; he still had to face
He parked his luxury car in the 3 car garage, and slowly walked up the steps to his home. With each step he took, his legs grew heavier, to the point where he could barely make it up the last two. Nancy waited right by the door, standing in her bath robe, arms crossed against her chest.
“Where have you been? I know it doesn’t take more than an hour to drive home from work!
Tony sighed with frustration he was used to the usual nightly inquisition but tonight he grew frustrated by her accusations. “Is there a day that goes by and I don’t have to hear this nonsense.
please, there was traffic, okay” He walked away without giving her a chance for
a rebuttal. Off he went to their bedroom where he began to undress. He neatly
placed his dark blue Calvin Klein suit on top of the recliner seat in the room.
Nancy followed her husband into the bedroom and continued to work his nerves.
“So that’s what they call it now a days, traffic?” He didn’t bother to respond opting to bring up the trip to New York before he lost his courage. He turned to face his wife and with serious eyes spoke. ‘Nancy I’m afraid I have to leave town tomorrow. It’s sort of important. I have to go to New York to meet with a distributor. I’m sorry I know its last minute an all” Nancy stared at her husband waiting for the punch line but there was none. “You’re joking right? I hope you are kidding?” Nancy’s eyes swelled up with tears and Tony grew confused. He sat down on their king sized bed and looked up at his petite wife.” Honey, I told you its work, I have to go. Why can’t you trust me for once?”
Nancy sat beside her husband. “You have no idea what day it is tomorrow?” her voice quivered. Silence between them.
“It’s our six year anniversary tomorrow Tony and I can’t believe you didn’t even remember.” Nancy cried with sheer disappointment. Antonio reached out to embrace his wife but she jumped up and walked to the other side of the bed. How could he be so stupid and forget. He felt lousy
His vacant eyes stared at the rug on the floor of their bedroom, unaware of time, unaware of his surroundings any longer.
“I, I, I…………,” His mouth couldn’t form a complete sentence? It was the picture. He took it out of his pocket and smoothed out the wrinkles. Antonio turned slightly and looked over my shoulder. Nancy still sat hovered on a corner of the bed with her back to him. Her silent cries unnerved him yet he did nothing to stop them. She was right, he was a creep. A filthily liar, those words stung like poisonous venom.
Antonio had promised to continue seeing the marriage therapist and he really wanted to but the moment he saw the picture all bets where off.
He reached out to embrace his wife and tell her he still loved her but he couldn’t. His arm stood suspended in mid air. Poor Nancy, his wife of six years, she meant nothing when compared to his first love. She had no idea her husband had hired a PI to find this woman. If she knew all of this she would be at the attorney’s office filing for divorce but she didn’t know and therefore she still had hope their marriage would survive.
Antonio sat quietly and stared at her picture. He clutched his heart, the pain was unbearable. The pain of knowing he was purposely hurting his wife and the pain of seeing the face of the woman his heart longed for over the years, and she wasn’t dead she was alive.
“Sniff, sniff” Nancy was sobbing again and Tony cringed; now he felt like a callous monster. He reached into the nightstand and pulled out a tissue. Without facing her he placed in the middle of the bed. He knew it was a small gesture but it was a start for him. He twirled his platinum ring around his finger, the ring, the constant reminder of his unending love for his wife. He took a deep breath, more like a sigh. Tony had a choice to make, stay there with his wife on the day of the anniversary of find his first love in
New York City
Antonio booked the first flight out the next morning. It was their six year anniversary and she had made plans for them. This was her last attempt of saving their marriage and if he refused there will be nothing to salvage. Antonio felt bad but he knew that he had to go
New York City
and see her. His obsession for her had resurfaced. The same obsession he had as
a boy. It wasn’t healthy then and it wasn’t healthy now. But he knew he was no
longer in control of neither his emotions nor his actions. She had that effect
on him which is why he vowed to never see Sirena again but now it was too late.
He had seen her face and the fire in his heart was lit.
His wife begged and pleaded with Antonio to postpone his business trip and he wanted nothing more but to oblige to her request. He fought with himself all night and tried to convince himself not to go. He loved his wife so why was it so hard to cancel his trip to
New York. He didn’t pack
a thing his conscious wouldn’t let him but ultimately he decided to go for one
day and return the next day. He then could spend time with his wife upon his
return, if it wasn’t too late. But it was too late for she warned him if he
walked out the door it was over. For a second he thought he would stay but he
was a feen and he needed his fix. His addiction to Sirena was stronger than his
love for his wife and so with much shame and sorrow in his heart he left. Antonio knew that if he didn’t find her and
see her once again he couldn’t move forward.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
“We fight for justice
We fight for our freedom and our independence
We fight for our voices to be heard
We will not stand still and let our country be colonized
We will not let them destroy our national identity, our language, our educational institutions, our communications and our economy.”
The words echoing throughout the sun-lit plaza moved Antonio. He felt alive hearing the words that touched and awakened a part of him which until now slept.
He heard about the Boricua Army before but not good things. His father spoke negatively about the group. “Murderers” he called them, known for attacking
military bases and they were men who strongly believed armed struggle was
necessary. But he was wrong because those men protesting did not hide under the
mask of corruption or sell out to the highest bidder like his father did.
“We will fight for our traditions, our culture, our customs and our patriotic values
We fight to save our island, El Boriquen
Who will stand with us and fight?
Who will look the enemy in the eyes and tell them, No Mas!
We will challenge them because we ARE the Boriqua Army, the Matcheteros, and we will fight by any means necessary against our oppressor
A swarm of machetes swung in the air.
“No mas!” the crowd roared.
It was hot under the
Caribbean sun but it paled in comparison
to the heat brewing in his soul. He moved closer to the crowd, feeding off
their energy. A multitude of steel blades danced in the air, and Antonio grew
empowered by the show of patriotism.
These men fought with honor against injustice and exploitation of, and for the Puerto Rican people. All of the sword yielding men had values and a vision of a free island. Antonio made his way through the crowd of working farmers, fishermen, and factory workers, proud men who loved their island and would do anything to protect it. These were the faces of real men, who would fight to the end, until their battle was won and the sweet taste of victory was theirs for the feasting. Antonio now wanted to be like these men. He swung his closed fist in the air and joined in.
The proud Puerto Rican man next to Antonio, wearing a white sombrero gave him one of his two machetes. Antonio carefully ran his finger down the dull blade, feeling the power radiate through the inanimate object onto him. Gripping the handle with much pride, he thrust it up in the air. This was his first taste of independence, and he felt alive, he felt free, and he felt like a real man.
“No mas!” Antonio yelled. He no longer remembered why he waiting in the plaza in the first place. None of it mattered now. He no had a desire to be like these men, to fight for a cause and to stand up to injustice.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
continued.....................................He uses his forearm to break the fall and slow done the speed at which he is skidding across the concrete. He feels a burn and yells out in pain. The bike crashes onto a tree and the rider stops in the middle of the road. The rider doesn’t move.
On his hands and knees, Mervin crawls to his bike and away from the crazed rider. He's wet and blood is gushing from his head as he never wore a helmet. Mervin begins to feel light hearted, his vision blurs.
She did it. He's hurt and now she will finish him off. No Mercy, the motto she lives by. She turns the bike off and leaves it in the middle of the street. Raven walks in slow, dragged out steps, her black helmet disguises her. It is her mask to cover her identity.
Mervin is bleeding; she follows the trail of blood. She can see that he is defeated. There is no fight left in him.
"Who are you? He says. "What do you want from me?
Raven doesn’t respond to him, she pulls her arm behind her and pulls out a glock.
"Please, please. I don't have any money!" Mervin is crying.
She points the gun at his face. Her hand steady, her breath slow, eyes wide. This is the moment she has awaited. Her final glory……………….
"Who are you?" he whispers. He is so weak his head can no longer hold itself up. He places it on the ground and lets his body fall to the wet ground. Raven looks at him. He is bruised, scared, and vulnerable, just how she wanted him but now that the moment of victory is here, she is not enjoying him.
Mervin is a real man, flesh and blood; just like her brother was. She sees him for the first time, handsome, sad, unkempt, dirty, scared, and human. He wasn't an image of a monster in her mind anymore. Now as she lived the moment; it was different and she knew killing him would not bring her brother back.
After all the years she denied having a heart, it was a lie. Raven did have a heart no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that she didn't. Seeing Mervin in his condition stopped her dead in her tracks. Her mind told her, do it, pull the trigger and finish him off but her heart told her not to. And she struggled to make her fingers obey her and pull the trigger but they would not budge. She couldn't do it. She couldn't pull the trigger. Her eyes fill with tears, for now she feels like a failure.
Raven sees something more in his face. He is a handsome man she can't deny that, but something she never noticed, something hidden beneath the unkempt beard. His eyes were heavy with sadness, the same sadness she carried in her eyes. She puts her weapon down by her side and turns her back to walk away when she hears him, a soft whisper behind her, "Thank you" It send shivers down her spine.
And Mervin is thankful for facing death and surviving has given him a new outlook on his life. He will no longer chase away his regrets with the bottle, for he has promised God if she makes it, he will start a new, better life.
Raven mounts Rita. She's not satisfied. Surely revenge would taste sweeter but nothing but bitterness is left. She watches him from her bike. He clutches his injured hand close to his body. Blood pours out his exposed flesh. He uses one hand to try and pull his mangled bike out of the tree but it's no use. He's lost too much blood, and it too weak. He passes out. Raven knows if she leaves him there, he will die, and this is what she wanted all along, but she can't. She feels sorry for the man who killed her brother. She rides over to him and stops next to his body. She removes her helmet and shakes her long dark hair loose. Mervin hears movement and looks up with blurred vision. He sees a woman, long hair, beautiful face, and angel he thinks. Her eyes big and blue like priceless sapphires. She removes her leather jacket, and then her black tank top. He is convinced is dreaming or dead. Raven wraps her shirt around his head so slow the bleeding down. Then she puts her jacket back on but not before he sees a tattoo of an angel on her stomach. Now he knows she is an angel sent to rescue him. She kneels next to him and wraps her arms underneath him to help him up. Mervin can barely stand but he holds on to her. "Get on. I'll bring you to the hospital. She helps him up then sits in front. "Hold on tight" she tells him and he does. He hangs on with all the strength he has left. She rides fast and hard. She knows the road and the back road and a trip that would take even an ambulance forty minutes takes her fifteen. Once there she walks him in before handing him over to a nurse and walks away.
"Ms, Ms. Wait a minute!" she yells to Raven but she continues.
"Stop her!" she yells at the security officer who sleeps on a chair by the entrance door but he is not fast enough to catch Raven. She is down the street with Rita before he even makes it out the hospital doors. Mervin would never get to thank the angel who saved him; and he would never know the truth; the one who wanted him dead was the angel who saved him!
Friday, November 8, 2013
He stumbled out of the bar. He could not walk a straight line if his life depended on it. It took some time for him to even find his car keys, a sign that he should not be on the road. The rain beat down on him, angry that he could be so callous. Once the engine on his bike roared, he was off with no regards to anything. He'd given up cars after the accident. Now he saw them as dangerous death traps, another accident waiting to happen. He felt safer on the bike, and he felt good knowing he couldn't kill someone with his bike.
Mervin had worked as a detective after leaving the sheriff's department. He just didn't feel comfortable working in a place where whispers followed him, at each corner. He knew what they were saying. He was never liked there before anyways because he didn't follow the rules. He made his ends meet but after a while the cases stopped coming in. He was known for sloppy work that is working under the influence. But the less he worked, the more he drank and it became a vicious cycle.
Now he worked as a lousy janitor for the local high school in town. They pay was just enough to keep his bills paid and a drink in his hands. Sometimes he skipped eating simply because he would rather spend his money on alcohol than food. He could always go down tot the homeless shelter and eat if he wanted.
He past the Motel on
and that's when he saw the rider. Out of the darkness the rider awakens like a
raging animal and pulled up right behind Mervin. The rider zig-zagged between
the lanes, showing off. Not again, Mervin thought. He stuck his hand out and
waved for them to pass but he wouldn't. Mervin wasn't in the mood and in no
condition to entertain the hooligan by racing him.
They were all hooligans. There was a gang of them bike riders at the high school. Bad asses, all of them. If he was still deputy sheriff he would put them all in jail were they belonged.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
The Night Rider
I had lived my life for this moment. And I was willing to die for my cause. I practiced and practiced since his death. I had no attachments. I made sure not to date because it was just too complicated. Once you let a man in your life, they want to know it all. What motivates you? What plans do you have for the future? Where do you see us in the future? Who, what, where, when? I did not have time for that. Plus no one understood my reasoning. I was told so many times, to just let it go. But no one understood my pain, my loss. How can I let it go? He was all I had. He was my world. After his death I went to live with my grandmother who was so old she could not offer me much but a roof over my head, and food on the table which I had to cook and buy at the store. I cooked, I cleaned, I ran her errands, and did the groceries.
I revved my engine up. She, who I named Rita, vibrated underneath my thighs. She was my bitch tonight and I knew she was in sync with me. She knew my mission and how important it was for her to function at optimal speed, there was no room for errors tonight. I had re-contrusted Rita my 1979 Harley Davidson piece by piece, carefully choosing her parts and putting her together with much love. It took me nearly two years but she was well worth it. To me, she was priceless because without her there would be no revenge, and this moment would never come
He rode past me and I pulled up right besides him. He knew what I wanted. It was always the same. Me, the faceless biker egging him for a good race and most of the time he complied. Little did he know today it was different. Today was the anniversary of my brother’s death, December 12, and today would be the day I would kill him. “Blood for blood eye for eye.” I whispered in the night. You are mine tonight, Mervin
I believed in the law of the ancients, a life for a life. Why should he be allowed to live while my brother laid six feet deep? If the legal system would not make him pay then I would. I give him the signal I want to race him, I nod and wait for him to nod and he does. It’s on. I let him think he has a chance by only performing at half of Rita’s potential. I knew the road like the back of my hand. This road was my playground. While other girls are off doing cheerleading, sleepovers, dating all the fun teen stuff I practiced on this here piece of road. I knew all its curves and its slippery patches. I knew exactly how many holes there were in the pavement and how to avoid them but he did not. And most important I knew the exact spot where the road cut off and dipped into a dangerous ravine. Many cars as well as people have come to and end there lives there and this is what I was hoping would be Mervin’s dooms fall as well. Only those who knew the road well could avoid it during the day. But now it was a dark rainy night, the road was treacherous and he was not sober.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
To understand how Vivian ended up about to die, I needs to take you back to the day it all started. The day Vivan agreed to do her best friend a favor. This was the day her photos were taken.
The day was March 3, 2013. Her heart jump started into gear when the phone rung early that Saturday morning. Vivan wondered who would be so bold as to call us so early in morning. It was barely five thirty.
“Hello!” Vivian grunted.
“Vivian, I’m sorry I woke you up darling but I need to ask you for a huge favor and before you say no just let me finish okay.” It was her best friend, Daniella.
Vivian sighed loudly as she sat up in her bed and wiped the crust from her eyes. “What is it now?” It was just like Daniella always needing a small favor or two.
“I need you desperately today. I’m shooting my new fashion line for a magazine layout and I hired a model. But the model I hired was called to
Milan for a runway show and left immediately.
She won’t be back for 2 more days.” Daniella
whinnied in her ear forcing Vivian to get up from the bed so she didn’t wake
her boyfriend, Peter, who was snoring away. Vivian went to the bathroom to talk
on the phone.
“I see Daniella, then why don’t you reschedule the photographer for Tuesday then?”
“Because the deadline to submit her photos to the magazine is Tuesday, now do you see my dilemma? I don’t have time to find another photographer and find another model. It’s just impossible. If I don’t submit my photos to the magazine by Tuesday then I won’t be in the magazine. Don’t you see this is my big break and I may never get this opportunity again. I……just can’t blow this chance.” Daniella cried on the other side.
Vivian wanted nothing more than to go back to bed and curl up on Peter’s chest.
“Okay Daniella I understand your situation but I still don’t know what you need me to do? How can I help?” She asked only to rush her friend off the phone.
Daniella pleaded in her sweetest voice. “Viv please, please, do me this one favor, and I will forever be in your debt. I need you to be my model for the photo shoot.” Vivian remained silent in the bathroom waiting for the punch line but it never came. Daniella was serious.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
I knew since I was little I was different. They way I always saw things before they happened, the way my senses alerted me to danger, unlike anyone I knew. I could see better than all my peers, I could smell better than a hound dog, I could hear the sound of a pin drop. I could out run anybody and anything even the fastest dog on the block. I could jump fences and trees as if I were made of flexible rubber. I even jumped from the roof of my three-story apartment building and landed on my two feet, it was a dare, hey I was only ten years old but what a rush, I never felt so alive as I did soaring thru the air. I felt no fear at all.
Fearless, worriless, boundary-less that was me. Until I started to put the pieces together. The one thing I feared was water. A fear of drowning took over me whenever I attempted to submerge myself into a lake, pool, or watering hole. I just couldn’t do it. And cats, I loved cats as they love me. I had a way with them, like I understood them and vice versa. Even the when large cats, Tigers. Visiting the zoo became a hobby for me. I found the most comfort sitting in front of the Tiger’s cage and watching them, studying them. I felt as if I could read their minds. But that was impossible. I knew that but I still took comfort in thinking about the possibility.
And that’s when it happened, the day I sat by the Tiger, I named Cindy. There was something bothering her that day. She paced back and forth in her cage. “What’s wrong Cindy?” My mind thought. And that’s when I heard her respond but it was just a tiger’s roar that all around me heard but I didn’t. I heard her speak in English to me. “You need to free me; you will need my help my friend. Your life will be in danger once they know who you are?”
The voice in my head was accompanied by shearing pain like claws puncturing my brain. I yelled in pain, holding my head as I crutched down on the ground. “Stop it.” I yelled and she responded. “I’m sorry my friend, I know it is painful but I have to warn you. Please set me free, I am your only friend.” Despite the pain I stood up and got close to the cage as I could. She stood in front of me and our eyes locked. I saw in her eyes, a yellow gold ball and slowly it turned into a world, a world filled with humans who looked cat like. Cat people. I backed away, fear running through me, and ran as fast as I could without looking back.
Monday, September 23, 2013
Use the words from your favorite song, or the song stuck in you head, mix them up and write a short story based on the lyrics.
Song- Blown Away by Carrie Underwood
"There's not enough rain in
to wash the sins out of that house. There's not enough wind in Oklahoma to rip the
nails out of the past." Oklahoma
That's because the darkness lives in that house has a hold over the past, present, and future. They say a place, a house, or land never forgets its tragedies and they are right. For decades the house trapped the horrors of the past within its walls without releasing it. All the tears cried in that house could fill an ocean. All the blood shed there could supply a blood bank for years. Yet the house still stood regardless of the time eating away its exterior and interior. It survived the storms, floods, fires. Its hold on the land could not be broken for the house was the land and the land was the house.
I was the last one to inhabit the home. After 3o days I left and vowed never to return or set foot in the house or land. That I swore as I poured gasoline on the floors of every single room, then lit the match. I watched the fire take life before leaving the flames to do its job. Its job was to destroy but it didn't destroy the house. Two days later I drove by and saw the house still standing strong, and laughing at me. "Ha, ha, ha. You think you can destroy me?" the house roared at me. I didn't stop the car and drove away fearful, stunned, thoughtful of what kid of evil dwells there?
The evil in that house is the evil that never dies. Evil that has been here on earth before mankind and will exist after mankind. The one clue I once discovered as to the nature of the evil presence was in the basement. On the ground, written in what appeared to be blood was the word, Beliah. I looked it up, Beliah was a fallen angel. Was this his dwelling, his land? Were we simply visitors at his house until he felt the need for us to leave, because that’s how I felt. I never felt at home in the 16th century farmhouse in
Although I was a widower with no children, I was never alone in that house. I
heard him talking. I sensed his presence, a heaviness that sucked the air our
of the space and I saw the shadows. He was always watching me, touching me,
scarring me, and loathing me. For I was human and humans still have a chance to
enter into God's Kingdom. We are his children and God loves us and forgives us
but for the dark ones, the fallen angel he had no salvation, no forgiveness, so
he hated me. He wanted to take my life. That was the ultimate goal, always to
end my life after corrupting me and damming me to hell. That was his only
purpose in life, to dwell in that house and destroy lives and collect souls for
the dark one. But I, I walked away. I did not succumb to the house's fate. I
survived it with the help of my might father, God!
Sunday, September 22, 2013
You’ve been writing a blog for a number of months now without issue, and then suddenly you’re confronted with an anonymous commenter who posts unwarranted slams against you. A techie friend helps you use the commenter’s IP address to get the address of this rogue. You head to the house ready to pick a fight—but when you knock on the door, the person who answers is someone you know. Write this scene
My blog was my business and if anyone didn’t like it the solution was easy, don’t read it. I knew it wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea but that’s why it was mine, for me. My blog was basically a personal journal of my sexual encounters, which were frequent. I was a sex addict and had finally come to even admit it. I figured this blog would help me face the truth. And it had. But what gave that commentator the right to call me names, and then threaten to beat me down when they saw me. They had no idea who they were messing it. I may seem harmless but once I let the ghetto out of me, it will get ugly. I can do gangsta any day.
It pays to be nice to people because they are always willing to help you out if they think you are a friend to them. My mom always told me you catch more bees with honey and she was right. Lloyd worked in the Information Systems department of our office. He was a computer nerd and nerd wasn’t even an understatement. He looked the part. Skinny, tall and lanky, dirty blonde hair, bi-focals, pants pulled up all the way up his waist almost touching his nipples, and that laugh. Oh my what a laugh he had, sounded like a hackling, hyena. Anyways I knew he would be the one to help me finds out the IP address for the moron who had posted that insane comment on my blog. I mean really, it was a down right: threat
I slick my hair back into a ponytail, and wear a black hooded sweatshirt with black sweatpants and sneakers. I’m ready to kick some ass. I ring the doorbell.
“Who is it?” It’s a woman’s voice.
“Oh it’s Sexy
Sandy, bee-atch, open the door and beat me down like you
said you would!” I kick the door full of anger.
A shaky voice responds “You have the wrong house. I don’t know any Sexy Sandy.”
“No I don’t have the wrong house foo. You just didn’t think I would find out who the hell you were so you went and wrote all the shitt on my blog. Well now I’m here to show you what a ho-bitch I am. So open up” I proceeded to pound on the door with my fist. After a few minutes the door opened. I stood there mouth wide, heart pounding like a drum. I was left speechless by who was behind the door and she was just as shock to see me. See Sexy Sandy was just my screen name no one knew my real identity. This was a problem, in front of me stood, the Preachers’ wife from my church. The same church I faithfully attended every Sunday and Friday, and had been a member since I was a little girl. The same wife who was my childhood bible school teacher, Leslie. There were no words for either one to say. We stared at each other, eye to eye.
She spoke first, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were Slutty, I mean Sexy Sandy.”
I didn’t know what to say. Shame filled me. It was as if I was standing before God himself.
“I ………..I have to go.” I turn my back abruptly; ready to flee like a defeated dog.
“No, Samantha wait. You need help sweetie, please let me help you, let God help you.” She reached out her arm to try in grab me. I stopped.
“I don’t need any help, thank you.” I walked away quickly, before she could come after me. Tears fell from my eyes in a flood. Was this fate? Was this God’s way of telling me, enough was enough? I had know for months that I was out of control but what could I do? It was an addiction like any other. It wasn’t drugs, or alcohol, it was sex that dominated my life, my every thought. When I wasn’t having sex I was thinking about getting it. Sex was my release, my high. And I wasn’t picky. I didn’t discriminate, ugly, fat, man or woman, as long as they could give me an orgasm it didn’t matter to me.
Saturday, September 21, 2013
You return to the house where you grew up only to learn it has been condemned.
I always knew that place was a dump. I said on numerous occasion that the place should be torn down. When the number of rodents out-number the inhabitants of a home, there is a problem. The house also had the night time moving floor, you know the floor at night where roaches lurked and when you turned on the lights, they made the floor move as they ran away from the light like vampires who loathe the light. There had to have been millions of roaches in that hell-hole.
The house needed a bomb to demolish it ten years ago. There was no amount of paint, no amount of wood, sheet rock, flooring, or money spent that could bring that house back to it’s glory days. Built in 1790 that house had its number of owners and its share of tragic stories. It was rumored that an entire family died in a deadly fire on the Eve, of Christmas, 1819. But there was never any proof it ever happened. Just another rumor about Manning’s Manor.
Ignoring the yellow tape that drapes the entire house, I cross it and open the door. It’s vacant. The house sits on three acres on a secluded dirt road. The mid-century Victorian house with white painted shutters had been abandoned for ten years, we were the last ones to inhabit the home.
It’s bitter cold in the house, colder than it is outside. I walk inside and go to the family room. Now as I stand there in the cold December air battling my face, I swear I hear a faint whisper of my name, “Sally.” I turn around quickly only to see that I am alone.
Then again I have a faint memory of the first time the walls at Manning’s Manor spoke to me. I was only nine years old at the time. Of course my parents didn’t believe me, they never do.
It’s cold inside but something colder than the air makes my body shake from head to toe. I shut my eyes and I am transported back in time. Now I see and feel myself wandering the empty hallways at Manning Manor. It was Christmas Eve 1994, the year I saw her, the full body apparition. She was just like a normal person except she was lucid. I remember the long white robe she wore, it covered her feet. Her long blonde hair was straight and her brown eyes sparkled. I could feel sadness emanating from her. She was a young girl I was nine and had he feeling she was about the same age. She did not move or speak. The girl only looked at me with those sad eyes and as I called out to my mom she disappeared.
Now as I stand there I envision this girl and wonder, was she real, or a figment of my imagination. I’m drawn to the vacant lot and although cold, I can’t find myself to walk away and get back into my warm car. I walk to the center of the lot and sit down, Indian style. And then I hear it again, “Sally.”
I close my eyes and see her face again. Looking at me. And I open my mouth. “Who are you? Why are you here?”
“Thank you, I can let go now. For it is done” The quiet voice of a girl answers back. And sudden blast of air rushes through me and knocks my body down. I understood it all now. All those years I was trapped in that hell hole, so was she. It was her prison in death and now she was finally free. We both were. It was time for me to go home, to my new home, far, far away.
A church mandated penance
Needing to get something off your chest, you head to the confessional at church. After laying out your misdeed to the priest, you are given an unusual task to perform as penance—not creepy, just unusual. Write this scene.
I lean in closer so that I can hear him clearly.
“Are you serious?” I blurt out.
“Yes my child. That is what the Lord has requested from you.” He replies leaving me dumbfounded.
As the father had instructed me, I left confessional and headed to Mrs. Reilly’s house, father Reilly’s mother. I was to take her Christmas shopping at the mall for three hours and then according to Father Reilly, the Lord would forgive my transgressions.
Although odd, it was a small price to pay for my weekly sins. After all I had lied to my parents nine times, smoked five cigarettes, stole $20 from my aunt Ginny’s purse when she visited my mom, and I swore more than a hundred times. As I thought about it, I realized I was getting off easy.
I had just gotten my license two weeks ago and was eager to show off my newly learned driving skills.
Dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a rock t-shirt, I rang Mrs. Reilly’s doorbell.
An older woman about fifty years old opened the door and stood in front with her coat and purse in hand. . She was petite with a blonde wig.
“Well it’s about time. I have been waiting over an hour for you.”
She slammed the door shut.
“Hello to you too.” I mumbled under my breath.
“Hah? What did you say?” She yelled at the top of her lungs. I wanted to tell her I wasn’t deaf but I opted not to offend the mother of my priest, in case of bad karma.
I walked ahead of her and she continued talking to my backside.
“I don’t know why my son always has to pass me off to someone else. It’s like he doesn’t even care about me. You’d think he’s show me some respect? I mean I am his mother after all. I only suffered eighteen hours of labor to give him life.”
My head was already spinning and we had only made it to the car.
When she saw my car parked outside the house, she sighed heavily.
“Is that your car? Its small isn’t it? I have to have the window down you know or I get motion sickness.”
Once the car went on the radio automatically went back to playing the rock song I had left off on, and of course it was on full blast. “Mrs. Reilly jumped up and touched the roof of the car from the shock. I lowered the music quickly and apologized but it was too late.
“Are you trying to kill me? That’s what’s wrong with you young kids these days, you and that rock music! And what are you deaf?” I sealed my mouth shut for fear I might blurt out more curse words and then get stuck with her again as next week’s penance.
I let out a small laugh as I now realized that God was teaching me a lesson. My sins seemed petty now in comparison to the punishment. It was going to be a long three hours.