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.