Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Ice Breaker - Final [v.3]
I’ve never been much of a fighter.
But when the crowd of over eighteen-thousand got on their feet instinctively in reaction to a harshly physical play, all of that changed for me.
The Anaheim Ducks have always had that “bad” reputation; the kind that NHL referees absolutely thrive on because they can blow their sharp whistle during basically any play (especially when the Ducks are losing). No sane fan of any team gets pumped up thinking about their boys fighting a player from Anaheim.
I’d hate to think about how anxious our Wild fans were during Game Two of the Stanley Cup’s first-round playoffs. Tension was probably high with hostile insults toward valued players and fuming face-offs. It definitely ran tight down on the ice—I could almost feel the daggers being shot at me from the other players’ eyes.
It’s true that I’ve really come out of my shell as a player fit for the National Hockey League this past season. I guess that may be why I seem to have a freshly-painted bulls-eye glowing and pulsing quite noticeably on my jersey. Attention, let alone attention like that, has never been on the list of things I covet.
One would think an athlete in this sport would get more heat for fitting into the stereotype of missing an obvious tooth. But no, the Wild boys never let up on the fact that I don’t take advantage of my “big-guy” stats and toss around a few guys once in awhile.
The Ducks have a different set of rules, however, namely for themselves. It could be called Wrestle-On-Ice, coming to a rink near you!
Exhilarating but deadly, that’s just the way they play.
In the middle of the game, A feisty player got in our goalie’s face and fired his wrist at Backstrom, and I immediately glided in for Backy’s defense. That’s what being a defenseman is all about: guarding your zone. I couldn’t help but shove the guy a bit and tower over him in an attempt to be intimidating and say “lay off.” Anaheim, both fans and players, definitely got the wrong message.
One of the Ducks’ forwards took the provoked offense with such speed that you’d think he was streaking down the ice in a breakaway to score a goal from deep in his own zone rather than bounding a whole two feet to shove one of our defenseman. Not much to my surprise, the other Anaheim forward hurried over to try and help out his breathless teammate. There was one thing that stood in his way, however.
Me.
Once again, I skated over to defend a teammate. This time though, I exceeded the speed and vigor the second forward had and was in front of him before he landed a punch to our other defenseman. Chris Kunitz then directed all physical fury at me, seeming just as fueled for a fight as ever.
Restrictively entangled, we drifted away from the other fights that may or may not have broken out to my knowledge in response to the sudden outburst of intensity the first period had taken. In a few short seconds with our bodies interlocked waist-up, we wrestled over to the corner to left of the goal.
The maddened mob behind the plexiglass created a droning hum of “boos” quite obviously aimed at Anaheim. The rest of the place probably couldn’t hear the deafening crack of glass as I boarded Kunitz into the edge of the ice over their roaring cheers. I was sure the adrenaline was pumping in his veins at a high rate after that—the force he exerted into pushing more than twice his body weight away from the boards was incredible.
In the multiple attempts to gain the upper-hand, Kunitz and I ended up looking like two oddly-aggressive dancers: bent over, grabbing one another, and uncomfortably close. I felt pressure lift from my left shoulder and it was replaced by his right hand intently reaching towards me. Towards my face.
His moist palm slicked up my left cheek, and I could smell the disgusting warmth as the hand glided over my nose and eyes. Hand still gliding, my own tried to reach for a better grip on his dusky jersey before a force on the side of my head dragged my entire upper-half towards the ice.
To say the least, the crowd was severely displeased. The “boos” turned into obscene tauntings calling Kunitz “cowardly” and “cheap.”
“You don’t pull hair in the NHL!” a fan bellowed before exploding into a list of just accusations towards the Anaheim forward.
Letting the crowd take over with their repetitive and stimulating cheers of “Burn-zie! Burn-zie!” I took one deep breath and pulled my entire body back before launching into my response to the so-called cowardice.
All of my physical instincts seemed to bubble up to the front of my mind, taking over the happy-go-lucky attitude I effortlessly radiate to everyone. Self-proclaimed goofball: out the window.
After landing a big right hand explicitly to the face that had Kunitz staggering, I let the fans’ proud encouragement urge me on. Right hand after right hand, punch after punch, thrust after thrust, the explosion of the crowd seemed to get more enthusiastic—urging me on.
The forward bent back down to one of our original positions in an attempt to lift me off my skates or knock me off-balance, at the very least. I felt his feeble and sluggish retaliation punches lightly land on my torso before the two of us somehow ended up wrestling directly on the ice; it was then that the referees decided enough was enough.
After being helped up with quite some effort by the wiry-looking referees, Kunitz and I parted ways for the time being into the different locker rooms.
If I’d known that pushing the first forward would cause a rambunctious uproar to weave through the crowd… I probably wouldn’t have changed what I did. I finally dropped the gloves for the first time in my NHL career, and I was ready to take any consequences that came with the exhilarating experience. That includes a roughing penalty for “instigating,” to the crowd’s displeasure.
It took me four years to drop my purse and “be a man.” All I need now is to get a tooth knocked out, and I’ll be all set for the Hall of Fame.
But when the crowd of over eighteen-thousand got on their feet instinctively in reaction to a harshly physical play, all of that changed for me.
The Anaheim Ducks have always had that “bad” reputation; the kind that NHL referees absolutely thrive on because they can blow their sharp whistle during basically any play (especially when the Ducks are losing). No sane fan of any team gets pumped up thinking about their boys fighting a player from Anaheim.
I’d hate to think about how anxious our Wild fans were during Game Two of the Stanley Cup’s first-round playoffs. Tension was probably high with hostile insults toward valued players and fuming face-offs. It definitely ran tight down on the ice—I could almost feel the daggers being shot at me from the other players’ eyes.
It’s true that I’ve really come out of my shell as a player fit for the National Hockey League this past season. I guess that may be why I seem to have a freshly-painted bulls-eye glowing and pulsing quite noticeably on my jersey. Attention, let alone attention like that, has never been on the list of things I covet.
One would think an athlete in this sport would get more heat for fitting into the stereotype of missing an obvious tooth. But no, the Wild boys never let up on the fact that I don’t take advantage of my “big-guy” stats and toss around a few guys once in awhile.
The Ducks have a different set of rules, however, namely for themselves. It could be called Wrestle-On-Ice, coming to a rink near you!
Exhilarating but deadly, that’s just the way they play.
In the middle of the game, A feisty player got in our goalie’s face and fired his wrist at Backstrom, and I immediately glided in for Backy’s defense. That’s what being a defenseman is all about: guarding your zone. I couldn’t help but shove the guy a bit and tower over him in an attempt to be intimidating and say “lay off.” Anaheim, both fans and players, definitely got the wrong message.
One of the Ducks’ forwards took the provoked offense with such speed that you’d think he was streaking down the ice in a breakaway to score a goal from deep in his own zone rather than bounding a whole two feet to shove one of our defenseman. Not much to my surprise, the other Anaheim forward hurried over to try and help out his breathless teammate. There was one thing that stood in his way, however.
Me.
Once again, I skated over to defend a teammate. This time though, I exceeded the speed and vigor the second forward had and was in front of him before he landed a punch to our other defenseman. Chris Kunitz then directed all physical fury at me, seeming just as fueled for a fight as ever.
Restrictively entangled, we drifted away from the other fights that may or may not have broken out to my knowledge in response to the sudden outburst of intensity the first period had taken. In a few short seconds with our bodies interlocked waist-up, we wrestled over to the corner to left of the goal.
The maddened mob behind the plexiglass created a droning hum of “boos” quite obviously aimed at Anaheim. The rest of the place probably couldn’t hear the deafening crack of glass as I boarded Kunitz into the edge of the ice over their roaring cheers. I was sure the adrenaline was pumping in his veins at a high rate after that—the force he exerted into pushing more than twice his body weight away from the boards was incredible.
In the multiple attempts to gain the upper-hand, Kunitz and I ended up looking like two oddly-aggressive dancers: bent over, grabbing one another, and uncomfortably close. I felt pressure lift from my left shoulder and it was replaced by his right hand intently reaching towards me. Towards my face.
His moist palm slicked up my left cheek, and I could smell the disgusting warmth as the hand glided over my nose and eyes. Hand still gliding, my own tried to reach for a better grip on his dusky jersey before a force on the side of my head dragged my entire upper-half towards the ice.
To say the least, the crowd was severely displeased. The “boos” turned into obscene tauntings calling Kunitz “cowardly” and “cheap.”
“You don’t pull hair in the NHL!” a fan bellowed before exploding into a list of just accusations towards the Anaheim forward.
Letting the crowd take over with their repetitive and stimulating cheers of “Burn-zie! Burn-zie!” I took one deep breath and pulled my entire body back before launching into my response to the so-called cowardice.
All of my physical instincts seemed to bubble up to the front of my mind, taking over the happy-go-lucky attitude I effortlessly radiate to everyone. Self-proclaimed goofball: out the window.
After landing a big right hand explicitly to the face that had Kunitz staggering, I let the fans’ proud encouragement urge me on. Right hand after right hand, punch after punch, thrust after thrust, the explosion of the crowd seemed to get more enthusiastic—urging me on.
The forward bent back down to one of our original positions in an attempt to lift me off my skates or knock me off-balance, at the very least. I felt his feeble and sluggish retaliation punches lightly land on my torso before the two of us somehow ended up wrestling directly on the ice; it was then that the referees decided enough was enough.
After being helped up with quite some effort by the wiry-looking referees, Kunitz and I parted ways for the time being into the different locker rooms.
If I’d known that pushing the first forward would cause a rambunctious uproar to weave through the crowd… I probably wouldn’t have changed what I did. I finally dropped the gloves for the first time in my NHL career, and I was ready to take any consequences that came with the exhilarating experience. That includes a roughing penalty for “instigating,” to the crowd’s displeasure.
It took me four years to drop my purse and “be a man.” All I need now is to get a tooth knocked out, and I’ll be all set for the Hall of Fame.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Apology Poem
I'm sorry for any future erratic, emotional behaviors.
The sarcasm monster has inhabited my mouth, and I must not be held responsible for what protrudes from it.
I mean no offense for being unresponsive; I'm just not listening to you.
My mine is elsewhere
(or nowhere at all).
I'd like to give you my sincere apology, but...
Your feelings can't surpass the amazingness of Twilight.
- - -
To You,
I'm sorry to hear about the sarcasm monster
but at least you liked the movie.
All I was going to say was
you have popcorn stuck between your teeth.
I guess it wasn't important to you.
By the way,
it's still there.
The sarcasm monster has inhabited my mouth, and I must not be held responsible for what protrudes from it.
I mean no offense for being unresponsive; I'm just not listening to you.
My mine is elsewhere
(or nowhere at all).
I'd like to give you my sincere apology, but...
Your feelings can't surpass the amazingness of Twilight.
To You,
I'm sorry to hear about the sarcasm monster
but at least you liked the movie.
All I was going to say was
you have popcorn stuck between your teeth.
I guess it wasn't important to you.
By the way,
it's still there.
Ice Breaker - Matrix [v.2]
I’ve never been much of a fighter.
But when the crowd of over eighteen-thousand got on their feet instinctively in reaction to a harshly physical play, yelling at any one of the players to help out a teammate, all of that changed for me.
The Anaheim Ducks have always had that “bad” reputation; the kind that NHL referees absolutely thrive on because they can blow their sharp whistle during basically any play (especially when the Ducks are losing). No sane fan of any team gets pumped up thinking about their boys fighting a player from Anaheim.
I’d hate to think about how anxious our Wild fans were during Game Two of the Stanley Cup’s first-round playoffs. Tension was probably high with hostile insults toward valued players and fuming face-offs. It definitely ran tight down on the ice.
A feisty player got in our goalie’s face and fired his wrist at Backstrom, and I immediately glided in for Backy’s defense. That’s what being a defenseman is all about: guarding your zone. I couldn’t help but shove the guy a bit and tower over him in an attempt to be intimidating and say “lay off.” Anaheim, both fans and players, definitely got the wrong message.
One of the Ducks’ forwards took the provoked offense with such speed that you’d think he was streaking down the ice in a breakaway to score a goal from deep in his own zone rather than bounding a whole two feet to shove one of our defenseman. Not much to my surprise, the other Anaheim forward hurried over to try and help out his breathless teammate. There was one thing that stood in his way, however.
Me.
Once again, I skated over to defend a teammate. This time though, I exceeded the speed and vigor the second forward had and was in front of him before he landed a punch to our other defenseman. Chris Kunitz then directed all physical fury at me, seeming just as fueled for a fight as ever.
Restrictively entangled, we drifted away from the other fights that may or may not have broken out to my knowledge in response to the sudden outburst of intensity the first period had taken. In a few short seconds with our bodies interlocked waist-up, we wrestled over to the corner to left of the goal.
The maddened mob behind the plexiglass created a droning hum of “boos” quite obviously aimed at Anaheim. The rest of the place probably couldn’t hear the deafening crack of glass as I boarded Kunitz into the edge of the ice over their roaring cheers. I was sure the adrenaline was pumping in his veins at a high rate after that—the force he exerted into pushing more than twice his body weight away from the boards was incredible.
In the multiple attempts to gain the upper-hand, Kunitz and I ended up looking like two oddly-aggressive dancers: bent over, grabbing one another, and almost uncomfortably close. I felt pressure lift from my left shoulder and it was replaced by his right hand intently reaching towards me. Towards my face.
His moist palm slicked up my left cheek, and I could smell the disgusting warmth as the hand glided over my nose and eyes. Hand still gliding, my own tried to reach for a better grip on his dusky jersey before a force on the side of my head dragged my entire upper-half towards the ice.
To say the least, the crowd was severely displeased. The “boos” turned into obscene tauntings calling Kunitz “cowardly” and “cheap.”
“You don’t pull hair in the NHL!” a fan bellowed before exploding into a list of just accusations towards the Anaheim forward.
Letting the crowd take over with their repetitive and stimulating cheers of “Burn-zie! Burn-zie!” I took one deep breath and pulled my entire body back before launching into my response to the so-called cowardice.
After landing a big right hand explicitly to the face that had Kunitz staggering, I let the fans’ proud encouragement urge me on. Right hand after right hand, punch after punch, thrust after thrust, the explosion of the crowd seemed to get more enthusiastic.
The forward bent back down to one of our original positions in an attempt to lift me off my skates or knock me off-balance, at the very least. I felt his feeble and sluggish retaliation punches lightly land on my torso before the two of us somehow ended up wrestling directly on the ice; it was then that the referees decided enough was enough.
After being helped up with quite some effort by the wiry-looking referees, Kunitz and I parted ways for the time being into the different locker rooms.
If I’d known that pushing the first forward would cause a rambunctious uproar to weave through the crowd… I probably wouldn’t have changed what I did. I finally dropped the gloves for the first time in my NHL career, and I was ready to take any consequences that came with the exhilarating experience. That includes a roughing penalty for “instigating,” to the crowd’s displeasure.
It took me four years to drop my purse, and I’m not scared of it anymore.
But when the crowd of over eighteen-thousand got on their feet instinctively in reaction to a harshly physical play, yelling at any one of the players to help out a teammate, all of that changed for me.
The Anaheim Ducks have always had that “bad” reputation; the kind that NHL referees absolutely thrive on because they can blow their sharp whistle during basically any play (especially when the Ducks are losing). No sane fan of any team gets pumped up thinking about their boys fighting a player from Anaheim.
I’d hate to think about how anxious our Wild fans were during Game Two of the Stanley Cup’s first-round playoffs. Tension was probably high with hostile insults toward valued players and fuming face-offs. It definitely ran tight down on the ice.
A feisty player got in our goalie’s face and fired his wrist at Backstrom, and I immediately glided in for Backy’s defense. That’s what being a defenseman is all about: guarding your zone. I couldn’t help but shove the guy a bit and tower over him in an attempt to be intimidating and say “lay off.” Anaheim, both fans and players, definitely got the wrong message.
One of the Ducks’ forwards took the provoked offense with such speed that you’d think he was streaking down the ice in a breakaway to score a goal from deep in his own zone rather than bounding a whole two feet to shove one of our defenseman. Not much to my surprise, the other Anaheim forward hurried over to try and help out his breathless teammate. There was one thing that stood in his way, however.
Me.
Once again, I skated over to defend a teammate. This time though, I exceeded the speed and vigor the second forward had and was in front of him before he landed a punch to our other defenseman. Chris Kunitz then directed all physical fury at me, seeming just as fueled for a fight as ever.
Restrictively entangled, we drifted away from the other fights that may or may not have broken out to my knowledge in response to the sudden outburst of intensity the first period had taken. In a few short seconds with our bodies interlocked waist-up, we wrestled over to the corner to left of the goal.
The maddened mob behind the plexiglass created a droning hum of “boos” quite obviously aimed at Anaheim. The rest of the place probably couldn’t hear the deafening crack of glass as I boarded Kunitz into the edge of the ice over their roaring cheers. I was sure the adrenaline was pumping in his veins at a high rate after that—the force he exerted into pushing more than twice his body weight away from the boards was incredible.
In the multiple attempts to gain the upper-hand, Kunitz and I ended up looking like two oddly-aggressive dancers: bent over, grabbing one another, and almost uncomfortably close. I felt pressure lift from my left shoulder and it was replaced by his right hand intently reaching towards me. Towards my face.
His moist palm slicked up my left cheek, and I could smell the disgusting warmth as the hand glided over my nose and eyes. Hand still gliding, my own tried to reach for a better grip on his dusky jersey before a force on the side of my head dragged my entire upper-half towards the ice.
To say the least, the crowd was severely displeased. The “boos” turned into obscene tauntings calling Kunitz “cowardly” and “cheap.”
“You don’t pull hair in the NHL!” a fan bellowed before exploding into a list of just accusations towards the Anaheim forward.
Letting the crowd take over with their repetitive and stimulating cheers of “Burn-zie! Burn-zie!” I took one deep breath and pulled my entire body back before launching into my response to the so-called cowardice.
After landing a big right hand explicitly to the face that had Kunitz staggering, I let the fans’ proud encouragement urge me on. Right hand after right hand, punch after punch, thrust after thrust, the explosion of the crowd seemed to get more enthusiastic.
The forward bent back down to one of our original positions in an attempt to lift me off my skates or knock me off-balance, at the very least. I felt his feeble and sluggish retaliation punches lightly land on my torso before the two of us somehow ended up wrestling directly on the ice; it was then that the referees decided enough was enough.
After being helped up with quite some effort by the wiry-looking referees, Kunitz and I parted ways for the time being into the different locker rooms.
If I’d known that pushing the first forward would cause a rambunctious uproar to weave through the crowd… I probably wouldn’t have changed what I did. I finally dropped the gloves for the first time in my NHL career, and I was ready to take any consequences that came with the exhilarating experience. That includes a roughing penalty for “instigating,” to the crowd’s displeasure.
It took me four years to drop my purse, and I’m not scared of it anymore.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Matrix Reloaded [v.2]
“I did it!” the small voice cheered, “I killed you, Mother! Ahaha! I won the spar!”
“Hmph,” the woman sighed as she plopped down on the dry grass, tossing the branch in her hand to the side. Autumn was setting in so the fall was a bit uncomfortable. She watched her son throw the long, makeshift sword into the air before skipping around and called out to him. “Darren, remember not to go too far!”
Katelyn always tried to keep him in her reach, but as Darren grew older his independence mirrored the growth. The townspeople always said that he was ‘just like his father,’ and Katelyn saw how sometimes. It wasn’t just looks, but his intense thirst for life’s offerings, even at such a young age had to have come from Darren’s father.
No one was quite sure how he had come to inherit the trait. The young boy had grown up without a father. Once every year, Katelyn would plummet into fits of depression from her husband’s untimely death. She took the burden right off from anyone’s shoulders and stacked it on her own. All could tell she intended to take any and all responsibility for the misfortune.
Awhile later Darren came running back up from the small creek at the bottom of the hill he ran to in joy, smiling with all teeth showing.
“Come, Darren. Let’s go home. I’ll fix you your favorite meal for winning today.” Katelyn nudged her son forward slightly once he was close to her.
The two turned towards the path that led away from the secluded open area in the dense woods that led to their home. They walked close together, Darren tugging on his mother’s hand sometimes for guidance in the dark. The path seemed narrower than it actually was when the sun was setting. The many trees created misleading shadows.
Katelyn’s heart started to beat faster at the sound of leaves being crunched under mild pressure off to the side somewhere. Her green eyes scanned the darkness. The wind, she told herself, it must be the wind.
Wind didn’t reach that deep into the woods.
Twigs snapped, leaves crunched, trees creaked…swords clashed, voices shouted…
“Get out of here!” a burly man bellowed.
A figure clad in a black cloak amongst many identical others weaved its way opposite of the crowd, unnoticed except for the ones passing directly by who didn’t try to stop him for fear of losing their lives.
He arrived at a large arched hallway and dashed through it, coming to a magnificent open room. There were almost no furnishings except for the elegant throne on the far side. Only one other person was in the room.
Katelyn.
She stood at the center of the symbol on the floor, a large circle with spikes protruding from the smaller circle in the middle. She looked as beautiful as always in spite of her disheveled appearance. Katelyn’s lengthy chestnut hair contained knots and some splashes of matted blood near the ends.
The cloaked figure started to walk towards Katelyn who had already noticed his presence before they got to the entrance of the hall. Her demeanor hadn’t diminished from its threatening stage. Eyes locked onto his as he approached.
Katelyn dashed towards him, sword held steadily forward in the offense. The figure slowed his walk slightly before stopping completely, failing at convincing Katelyn he meant no harm. She kept running closer and closer, her fury becoming more impending with each step. Feeling he had no other choice, he unsheathed his sword, the distinct metallic ring resonating through the silent room. Surely Katelyn would recognize that sound, he thought. He soon saw that she was too far gone to notice the familiarity of it.
His feet slid back against the marble floor from the impact of Katelyn’s blow. His hands and teeth clenched from the effort of keeping a hold of the hilt of his sword. The hits kept coming, and he kept blocking. Arms heavy from defending against Katelyn’s agile strikes, his mind was clouded with questions on how she consistently kept making these forceful attacks. Come on, Katelyn, realize who you’re fighting against, he thought.
He thought back to their sparring back at home. She’s beaten him once in all these years. The mistake was that he moved his arm upwards too quickly to realize that Katelyn faked a move effectively and stabbed at his gut with the branch-made-sword. Hoping her memory could shine through her concentration, he moved his left arm “defensively” as a desperate attempt to make her realize who she was trying to kill.
Memory failed, Katelyn took the man’s opening slip as an invitation for her sword.
Richard called out her name in mid-thrust before the impact was made.
She gasped in shock as he grunted and fell to the ground in agony, holding the wound in his gut where he could around the sword.
“Richard, no!” she cried, “Why didn’t you tell me it was you?”
Her husband panted as he moved to balance on his hands and knees, flinching violently and groaning as the sword moved with him.
“Please, just pull…” he whispered between breaths, “Just pull this out?”
She now regretted using the sword she had, the one with the rigid blade.
Katelyn hurriedly yet gently moved Richard upright, slowly pulling her sword back through as smoothly as possible. Richard felt every ridge against his wound as the sword came through but tried to not let that show. Now free of the extra pain, he collapsed on the ground, his blood pooling around beneath him.
“Richard, I am so sorry,” Katelyn whispered, “I didn’t know it was you. Why did you leave that opening? That’s not like you. You could’ve said something in the middle of the fight, or even before it started, you—“
“Katelyn.”
“—never should’ve moved your arm, and you know that—“
“Katelyn,” Richard groaned, “hush.”
“—I’m going to go find someone who can treat this wound. Oh, I’m so sorry, Richard. I’ll be right—“
“No, I just…want you to stay here…with me.”
Katelyn quieted down and her eyes started to water. She shook her head slightly. “No, no, no, I won’t let that happen to you.”
She started to rise and Richard grabbed her arm as if asking her to please sit back down. Tears no longer under control, Katelyn hugged her husband as close as she could without hurting him too much. Richard lifted one heavy arm up and around his wife’s waist.
“I’m sorry, Richard. I love you so much.” Katelyn said as she rose up a bit.
“I know, love. I know.” Richard coughed a bit, groaning afterwards. “You want to know something?”
Katelyn could only nod slightly.
“I let you win.” He smirked.
A small laugh broke through the tears, and Katelyn wiped her cheeks dry.
“What kind of thing is that to say at a time like—“
She looked down and saw that Richard’s head had fallen to the ground.
“—this.”
Katelyn broke down once more…
“Mother?” Darren’s quiet voice asked, “Wake up, please?”
Katelyn moaned slightly as she stretched in her bed. She blinked a few times.
“How did…?”
“You collapsed in the middle of the path on the way home and started shouting Father’s name, saying you’re sorry. I…didn’t know what to do, so I ran to town as quickly as I could to get help. Mr. John carried you here. I made sure your feet wouldn’t hit any trees ‘cause they’re all so close together, ya know.”
Katelyn’s usual warm smile appeared on her face. It disappeared when exhaustion took over her body.
“C’mon, Katelyn,” a deep voice said moments later, “you don’t dare leave this boy alone here.”
“…Richard?” Katelyn asked quietly, her eyes only partially opened.
The man’s concerned expression softened. “I’m afraid not, dear. It’s just John here.”
Katelyn blinked a few times and rubbed her eyes. She sighed slightly and said, “Oh, yes, I suppose that was a silly thing to wonder, now wasn’t it?”
John shifted his weight on the old wooden chair he was sitting on. It creaked with the movement of pressure. “Well, it is indeed that time of year after all, dear one.”
“Yes.”
The room fell silent.
“Mother, I don’t think it’s your fault that Father’s gone.” Darren spoke up from the far side of the cozy room. He was sitting on the floor and warming his hands by the fire because of the chilly night air.
“Darren,” Katelyn said, “you don’t know the—“
“I know enough about you to know you would’ve done everything you could to keep him alive for us.”
She paused before answering. “Thank you,” she said quietly, unable to say anymore.
The years passed by and every year soon after the arrival of Autumn, Katelyn fell into her routine of doubt and self-blame. Every time that happened, Darren would always be right by her side, comforting her and distracting her mind with stories or mock spars. Katelyn became her usual self afterwards, always cheery with a warm smile, just before the inevitable Autumn came to settle in once again.
“Hmph,” the woman sighed as she plopped down on the dry grass, tossing the branch in her hand to the side. Autumn was setting in so the fall was a bit uncomfortable. She watched her son throw the long, makeshift sword into the air before skipping around and called out to him. “Darren, remember not to go too far!”
Katelyn always tried to keep him in her reach, but as Darren grew older his independence mirrored the growth. The townspeople always said that he was ‘just like his father,’ and Katelyn saw how sometimes. It wasn’t just looks, but his intense thirst for life’s offerings, even at such a young age had to have come from Darren’s father.
No one was quite sure how he had come to inherit the trait. The young boy had grown up without a father. Once every year, Katelyn would plummet into fits of depression from her husband’s untimely death. She took the burden right off from anyone’s shoulders and stacked it on her own. All could tell she intended to take any and all responsibility for the misfortune.
Awhile later Darren came running back up from the small creek at the bottom of the hill he ran to in joy, smiling with all teeth showing.
“Come, Darren. Let’s go home. I’ll fix you your favorite meal for winning today.” Katelyn nudged her son forward slightly once he was close to her.
The two turned towards the path that led away from the secluded open area in the dense woods that led to their home. They walked close together, Darren tugging on his mother’s hand sometimes for guidance in the dark. The path seemed narrower than it actually was when the sun was setting. The many trees created misleading shadows.
Katelyn’s heart started to beat faster at the sound of leaves being crunched under mild pressure off to the side somewhere. Her green eyes scanned the darkness. The wind, she told herself, it must be the wind.
Wind didn’t reach that deep into the woods.
Twigs snapped, leaves crunched, trees creaked…swords clashed, voices shouted…
“Get out of here!” a burly man bellowed.
A figure clad in a black cloak amongst many identical others weaved its way opposite of the crowd, unnoticed except for the ones passing directly by who didn’t try to stop him for fear of losing their lives.
He arrived at a large arched hallway and dashed through it, coming to a magnificent open room. There were almost no furnishings except for the elegant throne on the far side. Only one other person was in the room.
Katelyn.
She stood at the center of the symbol on the floor, a large circle with spikes protruding from the smaller circle in the middle. She looked as beautiful as always in spite of her disheveled appearance. Katelyn’s lengthy chestnut hair contained knots and some splashes of matted blood near the ends.
The cloaked figure started to walk towards Katelyn who had already noticed his presence before they got to the entrance of the hall. Her demeanor hadn’t diminished from its threatening stage. Eyes locked onto his as he approached.
Katelyn dashed towards him, sword held steadily forward in the offense. The figure slowed his walk slightly before stopping completely, failing at convincing Katelyn he meant no harm. She kept running closer and closer, her fury becoming more impending with each step. Feeling he had no other choice, he unsheathed his sword, the distinct metallic ring resonating through the silent room. Surely Katelyn would recognize that sound, he thought. He soon saw that she was too far gone to notice the familiarity of it.
His feet slid back against the marble floor from the impact of Katelyn’s blow. His hands and teeth clenched from the effort of keeping a hold of the hilt of his sword. The hits kept coming, and he kept blocking. Arms heavy from defending against Katelyn’s agile strikes, his mind was clouded with questions on how she consistently kept making these forceful attacks. Come on, Katelyn, realize who you’re fighting against, he thought.
He thought back to their sparring back at home. She’s beaten him once in all these years. The mistake was that he moved his arm upwards too quickly to realize that Katelyn faked a move effectively and stabbed at his gut with the branch-made-sword. Hoping her memory could shine through her concentration, he moved his left arm “defensively” as a desperate attempt to make her realize who she was trying to kill.
Memory failed, Katelyn took the man’s opening slip as an invitation for her sword.
Richard called out her name in mid-thrust before the impact was made.
She gasped in shock as he grunted and fell to the ground in agony, holding the wound in his gut where he could around the sword.
“Richard, no!” she cried, “Why didn’t you tell me it was you?”
Her husband panted as he moved to balance on his hands and knees, flinching violently and groaning as the sword moved with him.
“Please, just pull…” he whispered between breaths, “Just pull this out?”
She now regretted using the sword she had, the one with the rigid blade.
Katelyn hurriedly yet gently moved Richard upright, slowly pulling her sword back through as smoothly as possible. Richard felt every ridge against his wound as the sword came through but tried to not let that show. Now free of the extra pain, he collapsed on the ground, his blood pooling around beneath him.
“Richard, I am so sorry,” Katelyn whispered, “I didn’t know it was you. Why did you leave that opening? That’s not like you. You could’ve said something in the middle of the fight, or even before it started, you—“
“Katelyn.”
“—never should’ve moved your arm, and you know that—“
“Katelyn,” Richard groaned, “hush.”
“—I’m going to go find someone who can treat this wound. Oh, I’m so sorry, Richard. I’ll be right—“
“No, I just…want you to stay here…with me.”
Katelyn quieted down and her eyes started to water. She shook her head slightly. “No, no, no, I won’t let that happen to you.”
She started to rise and Richard grabbed her arm as if asking her to please sit back down. Tears no longer under control, Katelyn hugged her husband as close as she could without hurting him too much. Richard lifted one heavy arm up and around his wife’s waist.
“I’m sorry, Richard. I love you so much.” Katelyn said as she rose up a bit.
“I know, love. I know.” Richard coughed a bit, groaning afterwards. “You want to know something?”
Katelyn could only nod slightly.
“I let you win.” He smirked.
A small laugh broke through the tears, and Katelyn wiped her cheeks dry.
“What kind of thing is that to say at a time like—“
She looked down and saw that Richard’s head had fallen to the ground.
“—this.”
Katelyn broke down once more…
“Mother?” Darren’s quiet voice asked, “Wake up, please?”
Katelyn moaned slightly as she stretched in her bed. She blinked a few times.
“How did…?”
“You collapsed in the middle of the path on the way home and started shouting Father’s name, saying you’re sorry. I…didn’t know what to do, so I ran to town as quickly as I could to get help. Mr. John carried you here. I made sure your feet wouldn’t hit any trees ‘cause they’re all so close together, ya know.”
Katelyn’s usual warm smile appeared on her face. It disappeared when exhaustion took over her body.
“C’mon, Katelyn,” a deep voice said moments later, “you don’t dare leave this boy alone here.”
“…Richard?” Katelyn asked quietly, her eyes only partially opened.
The man’s concerned expression softened. “I’m afraid not, dear. It’s just John here.”
Katelyn blinked a few times and rubbed her eyes. She sighed slightly and said, “Oh, yes, I suppose that was a silly thing to wonder, now wasn’t it?”
John shifted his weight on the old wooden chair he was sitting on. It creaked with the movement of pressure. “Well, it is indeed that time of year after all, dear one.”
“Yes.”
The room fell silent.
“Mother, I don’t think it’s your fault that Father’s gone.” Darren spoke up from the far side of the cozy room. He was sitting on the floor and warming his hands by the fire because of the chilly night air.
“Darren,” Katelyn said, “you don’t know the—“
“I know enough about you to know you would’ve done everything you could to keep him alive for us.”
She paused before answering. “Thank you,” she said quietly, unable to say anymore.
The years passed by and every year soon after the arrival of Autumn, Katelyn fell into her routine of doubt and self-blame. Every time that happened, Darren would always be right by her side, comforting her and distracting her mind with stories or mock spars. Katelyn became her usual self afterwards, always cheery with a warm smile, just before the inevitable Autumn came to settle in once again.
Matrix Reloaded [v.1]
“I did it!” the small voice cheered, “I killed you, Mother! Ahaha! I won the spar!”
“Hmph,” the woman sighed as she plopped down on the dry grass, tossing the branch in her hand to the side. Autumn was setting in so the fall was a bit uncomfortable. She watched her son throw the long, makeshift sword into the air before skipping around and called out to him. “Darren, remember not to go too far!”
Katelyn always tried to keep him in her reach, but as Darren grew older his independence mirrored the growth. The townspeople always said that he was ‘just like his father,’ and Katelyn saw how sometimes. It wasn’t just looks, but his intense thirst for life’s offerings, even at such a young age had to have come from Darren’s father.
No one was quite sure how he had come to inherit the trait. The young boy had grown up without a father. Once every year, Katelyn would plummet into fits of depression from her husband’s untimely death. She took the burden right off from anyone’s shoulders and stacked it on her own. All could tell she intended to take any and all responsibility for the misfortune.
Awhile later Darren came running back up from the small creek at the bottom of the hill he ran to in joy, smiling with all teeth showing.
“Come, Darren. Let’s go home. I’ll fix you your favorite meal for winning today.” Katelyn nudged her son forward slightly once he was close to her.
The two turned towards the path that led away from the secluded open area in the dense woods that led to their home. They walked close together, Darren tugging on his mother’s hand sometimes for guidance in the dark. The path seemed narrower than it actually was when the sun was setting. The many trees created misleading shadows.
Katelyn’s heart started to beat faster at the sound of leaves being crunched under mild pressure off to the side somewhere. Her green eyes scanned the darkness. The wind, she told herself, it must be the wind.
Wind didn’t reach that deep into the woods.
Twigs snapped, leaves crunched, trees creaked, swords clashed, voices shouted…
“Get out of here!” a burly man bellowed.
A figure clad in a black cloak amongst many identical others weaved its way opposite of the crowd, unnoticed except for the ones passing directly by who didn’t try to stop him for fear of losing their lives.
He arrived at a large arched hallway and dashed through it, coming to a magnificent open room. There were almost no furnishings except for the elegant throne on the far side of the room. Only one other person was in the room.
Katelyn.
She stood at the center of the symbol on the floor, a large circle with spikes protruding from the smaller circle in the middle. She looked as beautiful as always in spite of her disheveled appearance. Katelyn’s lengthy chestnut hair contained knots and some splashes of matted blood near the bottom. She seemed to have done most of the work during her mission.
The cloaked figure started to walk towards Katelyn who had already noticed his presence before they got to the entrance of the hall. Her demeanor hadn’t diminished from its threatening stage. Eyes locked onto his as he approached.
Katelyn dashed towards him, sword held steadily forward in the offense. The figure slowed his walk slightly before stopping completely, failing at convincing Katelyn he meant no harm. She kept running closer and closer, her fury becoming more impending with each step. Feeling he had no other choice, he unsheathed his sword, the distinct metallic ring resonating through the silent room. Surely Katelyn would recognize that sound, he thought. He soon saw that she was too far gone to notice the familiarity of it.
His feet slid back against the marble floor from the impact of Katelyn’s blow. His hands and teeth clenched from the effort of keeping a hold of the hilt of his sword. The hits kept coming, and he kept blocking. Arms heavy from defending against Katelyn’s agile strikes, his mind was clouded with questions on how she forcefully and consistently kept making these attacks. Come on, Katelyn, realize who you’re fighting against, he thought.
He thought back to their sparring back at home. She’s beaten him once in all these years. The mistake was that he moved his arm upwards too quickly to realize that Katelyn faked a move effectively and stabbed at his gut with the branch-made-sword. Hoping her memory could shine through her concentration, he moved his left arm “defensively” as a desperate attempt to make her realize who she was trying to kill.
Memory failed, Katelyn took the man’s opening slip as an invitation for her sword.
Richard called out her name in mid-thrust before the impact was made.
She gasped in shock as he grunted and fell to the ground in agony, holding the wound in his gut where he could around the sword.
“Richard, no!” she cried, “Why didn’t you tell me it was you?”
Her husband panted as he moved to balance on his hands and knees, flinching violently and groaning as the sword moved with him.
“Please, just pull…” he whispered between breaths, “Just pull this out?”
She now regretted using the sword she had, the one with the rigid blade.
Katelyn hurriedly yet gently moved Richard upright, slowly pulling her sword back through as smoothly as possible. Richard felt every ridge against his wound as the sword came through but tried to not let that show. Now free of the extra pain, he collapsed on the ground, his blood pooling around beneath him.
“Richard, I am so sorry,” Katelyn whispered, “I didn’t know it was you. Why did you leave that opening? That’s not like you. You could’ve said something in the middle of the fight, or even before it started, you—“
“Katelyn.”
“—never should’ve moved your arm, and you know that—“
“Katelyn,” Richard groaned, “hush.”
“—I’m going to go find someone who can treat this wound. Oh, I’m so sorry, Richard. I’ll be right—“
“No, I just…want you to stay here…with me.”
Katelyn quieted down and her eyes started to water. She shook her head slightly. “No, no, no, I won’t let that happen to you.”
She started to rise and Richard grabbed her arm as if asking her to please sit back down. Tears no longer under control, Katelyn hugged her husband as hard as she could without hurting him too much. Richard lifted one heavy arm up and around his wife’s waist.
“I’m sorry, Richard. I love you so much.” Katelyn said as she rose up a bit.
“I know, love. I know.” Richard coughed a bit, groaning afterwards. “You want to know something?”
Katelyn could only nod slightly.
“I let you win.” He smirked.
A small laugh broke through the tears, and Katelyn wiped her cheeks dry.
“What kind of thing is that to say at a time like—“
She looked down and saw that Richard’s head had fallen to the ground.
“—this.”
Katelyn broke down once more.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Mother?” Darren’s quiet voice asked, “Wake up, please?”
Katelyn moaned slightly as she stretched in her bed. She blinked a few times.
“How did…”
“You collapsed in the middle of the path on the way home and started shouting Father’s name, saying you’re sorry. I…didn’t know what to do, so I ran to town as quickly as I could to get help. Mr. John carried you here. I made sure your feet wouldn’t hit any trees ‘cause they’re all so close together, ya know.”
Katelyn’s usual warm smile appeared on her face. It disappeared when exhaustion took over her body.
“C’mon, Katelyn,” a deep voice said moments later, “you don’t dare leave this boy alone here.”
“…Richard?” Katelyn asked quietly, her eyes only partially opened.
The man’s concerned expression softened. “I’m afraid not, dear. It’s just John here.”
Katelyn blinked a few times and rubbed her eyes. She sighed slightly and said, “Oh, yes, I suppose that was a silly thing to wonder, now wasn’t it?”
John shifted his weight on the old wooden chair he was sitting on. It creaked with the movement of pressure. “Well, it is indeed that time of year after all, dear one.”
“Yes.”
The room fell silent.
“Mother, I don’t think it’s your fault that Father’s gone.” Darren spoke up from the far side of the cozy room. He was sitting on the floor and warming his hands by the fire because of the chilly night air.
“Darren,” Katelyn said, “you don’t know the—“
“I know enough about you to know you would’ve done everything you could to keep him alive for us.”
She paused before answering. “Thank you,” she said quietly, unable to say anymore.
The years passed by and every year soon after the arrival of Autumn, Katelyn fell into her routine of doubt and self-blame. Every time that happened, Darren would always be right by her side, comforting her and distracting her mind with stories or mock spars. Katelyn became her usual self afterwards, always cheery with a warm smile, just before the inevitable Autumn came to settle in once more.
“Hmph,” the woman sighed as she plopped down on the dry grass, tossing the branch in her hand to the side. Autumn was setting in so the fall was a bit uncomfortable. She watched her son throw the long, makeshift sword into the air before skipping around and called out to him. “Darren, remember not to go too far!”
Katelyn always tried to keep him in her reach, but as Darren grew older his independence mirrored the growth. The townspeople always said that he was ‘just like his father,’ and Katelyn saw how sometimes. It wasn’t just looks, but his intense thirst for life’s offerings, even at such a young age had to have come from Darren’s father.
No one was quite sure how he had come to inherit the trait. The young boy had grown up without a father. Once every year, Katelyn would plummet into fits of depression from her husband’s untimely death. She took the burden right off from anyone’s shoulders and stacked it on her own. All could tell she intended to take any and all responsibility for the misfortune.
Awhile later Darren came running back up from the small creek at the bottom of the hill he ran to in joy, smiling with all teeth showing.
“Come, Darren. Let’s go home. I’ll fix you your favorite meal for winning today.” Katelyn nudged her son forward slightly once he was close to her.
The two turned towards the path that led away from the secluded open area in the dense woods that led to their home. They walked close together, Darren tugging on his mother’s hand sometimes for guidance in the dark. The path seemed narrower than it actually was when the sun was setting. The many trees created misleading shadows.
Katelyn’s heart started to beat faster at the sound of leaves being crunched under mild pressure off to the side somewhere. Her green eyes scanned the darkness. The wind, she told herself, it must be the wind.
Wind didn’t reach that deep into the woods.
Twigs snapped, leaves crunched, trees creaked, swords clashed, voices shouted…
“Get out of here!” a burly man bellowed.
A figure clad in a black cloak amongst many identical others weaved its way opposite of the crowd, unnoticed except for the ones passing directly by who didn’t try to stop him for fear of losing their lives.
He arrived at a large arched hallway and dashed through it, coming to a magnificent open room. There were almost no furnishings except for the elegant throne on the far side of the room. Only one other person was in the room.
Katelyn.
She stood at the center of the symbol on the floor, a large circle with spikes protruding from the smaller circle in the middle. She looked as beautiful as always in spite of her disheveled appearance. Katelyn’s lengthy chestnut hair contained knots and some splashes of matted blood near the bottom. She seemed to have done most of the work during her mission.
The cloaked figure started to walk towards Katelyn who had already noticed his presence before they got to the entrance of the hall. Her demeanor hadn’t diminished from its threatening stage. Eyes locked onto his as he approached.
Katelyn dashed towards him, sword held steadily forward in the offense. The figure slowed his walk slightly before stopping completely, failing at convincing Katelyn he meant no harm. She kept running closer and closer, her fury becoming more impending with each step. Feeling he had no other choice, he unsheathed his sword, the distinct metallic ring resonating through the silent room. Surely Katelyn would recognize that sound, he thought. He soon saw that she was too far gone to notice the familiarity of it.
His feet slid back against the marble floor from the impact of Katelyn’s blow. His hands and teeth clenched from the effort of keeping a hold of the hilt of his sword. The hits kept coming, and he kept blocking. Arms heavy from defending against Katelyn’s agile strikes, his mind was clouded with questions on how she forcefully and consistently kept making these attacks. Come on, Katelyn, realize who you’re fighting against, he thought.
He thought back to their sparring back at home. She’s beaten him once in all these years. The mistake was that he moved his arm upwards too quickly to realize that Katelyn faked a move effectively and stabbed at his gut with the branch-made-sword. Hoping her memory could shine through her concentration, he moved his left arm “defensively” as a desperate attempt to make her realize who she was trying to kill.
Memory failed, Katelyn took the man’s opening slip as an invitation for her sword.
Richard called out her name in mid-thrust before the impact was made.
She gasped in shock as he grunted and fell to the ground in agony, holding the wound in his gut where he could around the sword.
“Richard, no!” she cried, “Why didn’t you tell me it was you?”
Her husband panted as he moved to balance on his hands and knees, flinching violently and groaning as the sword moved with him.
“Please, just pull…” he whispered between breaths, “Just pull this out?”
She now regretted using the sword she had, the one with the rigid blade.
Katelyn hurriedly yet gently moved Richard upright, slowly pulling her sword back through as smoothly as possible. Richard felt every ridge against his wound as the sword came through but tried to not let that show. Now free of the extra pain, he collapsed on the ground, his blood pooling around beneath him.
“Richard, I am so sorry,” Katelyn whispered, “I didn’t know it was you. Why did you leave that opening? That’s not like you. You could’ve said something in the middle of the fight, or even before it started, you—“
“Katelyn.”
“—never should’ve moved your arm, and you know that—“
“Katelyn,” Richard groaned, “hush.”
“—I’m going to go find someone who can treat this wound. Oh, I’m so sorry, Richard. I’ll be right—“
“No, I just…want you to stay here…with me.”
Katelyn quieted down and her eyes started to water. She shook her head slightly. “No, no, no, I won’t let that happen to you.”
She started to rise and Richard grabbed her arm as if asking her to please sit back down. Tears no longer under control, Katelyn hugged her husband as hard as she could without hurting him too much. Richard lifted one heavy arm up and around his wife’s waist.
“I’m sorry, Richard. I love you so much.” Katelyn said as she rose up a bit.
“I know, love. I know.” Richard coughed a bit, groaning afterwards. “You want to know something?”
Katelyn could only nod slightly.
“I let you win.” He smirked.
A small laugh broke through the tears, and Katelyn wiped her cheeks dry.
“What kind of thing is that to say at a time like—“
She looked down and saw that Richard’s head had fallen to the ground.
“—this.”
Katelyn broke down once more.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Mother?” Darren’s quiet voice asked, “Wake up, please?”
Katelyn moaned slightly as she stretched in her bed. She blinked a few times.
“How did…”
“You collapsed in the middle of the path on the way home and started shouting Father’s name, saying you’re sorry. I…didn’t know what to do, so I ran to town as quickly as I could to get help. Mr. John carried you here. I made sure your feet wouldn’t hit any trees ‘cause they’re all so close together, ya know.”
Katelyn’s usual warm smile appeared on her face. It disappeared when exhaustion took over her body.
“C’mon, Katelyn,” a deep voice said moments later, “you don’t dare leave this boy alone here.”
“…Richard?” Katelyn asked quietly, her eyes only partially opened.
The man’s concerned expression softened. “I’m afraid not, dear. It’s just John here.”
Katelyn blinked a few times and rubbed her eyes. She sighed slightly and said, “Oh, yes, I suppose that was a silly thing to wonder, now wasn’t it?”
John shifted his weight on the old wooden chair he was sitting on. It creaked with the movement of pressure. “Well, it is indeed that time of year after all, dear one.”
“Yes.”
The room fell silent.
“Mother, I don’t think it’s your fault that Father’s gone.” Darren spoke up from the far side of the cozy room. He was sitting on the floor and warming his hands by the fire because of the chilly night air.
“Darren,” Katelyn said, “you don’t know the—“
“I know enough about you to know you would’ve done everything you could to keep him alive for us.”
She paused before answering. “Thank you,” she said quietly, unable to say anymore.
The years passed by and every year soon after the arrival of Autumn, Katelyn fell into her routine of doubt and self-blame. Every time that happened, Darren would always be right by her side, comforting her and distracting her mind with stories or mock spars. Katelyn became her usual self afterwards, always cheery with a warm smile, just before the inevitable Autumn came to settle in once more.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
This I Believe
Everyone can laugh at others, but to laugh at yourself takes someone who is significantly more comfortable with themselves. It can ease away awkward tension in an instant or bury you into a familiar hole that takes an eternity to get back out of.
My family has told me quite a large number of stories about my "Uncle" Rick, but I never really remembered any for myself. I was probably just too young to think of holding onto the memories. Most of the stories are humorous, seeing as how Rick enjoyed being entertainment for anyone he was around. He wasn't the kind of person who was arrogant or hostile in his jokes. It was just friendlier and it felt like anyone could relate to them.
The story goes that when my dad was doing the whole 'Chmielewski Funtime' gig with the family (his parents, brothers, and sister), they had a 10-foot truck to hold all their instruments and equipment. Rick was an artist who made signs and banners for various smaller companies and a few larger ones and since they don't come with a decorator, my dad asked Rick to create a Funtime sign for the truck.
Rick asked my mom to help him with some of the preparation for the outline, like the length, words, and other basic things like that. He worked for about a week or so on the sign, putting in small details and whatnot after getting some of his vague ideas together and out on paper.
Then the day came. The sign would finally be placed onto the truck. Together, my mom and Rick unrolled their finished project, probably in front of a crowd the size of ten or less made up of family members. I can imagine Rick saying something along the lines of "Let's get this baby up there!" with pride and accomplishment plastered on every feature before anyone had the chance to take in the full effect of his latest creation.
Ladder in position, my dad and Rick went over to the truck, Rick on the top step holding one top corner of the sign and my dad holding the other. He attached the sign to the corner of the truck, then hopped down off the ladder and moved it to the other end. Stepping up on the ladder, either the truck seemed to stop short or the sign went on for another two arms' length.
Realizing it was the second option, Rick brushed it off with his effortlessly cool manner, ready to accept and humorously insulting comments from anyone. He started to laugh the way few could: honestly at himself for making a really dumb, but simple mistake.
Maybe it was one of those "you had to be there or at least know the guy" kind of things, but it just goes to show that even a story about someone long gone can put a bit of laughter in your life, even if only for a few seconds.
My family has told me quite a large number of stories about my "Uncle" Rick, but I never really remembered any for myself. I was probably just too young to think of holding onto the memories. Most of the stories are humorous, seeing as how Rick enjoyed being entertainment for anyone he was around. He wasn't the kind of person who was arrogant or hostile in his jokes. It was just friendlier and it felt like anyone could relate to them.
The story goes that when my dad was doing the whole 'Chmielewski Funtime' gig with the family (his parents, brothers, and sister), they had a 10-foot truck to hold all their instruments and equipment. Rick was an artist who made signs and banners for various smaller companies and a few larger ones and since they don't come with a decorator, my dad asked Rick to create a Funtime sign for the truck.
Rick asked my mom to help him with some of the preparation for the outline, like the length, words, and other basic things like that. He worked for about a week or so on the sign, putting in small details and whatnot after getting some of his vague ideas together and out on paper.
Then the day came. The sign would finally be placed onto the truck. Together, my mom and Rick unrolled their finished project, probably in front of a crowd the size of ten or less made up of family members. I can imagine Rick saying something along the lines of "Let's get this baby up there!" with pride and accomplishment plastered on every feature before anyone had the chance to take in the full effect of his latest creation.
Ladder in position, my dad and Rick went over to the truck, Rick on the top step holding one top corner of the sign and my dad holding the other. He attached the sign to the corner of the truck, then hopped down off the ladder and moved it to the other end. Stepping up on the ladder, either the truck seemed to stop short or the sign went on for another two arms' length.
Realizing it was the second option, Rick brushed it off with his effortlessly cool manner, ready to accept and humorously insulting comments from anyone. He started to laugh the way few could: honestly at himself for making a really dumb, but simple mistake.
Maybe it was one of those "you had to be there or at least know the guy" kind of things, but it just goes to show that even a story about someone long gone can put a bit of laughter in your life, even if only for a few seconds.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Narrative Piece [v. 3]
It's chaotic at first glance.
Barbaric beasts,
horrified humans,
and scornful skeletons
outline the gruesome ring of nature.
The only serenity being
the cerulean center.
The versicolored ring
maps out the journey
of a humans' earthly life,
slowly taking the steps
inward to a world that is
absolute.
Barbaric beasts,
horrified humans,
and scornful skeletons
outline the gruesome ring of nature.
The only serenity being
the cerulean center.
The versicolored ring
maps out the journey
of a humans' earthly life,
slowly taking the steps
inward to a world that is
absolute.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Monica, before the wedding [final]
"She's not even that pretty," I said to my best friend Jenna over the phone. "Yeah, I know! I think I should've at least been considered, you know? Oh, I gotta go. Talk to you later. Bye!" I snapped my phone shut at the sight of Kendra approaching, a smile worn one-too-many times plastered on her face with stressful, leering eyes.
"Monica," She addressed me with that tone. The one where she seems to think that she has a legitimate reason to believe that I have done something wrong. "Wrong" to Kendra was having a clock, a round clock, one degree too far in one direction. No one could even tell; it was round. "Monica, I need to speak with you."
I cocked my head to one side to give her the impression that I would listen and actually care about what she had to say.
"Yes?" I said sweetly.
"I thought that I told you before that you need to sprinkle confetti on the tables. It needs to brighten up the place but not so much as to take away the attention from Jane. It's her special day, you know!"
I paused before I answered. "I already put confetti on the tables, Kendra." I watched her warily, looking for any signs that she may have an outburst. She scoffed.
"If you call that decorating-" Kendra began.
"If it's not good enough, why don't YOU do it?" I crossed my arms. She can decorate her stupid tables if they need to be beyond compare. Even if I did it perfectly, it wouldn't be up to Kendra's standards. She had a surprised look in her eyes, though she covered it up with annoyance.
"Monica, I don't want you talking to me like that. I'm just trying to make this day perfect for Jane with as little stress for her as possible. I'd appreciate some cooperation from you seeing as how all everyone gets to see lately is your rebellious nature. What happened to the sweet little girl who always ran to me first at family reunions and holidays when everyone was together?"
I never really liked Kendra. Apparently when I was younger, she gave me candy so I went to her whenever I saw her and she thought that it gave everyone the impression that I loved her the most. She bribed a child just to impress her family. I get the feeling that the family in general keeps their distance, but maybe that’s just me. I don't think anyone really cared if the children liked her. No one really talked to her unless they were backed into a corner. As I grew older, the candy seemed less and less appetizing, making Kendra seem less and less cared for, in her opinion. She kept attempting to bribe me with more candy, chocolate, trips to the zoo, even crayons. Crayons. Eventually at one family event, I avoided Kendra and made excuses when she came up to me. Years passed and now I don't understand how anyone could stand to be near her for more than two minutes. It's almost impossible.
"Monica, I'm talking to you." Kendra said impatiently.
"Huh? Oh, I wasn't listening, sorry." My phone rang. "I have to take this. Excuse me."
Kendra looked at me almost like she was in disbelief. It's not that hard to comprehend, really. I don't like her. The family doesn't like her. No one knows how she convinced Jane to let her be the maid of honor. Must have bribed her…I took a glance backwards for a moment to see Kendra violently reject a tray from a server by hitting it, causing the tray to flip around, flinging the contents all over the server…she must have thought of an extremely intelligent bribe. Jane would never go for someone like her.
All the reason more to choose me, I thought. I'm more beautiful. I'm more intelligent. I have more manners when I need them. I have a gorgeous smile. I have such straight teeth. My posture is phenomenal. The dress would fit my figure perfectly. Who wouldn't want me in their wedding? Obviously Jane.
In a daze once again, I missed the call on my phone. No one important, I thought. I slid the phone into my purse, not really caring who called just glad they called when they did. I turned around again and started to walk back towards the reception room only to bump into my first cousin once removed, Hector.
“Watch where you’re going, kiddo.” I said to him. I noticed he was carrying some saran wrap and a fishing line. “What’re you doing with that?”
“Uh…” he said, looking at the objects in his hand.
“Well?” I looked directly into his eyes. I knew he’d be up to something here at the wedding. Hector always loves playing tricks on people. One could only wonder what he would plan for the next disaster at a family event.
One last glance in my direction and he was off. Hector jumped over a fallen chair and pushed open the door to the bathroom. The womens’ bathroom. I was about to go after him but decided against it. I sighed. I don’t even want to know what he’s up to, I thought.
I continued walking back towards the reception room. Confetti on the tables is obviously an important task. I looked at the doors and none other than Kendra came out of them.
“Monica! I need to speak with you again.” She said while walking towards me.
I sighed once again. “Yeah?” I asked.
“You need to help with the streamers, okay?” She asked as if I’d do anything she told me to.
“And why can’t you do it? I don’t see you doing anything but bossing people around.” I crossed my arms and balanced all my weight on my right leg.
“Monica, I’m telling you. Don’t give me anymore attitude. It’s getting really old and quite annoying.” Kendra crossed her own arms.
All I did was stare at her. All she did was stare at me. I don’t think we even blinked. I’m not sure how long we stood there, but my mind kept racing and I figured she was thinking about how I’m so “disrespectful” and how bad my attitude is. It’s not like Kendra’s anymore bearable than I am.
“I don’t have an attitude.” I said bluntly.
“Yeah, ooookay, Monica. Just go help with the streamers, okay?” Kendra said as if she were fed up with dealing with me.
“Whatever.” I said. I stormed off from the hallway to the reception room.
Cut, twirl, tape. Cut, twirl, tape. Cut, twirl, tape. Cut, twirl- I’m so sick of this, I thought.
“Monica?” I heard Kendra’s voice from behind me. I groaned.
“Now what?” I whipped around.
“Monica, I need you to-“ She started to say before I cut her off.
“No!” I snapped.
“Excuse me?” Kendra said, bewilderment shown on all her features.
“I’m not doing anything else! No one can ever get anything up to your standards! So many people will be in horrible moods because of you at Jane’s wedding. You’re stressing people out. You said that you want to make this day involve as little stress for Jane as possible. If everyone here is ready to flip out, what do you think Jane will think? What will she do? Do you think that won’t be stressful? Just leave me alone!” I yelled at her, about to turn around.
“Moni-“ Kendra started. I turned back around and slapped her face. The sound seemed to echo for a few seconds, though I couldn’t tell. It almost seemed like I lost track of time. We stood there in silence for awhile. I didn’t realize what I did until after it happened. I almost started to regret it. Almost.
As I took a few steps back, Kendra seemed to be in pain for a second. Tears threatened to come into her eyes, but she held it back. Soon she replaced the pain with anger.
“Get over here, Monica!” Kendra screamed.
I turned and ran. Ran anywhere I could think of. The bathroom immediately came to mind. The bathroom had a lock on the door. Even if I couldn’t lock the bathroom door, there are always the stalls, right?
I ran to my chosen destination. Jumping over the fallen chair that Hector ran over before, I arrived at the bathroom quicker than expected. I had no idea if Kendra was following or not but I didn’t want to take any chances.
Why did I have to hit her? Well, she deserved it, I thought. Maybe it’ll leave a mark and she’ll be too embarrassed to walk down the aisle. Maybe I don’t regret it as much as I thought.
Pushing the door open caused me to lose some of my speed from running and it made my breath leave me for a moment, and I dashed inside. I ran into Hector while he was leaving.
Panting, I asked him, “What’re you doing in here?”
“Nothingggg!” Hector said suspiciously.
“Yeah, yeah. Hurry up and leave. I gotta lock the door, okay?”
Just as Hector was about to open the door to exit, Kendra came running in. My eyes widened involuntarily and I quickly backed up into a stall and locked the door.
“That won’t do any good, Monica.” Kendra said, kneeling on her hands and knees apparently attempting to crawl in the stall.
I looked around. It was a stall. There wasn’t really anywhere I can go, but Kendra was really motivated. To crawl on a bathroom floor is quite a feat. I backed up a step or two, tripping on a pant leg in the process, and I tried to grab whatever is around me to keep me from falling and that just so happened to be the seat of the toilet…with saran wrap on it?
“Hector,” I mumbled, “You’re such a brat.”
“Monica,” Kendra said, retreating from her failed attempt to crawl underneath the stall door, “Monica, just come out, okay?”
I stood up from the numbing floor, disgusted that I fell near the toilet. “Get out of the room first.” I said, “Because I’m not leaving otherwise.”
“I’m not going to hit you. I’m not filled with the need to get revenge. You should know me better than that.”
I sighed. I suppose she was right. Kendra really was a kind person once you got past the controlling side that I continuously got the lovely sight of. I took the saran wrap off the toilet before I unlocked the door, warily eyeing Kendra as she watched me leave the stall. I stood there. Waiting. For what? I wasn’t sure, but I waited. Suddenly, Kendra started running towards me again. I jumped a little and also started running. Opening the door, hoping it’d hit Kendra in the face or at least slow her down, I ran. I just ran. I had no intentional places to run, so I just went down hallways, through small rooms, anywhere. Before I knew it, I was in the reception room where all of my failed decorations lay incomplete on the floor and tables.
Once again, Hector appeared before my eyes. I ignored his call to stop and tried to run to the exit door. Once I got into the middle of the floor, it felt like Kendra caught up and tackled me. I was about to turn my body around, ready for a struggle, before I realized she was still a good ten feet away, laughing. But still running. Yes, she was still running. I looked around me and saw a sliver of light go across the floor. Fixating my eyes on that light, I realized that it was a fishing line. Hector, I thought. Hector’s planning to trip the bride and groom on their first dance!
“Hector!” I yelled. “Hector, where are-“
Kendra fell beside me, grunting. I started laughing.
“H-Hector! You little brat! What were you planning?” I shouted. I noticed Kendra stood up, flustered, and walked to the room where the other decorations were being kept.
Eventually, Hector appeared from behind a table that was leaning against the wall looking quite enraged.
“YOU! You ruined my plan!” Hector exclaimed, pointing at me.
“You were going to ruin the bride and groom’s first dance!”
“Nuh-uh!” Hector shook his head. “Hey, what are you doing?” He asked as he noticed Kendra with a pair of scissors in her hands. She opened the scissors. “No!” He yelled. She snapped the fishing line.
“Noooooo! Kendra, that’s so mean!” He yelled at Kendra.
I glanced at Kendra, noticing that she was looking in my direction. I pointed around the room to other fishing lines designed specifically for tripping the bride and groom. Kendra snapped those as well.
“Wanna throw him out?” I suggested, even though I knew she wouldn’t go for it. Kendra laughed. Well, that was a surprise.
“No, I don’t think we need to. We just have to crack open his head and make him spill his other schemes.”
“What makes you think there are others?” Hector asked, moving his eyes anywhere but in our direction.
Again, I looked at Kendra and Kendra looked at me.
“Well, aren’t there always others?” Kendra asked.
Hector huffed and crossed his arms, pouting as he marched around the building, to show us the remainder of his devious plans.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Monica, before the wedding
"She's not even that pretty," I said to my best friend Jenna over the phone. "Yeah, I know! I think I should've at least been considered, you know? Oh, I gotta go. Talk to you later. Bye!" I snapped my phone shut at the sight of Kendra approaching, a smile worn one-too-many times plastered on her face with stressful, leering eyes.
"Monica," She addressed me with that tone. The one where she seems to think that she has a legitimate reason to believe that I have done something wrong. "Wrong" to Kendra was having a clock, a round clock, one degree too far in one direction. No one could even tell; it was round. "Monica, I need to speak with you."
I cocked my head to one side to give her the impression that I would listen and actually care about what she had to say.
"Yes?" I said sweetly.
"I thought that I told you before that you need to sprinkle confetti on the tables. It needs to brighten up the place but not so much as to take away the attention from Jane. It's her special day, you know!"
I paused before I answered. "I already put confetti on the tables, Kendra." I watched her warily, looking for any signs that she may have an outburst. She scoffed.
"If you call that decorating-" Kendra began.
"If it's not good enough, why don't YOU do it?" I crossed my arms. She can decorate her stupid tables if they need to be beyond compare. Even if I did it perfectly, it wouldn't be up to Kendra's standards. She had a surprised look in her eyes, though she covered it up with annoyance.
"Monica, I don't want you talking to me like that. I'm just trying to make this day perfect for Jane with as little stress for her as possible. I'd appreciate some cooperation from you seeing as how all everyone gets to see lately is your rebellious nature. What happened to the sweet little girl who always ran to me first at family reunions and holidays when everyone was together?"
I never really liked Kendra. Apparently when I was younger, she gave me candy so I went to her whenever I saw her and she thought that it gave everyone the impression that I loved her the most. She bribed a child just to impress her family. I don't think anyone really cared if the children liked her. No one really talked to her unless they were backed into a corner. As I grew older, the candy seemed less and less appetizing, making Kendra seem less and less cared for, in her opinion. She kept attempting to bribe me with more candy, chocolate, trips to the zoo, even crayons. Crayons. Eventually at one family event, I avoided Kendra and made excuses when she came up to me. Years passed and now I don't understand how anyone could stand to be near her for more than two minutes. It's almost impossible.
"Monica, I'm talking to you." Kendra said impatiently.
"Huh? Oh, I wasn't listening, sorry." My phone rang. "I have to take this. Excuse me."
Kendra looked at me almost like she was in disbelief. It's not that hard to comprehend, really. I don't like her. The family doesn't like her. No one knows how she convinced Jane to let her be the maid of honor. Must have bribed her…I took a glance backwards for a moment to see Kendra violently reject a tray from a server by hitting it, causing the tray to flip around, flinging the contents all over the server…she must have thought of an extremely intelligent bribe. Jane would never go for someone like her.
All the reason more to choose me, I thought. I'm more beautiful. I'm more intelligent. I have more manners when I need them. I have a gorgeous smile. I have such straight teeth. My posture is phenomenal. The dress would fit my figure perfectly. Who wouldn't want me in their wedding? Obviously Jane.
In a daze once again, I missed the call on my phone. No one important, I thought. I slid the phone into my purse, not really caring who called just glad they called when they did. I turned around again and started to walk back towards the reception room only to bump into my first cousin once removed, Hector.
“Watch where you’re going, kiddo.” I said to him. I noticed he was carrying some saran wrap and a fishing line. “What’re you doing with that?”
“Uh…” he said, looking at the objects in his hand.
“Well?” I looked directly into his eyes. I knew he’d be up to something here at the wedding. Hector always loves playing tricks on people. One could only wonder what he would plan for the next disaster at a family event.
One last glance in my direction and he was off. Hector jumped over a fallen chair and pushed open the door to the bathroom. The womens’ bathroom. I was about to go after him but decided against it. I sighed. I don’t even want to know what he’s up to, I thought.
I continued walking back towards the reception room. Confetti on the tables is obviously an important task. I looked at the doors and none other than Kendra came out of them.
“Monica! I need to speak with you again.” She said while walking towards me.
I sighed once again. “Yeah?” I asked.
“You need to help with the streamers, okay?” She asked as if I’d do anything she told me to.
“And why can’t you do it? I don’t see you doing anything but bossing people around.” I crossed my arms and balanced all my weight on my right leg.
“Monica, I’m telling you. Don’t give me anymore attitude. It’s getting really old and quite annoying.” Kendra crossed her own arms.
All I did was stare at her. All she did was stare at me. I don’t think we even blinked. I’m not sure how long we stood there, but my mind kept racing and I figured she was thinking about how I’m so “disrespectful” and how bad my attitude is. It’s not like Kendra’s anymore bearable than I am.
“I don’t have an attitude.” I said bluntly.
“Yeah, ooookay, Monica. Just go help with the streamers, okay?” Kendra said as if she were fed up with dealing with me.
“Whatever.” I said. I stormed off from the hallway to the reception room.
Cut, twirl, tape. Cut, twirl, tape. Cut, twirl, tape. Cut, twirl- I’m so sick of this, I thought.
“Monica?” I heard Kendra’s voice from behind me. I groaned.
“Now what?” I whipped around.
“Monica, I need you to-“ She started to say before I cut her off.
“No!” I snapped.
“Excuse me?” Kendra said, bewilderment shown on all her features.
“I’m not doing anything else! No one can ever get anything up to your standards! So many people will be in horrible moods because of you at Jane’s wedding. You’re stressing people out. You said that you want to make this day involve as little stress for Jane as possible. If everyone here is ready to flip out, what do you think Jane will think? What will she do? Do you think that won’t be stressful? Just leave me alone!” I yelled at her, about to turn around.
“Moni-“ Kendra started. I turned back around and slapped her face. The sound seemed to echo for a few seconds, though I’ve lost track of time. We stood there in silence for awhile. I didn’t realize what I did until after it happened. I almost started to regret it. Almost.
Kendra seemed to be in pain for a second. Tears threatened to come into her eyes, but she held it back. Soon she replaced the pain with anger.
“Get over here, Monica!” Kendra screamed.
I turned and ran. Ran anywhere I could think of. The bathroom immediately came to mind. The bathroom had a lock on the door. Even if I couldn’t lock the bathroom door, there are always the stalls, right?
I ran to my chosen destination. Jumping over the fallen chair that Hector ran over before, I arrived at the bathroom quicker than expected. I had no idea if Kendra was following or not but I didn’t want to take any chances.
Why did I have to hit her? Well, she deserved it, I thought. Maybe it’ll leave a mark and she’ll be too embarrassed to walk down the aisle. Maybe I don’t regret it as much as I thought.
Pushing the door open caused me to lose some of my speed from running and it made my breath leave me for a moment, and I dashed inside. I ran into Hector while he was leaving.
Panting, I asked him, “What’re you doing in here?”
“Nothingggg!” Hector said suspiciously.
“Yeah, yeah. Hurry up and leave. I gotta lock the door, okay?”
Just as Hector was about to open the door to exit, Kendra came running in. My eyes widened involuntarily and I quickly backed up into a stall and locked the door.
“That won’t do any good, Monica.” Kendra said, kneeling on her hands and knees apparently attempting to crawl in the stall.
I looked around. It was a stall. There wasn’t really anywhere I can go, but Kendra was really motivated. To crawl on a bathroom floor is quite a feat. I backed up a step or two, tripping on a pant leg in the process, and I tried to grab whatever is around me to keep me from falling and that just so happened to be the seat of the toilet…with saran wrap on it?
“Hector,” I mumbled, “You’re such a brat.”
“Monica,” Kendra said, retreating from her failed attempt to crawl underneath the stall door, “Monica, just come out, okay?”
I stood up from the numbing floor, disgusted that I fell near the toilet. “Get out of the room first.” I said, “Because I’m not leaving otherwise.”
“I’m not going to hit you. I’m not filled with the need to get revenge. You should know me better than that.”
I sighed. I suppose she was right. Kendra really was a kind person once you got past the controlling side that I continuously got the lovely sight of. I unlocked the door, warily eyeing Kendra as she watched me leave the stall. I stood there. Waiting. For what? I wasn’t sure, but I waited. Suddenly, Kendra started running towards me again. I jumped a little and also started running. Opening the door, hoping it’d hit Kendra in the face or at least slow her down, I ran. I just ran. I had no intentional places to run, so I just went down hallways, through small rooms, anywhere. Before I knew it, I was in the reception room where all of my failed decorations lay incomplete on the floor and tables.
Once again, Hector appeared before my eyes. I ignored his call to stop and tried to run to the exit door. Once I got into the middle of the floor, it felt like Kendra caught up and tackled me. I was about to turn my body around, ready for a struggle, before I realized she was still a good ten feet away, laughing. But still running. Yes, she was still running. I looked around me and saw a sliver of light go across the floor. Fixating my eyes on that light, I realized that it was a fishing line. Hector, I thought. Hector’s planning to trip the bride and groom on their first dance!
“Hector!” I yelled. “Hector, where are-“
Kendra fell beside me, grunting. I started laughing.
“H-Hector! You little brat! What were you planning?” I shouted. I noticed Kendra stood up, flustered, and walked to the room where the other decorations were being kept.
Eventaully, Hector appeared from behind a table that was leaning against the wall looking quite enraged.
“YOU! You ruined my plan!” Hector exclaimed, pointing at me.
“You were going to ruin the bride and groom’s first dance!”
“Nuh-uh!” Hector shook his head. “Hey, what are you doing?” He asked as he noticed Kendra with a pair of scissors in her hands. She opened the scissors. “No!” He yelled. She snapped the fishing line.
“No, I don’t think we need to. We just have to crack open his head and make him spill his other schemes.”
So I looked at people's who already have theirs posted and last time I checked, that was only one person and my story is like 5 times longer. o.O Dunno if I should shorten it or not. Hope not because I'm kinda lazy lately...So yeah.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Momentum, final version
The car raced along a painfully straight stretch of road, with no sound but the numbing ambient keyboards seeping through the speakers. The smooth churning of the engine was barely audible. She hadn’t moved her head in thirty minutes. The steering wheel seemed frozen in place, just like her eyes. She never even so much as glanced in my general direction. What could I have done so wrong?
“Whitney, I--” I started to say before my breath caught in my chest. I coughed.
“I told you to take medicine, Chris,” Whitney said coolly, like a revolver encased in velvet.
“What would it matter? I need to take care of you.”
“Enough about me,” she said, her distorted voice like velvet rubbed the wrong way, “You’ve always done that. You never put yourself FIRST. Selflessness is only good to a certain extent. ”
“The second I do that, something will hurt you!” I turned the volume dial down more than what was necessary. We started shouting confessions about my absolute devotion to her. Her disloyalty. Our fracturing love.
“I can defend myself, Chris! I’ve done it ever since I was fifteen, in case you’ve forgotten! I think I can handle simple situations on my own.” Whitney whipped her head around to face forward again.
“I’m sorry…” I said after a few irritable moments, staring down at my worn out Converse.
The cadence of the keyboards again overtook the frigid air. I noticed Whitney’s paling knuckles gripping the steering wheel shaking slightly. Tears ran down her ashen complexion. Her silent sobs shot through me as if she fired that revolver right through the most delicate organ of my chest. An approaching curve was not far ahead. She closed her eyes and bowed her head with no indications of slowing.
“Whitney, I--” I started to say before my breath caught in my chest. I coughed.
“I told you to take medicine, Chris,” Whitney said coolly, like a revolver encased in velvet.
“What would it matter? I need to take care of you.”
“Enough about me,” she said, her distorted voice like velvet rubbed the wrong way, “You’ve always done that. You never put yourself FIRST. Selflessness is only good to a certain extent. ”
“The second I do that, something will hurt you!” I turned the volume dial down more than what was necessary. We started shouting confessions about my absolute devotion to her. Her disloyalty. Our fracturing love.
“I can defend myself, Chris! I’ve done it ever since I was fifteen, in case you’ve forgotten! I think I can handle simple situations on my own.” Whitney whipped her head around to face forward again.
“I’m sorry…” I said after a few irritable moments, staring down at my worn out Converse.
The cadence of the keyboards again overtook the frigid air. I noticed Whitney’s paling knuckles gripping the steering wheel shaking slightly. Tears ran down her ashen complexion. Her silent sobs shot through me as if she fired that revolver right through the most delicate organ of my chest. An approaching curve was not far ahead. She closed her eyes and bowed her head with no indications of slowing.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Childhood Habits, final version
"It’s mine! Don’t be a brat, Michelle!” she said.
"Mom said it’s for us to share. So share.” Michelle said, crossing her arms.
“I’m telling!” Jessica grabbed the phone and dialed.
“Billing office, this-“
“Mom, Michelle won’t share!” Jessica cried.
“YOU TWO ARE SEVENTEEN!” She hung up.
The Game We'll Play, final version
Before we loved each other,
we simply loved together.
Too close for two years,
too far for a decade before.
we simply loved together.
Too close for two years,
too far for a decade before.
Wanting you was like
the newest fad; everyone needed you.
Never thought the day would come
where you’d stare me in the eyes
and say “I love you”
like you’ve done so many times before
but without the boundary of friendship
holding back the true meaning.
My blood relations
wish to rid me of you.
My thoughts.
My dreams.
My air.
My life.
They have done so in a way
we have no control over (there’s no cheating now).
They know the rules
that we can’t break (oh no, there’s no cheating).
Let’s make new ones,
shall we, love?
Altering the way we play
will anger them, I’m sure.
But remember, for me,
every word,
every pause,
every tone,
every scream,
every friend,
every lie,
and every breath
that we share because
who knows when this game will finish?
Momentum, 300 Word Story [Ver 1]
The car raced along a painfully straight stretch of road, with no sound but the numbing frequency of ambient keyboards seeping through the speakers. The smooth churning of the engine was barely audible. She hadn’t even moved her head in the past thirty minutes. The steering wheel seemed frozen in place, just like her eyes. She never even so much as glanced in my general direction. What could I have done so wrong?
“Whitney, I--” I started to say before my breath caught in my chest. I coughed.
“I told you to take medicine, Chris.” Whitney said coolly, almost like a revolver bound by velvet.
“What would it matter? I don’t care about myself anymore; I need to take care of you.”
“Enough about me,” she said, her voice distorted to become more like that revolver bound by velvet rubbed the wrong way, “You’ve always done that. You never put yourself FIRST. Selflessness is only good to a certain extent.”
“The second I do that, something will hurt you!” I turned the volume dial down more than what was necessary.
“I can defend myself, Chris! I’ve done it ever since I was fifteen, in case you’ve forgotten! I think I can handle simple situations on my own.” Whitney whipped her head around to face forward again.
“I’m sorry…” I said after a few irritable moments, staring down at my worn out Converse.
The cadence again overtook the frigid air. I noticed Whitney’s paling knuckles gripping the steering wheel shaking slightly. Tears ran down her ashen complexion. Her silent sobs shot through me as if she shot that velvety revolver right through the most delicate organ of my chest. An approaching curve was not far ahead. She closed her eyes and bowed her head with no indications of slowing.
Monday, October 8, 2007
The Game We'll Play [version 2.0]
Before we loved each other,
we simply loved together.
Too close for two years,
too far for a decade before
Wanting you was like
the newest fad.
Never thought the day would come
where you'd stare me in the eyes
and say "I love you"
like you've done so many times before
but without the restraints of friendship
holding back the true meaning.
My blood relations
wish to rid me of you.
My thoughts.
My dreams.
My air.
My life.
They have done so in a way
that we have no control over.
They know the rules
that we can't break.
Let's make new ones,
shall we, love?
Altering the way we play
will anger them, I'm sure.
But remember, for me,
every word,
every pause,
every tone,
every scream,
every friend,
every lie,
and every breath
that we share because
who knows when this game will finish?
we simply loved together.
Too close for two years,
too far for a decade before
Wanting you was like
the newest fad.
Never thought the day would come
where you'd stare me in the eyes
and say "I love you"
like you've done so many times before
but without the restraints of friendship
holding back the true meaning.
My blood relations
wish to rid me of you.
My thoughts.
My dreams.
My air.
My life.
They have done so in a way
that we have no control over.
They know the rules
that we can't break.
Let's make new ones,
shall we, love?
Altering the way we play
will anger them, I'm sure.
But remember, for me,
every word,
every pause,
every tone,
every scream,
every friend,
every lie,
and every breath
that we share because
who knows when this game will finish?
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Acceptance, final version
To wait and long for acceptance that may never come
is what She asks of Him along with Her,
the quiet Girl He stumbled across in the corner
who puts a strong façade on for the world to see
when She is really no tougher than a young child
who obeys Her Knowledgeable Mother without a battle
and awaits for liberation from Her Hell.
That liberation was finally found after fifteen years in a Boy,
a special Boy who was unacceptable to that Knowledgeable Mother.
The undesirable union of the Boy and Girl
Developed into outrage from that horrid Woman that
caused the two to confide in each other
for reassurance of the Happiness that they willed to come forth soon.
The once quiet and obedient Girl had rebelled
against Her Mother's twisted and tainted ways.
Soon, the end of this tragedy will come to be.
this hatred,
this horror,
this hostility.
Only one side shall be victorious.
The world willed against the young and innocent Girl
with her one, special Boy,
but they vowed not to fail each other
even though the Boy caused vulnerability,
She was never deceived by Him.
They will slay the horrid Woman if need be,
But all they long and wait for is acceptance and peace.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Acceptance, Version One
To wait and long for acceptance that may never come
is what She asks of Him along with Her,
the quiet Girl He stumbled across in the corner
who puts a strong façade on for the world to see
when She is really no tougher than a young child
who obeys Her Knowledgeable Mother without a battle
and awaits for liberation from Her Hell.
That liberation was finally found after fifteen years in a Boy,
a special Boy who was unacceptable to that Knowledgeable Mother.
Kicking and screaming about the fated union of
the Boy and Girl from that horrid Woman
caused the two to confide in each other
for reassurance of the Happiness that they willed to come forth soon.
The once quiet and obedient Girl had rebelled
against Her Mother's twisted and tainted ways.
Soon, the end of this tragedy will come to be.
Only one side shall be victorious.
The world willed against the young and innocent Girl
with her one, special Boy,
but they vowed not to fail each other.
They will slay the horrid Woman if need be,
But all they long and wait for is acceptance and peace.
is what She asks of Him along with Her,
the quiet Girl He stumbled across in the corner
who puts a strong façade on for the world to see
when She is really no tougher than a young child
who obeys Her Knowledgeable Mother without a battle
and awaits for liberation from Her Hell.
That liberation was finally found after fifteen years in a Boy,
a special Boy who was unacceptable to that Knowledgeable Mother.
Kicking and screaming about the fated union of
the Boy and Girl from that horrid Woman
caused the two to confide in each other
for reassurance of the Happiness that they willed to come forth soon.
The once quiet and obedient Girl had rebelled
against Her Mother's twisted and tainted ways.
Soon, the end of this tragedy will come to be.
Only one side shall be victorious.
The world willed against the young and innocent Girl
with her one, special Boy,
but they vowed not to fail each other.
They will slay the horrid Woman if need be,
But all they long and wait for is acceptance and peace.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Nyaha.
My mom sang this to the beat of a polka song when she heard that my uncle was drunk and drove and...well...you'll see after you read the song.
In the ditch...in the ditch...
Where's your brand new 1990 Ford Suburban?
In the ditch...in the ditch...
Too much tequila, whiskey, vodka, beer and burbon...
In the ditch...in the ditch...
You forgot to put the stupid thing in park...
Now you're stranded in the dark with your little brother Mark!
In the ditch...in the ditch...in the ditch!
10 MINUTE PLAY
10 MINUTE PLAY
Monet’s Destiny
[CRISS cleans stables while KYLA, CYNTHIA, and VIKTOR walk over]
CYNTHIA
I expect that your work is that of a professional, boy.
CRISS
Yes, ma’am.
KYLA
I think he’s doing just as well as Father did.
[CRISS looks up, a blush appearing on his cheeks before returning to work]
VIKTOR
Ha, this punk?
CYNTHIA
Silence, Kyla, and go finish your lessons. Viktor, make sure she does them well.
KYLA
Yes, Mother.
[KYLA and VIKTOR leave after glancing at CRISS.]
CYNTHIA
And now, boy, I will be in America for one month. I expect the stable to be flawless upon my return. [Walking towards CRISS] And no late nights with Kyla. [Standing in front of CRISS] Look at me.
[CRISS glances up.]
CRISS
That wouldn’t happen, ma’am.
CYNTHIA
[Jerking CRISS’S chin up to be face-to-face with him]
You are not to be near her. You are not to talk to her. You are not even to talk ABOUT her, understood?
CRISS
[Whispering]
Yes, ma’am.
CYNTHIA
Good, now get back to work. [Releasing CRISS’S chin roughly]
[Hours pass before CYNTHIA leaves for America . KYLA quietly sneaks to the barn.]
KYLA
[Knocking softly on the door]
Criss, are you awake?
[CRISS opens one of the two large doors and lightly pulls KYLA forward. He holds her.]
KYLA
Do you think she’ll ever accept this?
CRISS
[Lifting KYLA’S chin]
I don’t know, Ky.
KYLA
I’m sorry about my mother being cruel to y-
[CRISS lowers his head and his lips brush against KYLA’S.]
CRISS
C’mon. [Putting his arm over KYLA’S shoulders and walking to a nearby stall]
KYLA
How’s my horse?
CRISS
Her leg healed much faster than anyone expected. [Opening a stall door]
KYLA
Hey, girl. [Petting MONET’S DESTINY on the head]
[A few moments later, CRISS and KYLA walk out of the stable. CRISS closes the door.]
CRISS
You should probably get going.
KYLA
I suppose…Criss?
CRISS
[Starting to walk forward]
Hm?
[KYLA puts her hands on the back of CRISS’S head and kisses him deeply. CRISS returns the kiss while moving towards a bale of hay. KYLA falls on her back with CRISS on top of her and breaks the kiss by giggling.]
CRISS
Why are you giggling?
KYLA
[Still giggling]
I’m sorry! I just-
[KYLA’S uncontrolled laughter rubs off on CRISS and they unknowingly wake up a worker in the house. The WORKER walks to the stable.]
WORKER
[Opening stable door]
What’s going on out here?
[CRISS doesn’t get up in time and the WORKER catches them.]
WORKER
Well, well…
CRISS
Can you just pretend you didn’t see that?
KYLA
Please?
WORKER
Well you know that Miss Cynthia doesn’t like Criss to have interactions with her daughter. I could lose everything for keeping it from her.
CRISS
She’ll never find out if you don’t say anything.
WORKER
I cannot risk it.
[KYLA moves forward from behind CRISS to confront the WORKER.]
KYLA
Listen, I could make you lose just as much right here, right now.
WORKER
Miss Kyla, you know your mother doesn’t trust you with that responsibility anymore after hearing about you two so many times. I don’t have a choice. If she found out that I kept something as big as this from her, Miss Cynthia wouldn’t let me work here anymore. This is my home, too, you know. If she kicked me out and fired me, where would I go?
CRISS
Listen, man, she doesn’t have to know! We’re not going to tell. You’re not going to tell. It’s as simple as that.
KYLA
Just…please?
WORKER
[Sighing]
How would I know Miss Cynthia would not find out I kept something from her? How can you two reassure me she won’t send Vi-
CRISS
It really is as simple as I said. Cynthia doesn’t have to know. All you have to do is keep your mouth shut. You won’t have to worry about us because…well, I think that’s pretty obvious. She’ll knock us out if she knew!
WORKER
I don’t know…
KYLA
What’s not to know for us three? The only thing people shouldn’t know about is this.
WORKER
I-
CRISS
What if Kyla paid you something? Just to keep your mouth closed about this.
[KYLA gladly grabs a pouch from her jacket’s front pocket and poured the contents in the WORKER’S outstretched hands.]
WORKER
Wow…
CRISS
So do we have a deal?
WORKER
Yes!
KYLA
Thank you!
[KYLA runs up to the WORKER and hugs him.]
WORKER
I-It’s really no big deal for me, but Miss Kyla, it’s late. You really should return to the house.
KYLA
Yes, I suppose. I’ll see you tomorrow, Criss.
[KYLA waves goodbye CRISS and walks with the WORKER back into the house. In the morning, a different worker, MICHELLE, knocks before entering KYLA’S bedroom.]
MICHELLE
Miss Kyla?
KYLA
Huh? Oh, hi, Michelle.
MICHELLE
Miss Kyla, your mother would like to speak with you.
[KYLA and MICHELLE leave KYLA’S bedroom, walking downstairs. KYLA walks to the telephone in the living room while MICHELLE leaves to the kitchen and resumes making breakfast.]
KYLA
[to phone] Hello? …What do you mean? …Who? …Well I want to know who lied to you, Mother. I didn’t see Criss last night. …No, you can’t do that! …No, wait!
[KYLA slams the phone down and runs outside to the barn, opening the door.]
KYLA
Criss, where are you?
[CRISS comes out of MONET’S DESTINY’S stall.]
CRISS
Kyla-
KYLA
He told her.
CRISS
What? Who?
KYLA
[speaking fast] The worker from last night that caught us! He told my mother! She just called and said “I told him to stay away from you!” And that a worker called her early this morning and told her that you were on top of me and said that she was going to have Viktor “take care of you.” If she meant you or me, I don’t know, Criss, but she’s going to blow this way out of proportion.
CRISS
Kyla, slow down. It’ll be okay.
KYLA
No, it won’t! Didn’t you hear what I just said? You need to get out of here!
CRISS
But what if she meant “take care of YOU,” Kyla? What will happen if I’m gone and I can’t stop Viktor from hurting you?
KYLA
I…
CRISS
You’ll be coming with me, then?
KYLA
[crossing her arms and hugging herself]
I don’t know, Criss.
CRISS
Well, then I’m staying.
KYLA
You can’t!
CRISS
And you think you can?
KYLA
What’s that supposed to mean?
CRISS
Ky, you know how Viktor gets. Didn’t you see what he did to Michelle a few months back? He left those bruises on her for a week just because she spilled his afternoon coffee! He’s never liked me so this will be something he’ll look forward to, and I know about that time he beat you and that your mother didn’t do a damn thing about it, Kyla, because even SHE fears him so there’s no reason he won’t do anything serious now that it’s the both of us. All I’m trying to say is that it’s not safe…so are we leaving or staying?
KYLA
We’ll…[sighs] Criss, we’re leaving. I guess there really isn’t a reason to stay.
CRISS
Great. So let’s get going.
KYLA
What? Already?
CRISS
Well, do you really want to stay here longer? I mean, do you really want to wait until he gets here?
KYLA
Yeah, I guess not. So let’s-
[VIKTOR slams the barn door open and walks to KYLA and CRISS. CRISS stands in front of KYLA protectively.]
CRISS
[glaring]
What the hell do you want?
VIKTOR
[cracking his knuckles]
I’m here to take care of you two brats. [chuckling]
CRISS
[whispering to KYLA]
Get out of here. Use the back door in Monet’s Destiny’s stall.
KYLA
Criss, you have to leave, too!
CRISS
Just go! [pushing KYLA roughly to MONET’S DESTINY’S stall door.]
[KYLA looks at CRISS with a worried look before walking into MONET’S DESTINY’S stall and bringing the horse with her out the back door and to the end of the pasture. VIKTOR tries to stop them, but CRISS blocks his way.]
VIKTOR
Oh, so you’re thinking about letting that little b**** escape, are you? I don’t think so.
CRISS
Just leave her be. She didn’t do a damn thing. Don’t you think you’ve hurt her enough anyway? Her father’s dead because of you, you bastard!
VIKTOR
Yeah, but no one ‘cept you and Cynthia know that, boy. I think I might have to change that. [chuckling louder than before] You’ve kept it a secret long enough just so you would have a place to stay, but I’m sure you’re just dyin’ to scream it out, ain’t you? The only reason Cynthia kept you ‘round was ‘cause she didn’t want you tellin’ the whole world ‘bout what I did. She should’ve just let me do what I’m about to do all those years ago. [chuckling again and now whispering] That’s why I’m good for Cynthia. I make people do what Cynthia wants through fear.
[VIKTOR advances quickly to CRISS, tackling him to the floor. VIKTOR manages to get his hands around CRISS’S neck, but CRISS kicks VIKTOR’S stomach, causing him to momentarily release CRISS’S neck. It was enough time for CRISS to get out from underneath VIKTOR.]
VIKTOR
Son of a-
[VIKTOR grasps CRISS’S right leg, pulls him back, and reaches to grab CRISS’S neck again. CRISS shifts his body and kicks VIKTOR straight in the face, breaking VIKTOR’S nose. VIKTOR releases CRISS and grabs his nose. CRISS looks around hurriedly before dashing to a side wall of the barn and grabbing a shovel.]
VIKTOR
You wouldn’t-
CRISS
Oh, just shut up already!
[CRISS hits VIKTOR on the side of the head with the shovel and knocks him out. He rushes to the back door in MONET’S DESTINY’S stall, finding KYLA walking around in a circle at the far end of the pasture. CRISS runs to her.]
CRISS
Hey, Kyla! We’ve gotta get outta here! Viktor’s unconscious right now…Where’s Monet’s Destiny?
KYLA
[looking surprised]
How did you manage to do that? She’s in the back pasture.
CRISS
Oh, just a shovel.
KYLA
A shovel?
CRISS
Yeah, well…C’mon, let’s go.
[CRISS put his arm around KYLA’S shoulders, and they walk to the back pasture, soon leaving the barn behind and heading out to the empty street. BLACKOUT.]
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