A random, eclectic mix of thoughts, feelings, observations, and experiences – LIFE

Posts tagged ‘story’

Krazy Glue Sandwich

No, it’s not a snippet from my life. Sorry, guys. I know that makes it less of an exciting story, but, well… What can I say? At least I made it up. I can get some credit for that, right?

This one is response to this week’s Trifecta Challenge to use “band” in a story of 33-333 words. 

Krazy Glue Sandwich

“Everyone has a right to know, Mother.”

“I don’t have a right to my own privacy? Since when did everyone’s rights nullify mine?”

Mother always knew how to shut us up. To make us feel stupid. To take control.

I searched her face for any sign that she may let us win, just this once. Vacant eyes stared straight ahead in defiance.

Click the photo to read more.

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Trifecta: Charmed

Yep! It’s another story resulting from a Trifecta prompt.

He loomed over her, whisky-breath escaping in heavy pants, resting on her face. His calloused hands pressed against her chest, persistent and rhythmic. Beads of sweat rolled down his whiskered face, dripping on her…

To read the rest, click the image.

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Another Short Story

I’ve written another short story in response to a prompt. This time the prompt is a photo. Click it to read the story. Don’t forget to comment!

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100 Word Story: Mommy First

100 Word Story: Mommy First

I post a new 100 word story on my Alicia Audrey blog every week. They are based on prompts posted at Julia’s Place. If you haven’t already, please hop on over and read this week’s story. Read, comment, and share!

I’m so… I’m so… MAD.

Yesterday, I was LIVID. Actually, “livid” is too polite-sounding a word for what I was. I was PISSED. STEAMING. I’m talking about the heart pounding out my chest, unable to think clearly type of thing. Fuming. Like, I was actually going insane.

Without going into specifics, I was completely disrespected. I felt like chopped liver or something. I was upset. Ever had something so upsetting happen that you want to cry, yell, and throw things at the same time? No? Just me? Okay, fine.

I sat for a while, pretending that I wasn’t upset. I actually had interior dialogue with myself. I told myself that I wasn’t upset. I tried to convince myself to chill. Meanwhile, things were going on. Things that I did not like. As I sat there, trying to remain calm.

Eventually, I just thought, This is stupid. I have to say something. So I did. I thought I was calm enough, after I pep-talked myself, but I wasn’t. I started off very calmly. Steady voice. Volume controlled. Next thing I knew, I was almost yelling. Then I got a finger up in my face (The one that says, “Hold on a minute.”), and I wasn’t having it. I had things to say. All that I was feeling and trying to not only hide, but DENY, boiled over. I’m talkin’ some real nasty, bubbling olive green, gooey liquid stuff. With chunks in it. It was ugly.

I don’t even know how it happened, but in a flash, I was at the door, jamming my running shoes on. It was time to take FLIGHT. The calm of the person addressing me didn’t help. I think it helped to enrage me. All I was thinking was, Don’t you GET it?! Then came the shushing. People. When I am upset, one of the worst things you can do is SHUSH me. It does not go well. Even if I should realize that a little old lady is sitting right beside us, I see shushing (in that moment) as YOU telling ME that acting cute is more important than clearing things up/expressing myself. No bueno, y’all. I think I said something like, “No! No!” and then left.

Seriously, it’s a good thing I already had clothes on. It wasn’t until I down the street that I looked down at myself. The tiny part of my brain that was still rational probably sighed in relief. I was wearing long yoga pants and a tank. No socks. I skipped the socks. No cap. And my hair. was NOT. done. I could not care less. I walked like a crazy person going to beat someone dowwwwwnnnnn.

At some point, I calmed down enough to sit down on some steps. Once I sat there, I realized that my heart was still POUNDING. It was practically in my throat. I felt hot all over. My breathing was nutty. I had to very intentionally callllmmm myself the heck down. I called my cousin and pretty much said, “I am SO MAD RIGHT NOW!” Then, FINALLY, the tears came. My poor cousin. She was alarmed, and thought she needed to leave work and come get me. I convinced her that I was fine, and she just stayed on the phone with me, telling me to calm down, and that everything would be fine. God love her, the girl always gets the brunt of my crazy. I should also mention that I called my brother and told him that I’m a psycho, and I’m looking for someone to beat the %^&* out of someone else. And I will NOT be disrespected. He calmly said, “Ok. I’ll call you when I leave work.” Gotta love it. And no, I haven’t made any arrangements of the sort. Yet. Kiddiiiiing. Or not.

The rest of the day went by quietly. I had little, if anything, to say. I had no appetite, so I just sat around. I tried to be productive, but it didn’t work out. I managed to critique one piece of work for someone. Thankfully, I’d already read critiques on my own work and written a new short piece before the drama unfolded, so the day wasn’t a total loss. I fell asleep watching a movie, but woke up in the middle of the night. I was awake for hours, uncomfortable, sad, and wishing I could talk. I just couldn’t. I just wrote.

Today, I’ll be doing some work for my cousin. I think he just needs me to run some errands – bill paying, banking, and fun junk like that. I think it’ll be good for me to focus on something else, and get some fresh air. Hopefully, my mother will bring the car soon. I haaate being on the road in high traffic times. It makes me a very not-fun person, and let’s face it. I don’t need to be any less fun right now.

How about you? How is your week going? What are you doing today? What do you do when you are off-your-rocker crazy mad? Have you ever had someone beat up?

Mother’s Day Flower

She tried to make me give him a flower. It wasn’t fair. I refused. No. I will not give him flowers. That’s stupid.

“He’s your daddy, and he’s being your mommy too.”

Oh, really? And who’s fault is that? Not mine. I’m 10 years old, and all I have is a father. My mother is gone. I hardly ever see her, and it’s his fault. I will not give him flowers. I will not reward him for the pain he has caused me. I refuse.

“Show some appreciation. He does everything for you. Pays your school fees, makes your breakfast, packs your lunch…”

I don’t care. These things happen when you have children. You grow up, and you have to do things that you may not have had to do if you didn’t have them. Moreover, when you drive your children’s mother out of their lives, there are gaps you have to fill in. No. I will not give him flowers. I will not make him feel good about what is he doing. He is doing it because of what he has done.

“Just give him the flowers for Mothers Day. It won’t take anything off you.”

No, it won’t. Because I won’t do it. I will not do the wrong thing. Just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean I have to listen to you. I will not give my father flowers for his slaps, punches, pushes, angry words, high speed chases, and embarrassing scenes. I will not. You cannot make me.

“You are being ungrateful. Why are you so uncaring?”

This is what happens. This is the result. I got tired of feeling, so I gave myself over to numbness. This is much better. Give me that ginger lily. I’ll give it to him. I will hand it to him like my school bag. Something to carry for me. It’s the least he can do. I carry so much because of him. Not for him. Never for him. But because of him. And when I take the ginger lily back from him, I hope he knows what it means. That I am taking back every care I ever had. I am taking back that unconditional love that children give to their parents. I am taking back my trust. I am taking back that flower. He does not deserve, and he can’t keep it. He can only carry it until I’m ready to take it back.

No, I did not give him the flower. He didn’t deserve it. And neither did I. I didn’t deserve any of it. None of the things he did to me, intentionally or unintentionally. I certainly was not going to do something to myself that I didn’t deserve. I refused to lie. A gift to him would have been a lie. A lie I refused to tell. I kept that ginger lily, hidden away. When he found it, it was dead. Just like everything inside his little girl.

Therapy Post

Never too many flowers for Grammy. The wreaths completely covered her grave. But we'll keep her memory uncovered. Never to be forgotten.

It’s been a while, I know. I’ve had quite a rough time. I would like for it to end. I really thought that Saturday would bring it to a close, and I would go to sleep, and magically, on Sunday morning, all would be right with the world. No.such.luck. I woke up, yes. But nothing was right. I felt out of it. I still had a killer headache. I curled up on the couch and just slept. I read a little, but mostly? I just slept. I woke up when it was past the time that I should have been on the road, on my way to the weekly FamJam. I refused to be early. I didn’t want anyone to talk about it.

I didn’t want to hear how beautiful the service was. I didn’t want anyone to mention how “good” she looked. How good could she look, laying in a box? I mean, there’s no denying that she was a beautiful woman. Beyond beautiful. But don’t insult me. Or her. Don’t say she looked good, laying there, dead, in a really expensive, beautiful box. No. I don’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to hear people tease about how my mother went up with her twin brother to read a responsive prayer, but didn’t actually read anything. I didn’t want anyone to jest about anything. It was a funeral. It was somber. It was a rough time for everyone. There is really no need to rehash it.

I didn’t want anyone to comment on the fact that a lot of dignitaries were present. My uncle is kind of a big deal here, so yes, ministers of the gospel and ministers of government departments were there. I didn’t want people to say how good the Prime Minister looked for a change. Or how nice it was for the Deputy Prime Minister to attend, although he was on crutches. Or how the political divide was absent as the leader of the Opposition was also there. I didn’t want anyone to go on and on about how respected my uncle must be, to have so many people in their uniforms there, in support of him. Or my sister’s coworkers who were also there in a large number, uniformed. Or my mother’s friends who were not in uniform, but were there, nonetheless. They were there to help me from the graveside to the car. To tell me that things would be okay. To remind me to be strong for my mother. To give warm hugs. To assure me that I could call them any time. How kind, to be there for her, and for me too. How kind. What true friends.

I wanted to hear no talk of the beautiful solos. That lady really sang. She saaang. Like there would be no tomorrow. The words she sand penetrated my body, and seemed to fight to get out of my system, but they were trapped, and my body shook. I didn’t want anyone to bring it to my recollection. I didn’t want to think about it, or experience it again. The way I cried with no control. I didn’t want to hear, even in my mind’s ear, the sounds that escaped my mouth. Knowing that I’ve never cried like that before. Not at a funeral. I’m accustomed to crying quietly. No one around me would ever know I was crying unless they saw my tear-stained face. But not that day. That day, people saw the vibrations of pain and grief move my body, beyond my control. People heard the sounds of anguish and struggle exit my mouth, surprising even me. When that lady sang the second solo, I could have curled up and died. Great is thy faithfulness? Who’s faithfulness? Who was more faithful than my Grammy? WHO?! GOD?! God has been faithful in watching and letting us suffer through her illness with her, and taking her away from us, leaving us to continue to suffer without her. Yes, she’s out of it now. But only after immense pain. Maybe she was holding on for us? I don’t know… Maybe His faithfulness is great. I just know that hearing her sing about it… It was almost too much for me to take. I saw my mother, two rows ahead of me, shake, similar to the way that I shook. I saw my father wipe his face with a handkerchief. I remembered that Great is Thy Faithfulness was my grandfather’s (his father’s) favourite song. A priest sang it at his funeral. And the church became a forest of waterfalls.

I didn’t want to fall victim to looks of pity. Or questions like, “How are you doing?” Especially knowing that it was written on my face. My swollen, red eyes told the story of my day. My constant squinting was evidence of the seemingly eternal headache. My tight mouth was an indication of the fight I was in, against myself, to keep from crying. My nose, red and chapped… My hair, unkempt. My dress, unthought of. My legs, unlotioned. How was I doing? As well as a pauper on the street, perhaps?

For all those reasons and more, I refused to go early. I ate in a rush and left the table. Avoiding all conversation. All questions. All eyes. I left. I curled myself up on the couch, and mindlessly watched television. Dragons Den came on. I was pleased. Something that I could watch with the right amount of thoughtfulness and the right amount of thoughtlessness. I watched two episodes. Then there was nothing. I moved into the room without a television. I curled up on the couch with my new nook and read a little. My mother’s friends came to visit her. How nice! I wondered to myself, Will I ever have friends like hers? (Can you tell? I don’t have many friends. At all. There are just a few. I figure I have a lot of family, so no need to pile my life up with useless people. I choose friends carefully.) They drove all this way (my great-grandmother’s house is rather far) to come and see her. They brought her one of those giant greeting cards. Everyone from work signed it, along with nice little messages, telling her they missed her, and hoped to see her back to work soon, and that she needed to get well soon. (This card was not one of sympathy, but a Get Well Soon card, from she was out sick.) Along with the card came a letter-sized envelope. Cash. They took up a collection. I didn’t count it, and at the point, I don’t think she had either. Maybe they told her how much it was. After greeting them, I didn’t pay attention to their conversation. But I’m sure it’s enough to cover her next round of medication. Blessings. Finally. A reason to smile. A little less stress for her. And for me.

I was ready to go home long before it was time. I left my laundry in the washer. I couldn’t take it any more. I was ready.to.go. I got about halfway home before the tears started coming. I found myself intrigued by the way the tears dripped and dropped. Down the sides of my nose, around my mouth, and then DROP. Right onto my chest. They didn’t roll down my chin, down my neck to my chest. They just dropped. Like a jumper off of a cliff. That’s the way I wished my emotions would act. Just jump off of a cliff, never to be seen again. Over the edge, to the point of no return. Instead, they stuck around. Possibly driving me to the edge. Lord knows that if I take the plunge, there won’t be any return. I see the edge. It’s in sight. But I just.can’t.go.there. There would be no turning back.

I hope everyone is having a great week so far. I’m working at keeping busy. Lots going on at work. I haven’t been able to read any blogs. WP wouldn’t let them load. Lots of catching up to do. Those of you who miss my comments, I have not abandoned or unfollowed you. WP has been punishing me. I’ll be back. If you’ve seen any cool/fun/funny posts that I may have missed, please leave links. I could really use some good reads for my spare time. Many thanks!