Posted in Uncategorized

Fiction Writing – #1

So I had wrote this little passage when I was rather depressed and watching some crime TV shows. NCIS. It didn’t help but it was a good show.


Boxed on all Sides

The phone rang on the counter. At first he ignored it as he finished making the sandwich. After a moment, it died down, and then went back to ringing. He ignored it again. It silenced and then rang again. He grabbed it finally and put it up to his ear.

“Hello?” The voice said on the other side.

He took a breathe, knowing the voice.

“Nice night Sam?” The voice asked with a giggle.

“I don’t really know, but I made myself a sandwich.”

“Really? What kind?” 

“Tuna, tomato, and lettuce; toasted. I love that thing.”

“The toaster? Or the sandwich?”

“Yeah, that.”

The voice laughed. 

He laughed along with them. “How is the night over by your place Connie?”

She quieted down with the laughter. “Nice and cool. You would enjoy it.”

He shook his head, took a bite of his sandwich and waited for her to continue.

“Sam, you should.”

He murmured a response and took another bite. 

“Please.”

“No.” He said brusque and cold. There was silence on the line. He waited for the phone to go dead or for her to talk about something else. She didn’t move on from it.

“I see the stars so clearly tonight. They’re turning the sky all shades of  blue.”

He made another noise. 

“Sam, come out now. That’s an order.”

He looked over into the dining room, at the stale sliding doors that led into the backyard. The handle was coated in dust, the window was framed on the other side with pollen, leaves and sticks. He walked into the dining room with his sandwich for a closer inspection.

“I don’t think that would be safe for my health.” He chuckled. “You know how the doctor likes to describe it, my fragile and slowly decreasing health.”

Connie’s laughter came thru the phone as smooth as silk. 

“I’m concerned you’re even out there.”

“Oh really?” She asked incredulous

“Yeah,” He assured. “Your older than me and I am just ‘ravaged’ with thoughts of you getting hurt.” 

She giggled. “Oh don’t you worry yourself about me.”

“You the same.” 

There was a moment of silence.

“You know I will. You and the whole team. God forbid anything happens to any of you”

“Of course.” He said lowly, half believing it. 

“I do. I always do. That’s why I didn’t let Mark chew you out for canceling the breach of the warehouse. I knew you had the right idea.”

He silently made a face. In reality, the building was fine. The second building was of similar height and if someone was hiding in it, he and the rest of them would have been attacked as soon as they got out of their cars. It was a feeling he had about it. The way the wind whipped off the roof, the eerie silence that the building surrounded itself; Something was ringing in his head. It wasn’t his hearing going like the intern ,Hannah, always joked about. Something wasn’t sitting right with him, and that was the only reason he didn’t let them go with the investigation of the place. But Connie hates describing it like that. Sure, he was ninety-nine percent right most of the time, but it seemed like a weak excuse and another reason for the organization high up to criticize him. Age, they say. Age his saggy ass. He was right and they knew it. They just didn’t like how he’s able to be right.

“Sam?”

“Mm?”

“Please go outside tonight. Either our front or out back. I don’t want to think that you’re just stuck in that house.”

He took a breath, turning away from the sliding doors and walked back into the kitchen. He took another bite of his sandwich. “I’ll try. I’m pretty tired.”

Connie was quiet for a second. “Promise me.”

“Promise not to worry?”

“Fine. Only if you go outside.”

He mumbled something away from the phone. “Fine.”

Connie clapped on the other side of the line. It made Sam smile, exhaling through his nose.

“Thank you. You made my night.”

“Ok, go to bed director.”

They good-nighted and he hung up the phone. He finished off the sandwich, cleaned up the counter and then stood in the kitchen. He glanced back at the sliding doors, and then turned back away. Maybe tomorrow. He went upstairs, went on the computer for a couple minutes and then went to bed. Connie has good intentions, but the road to hell is paved with good intentions. 


Surprisingly this turned into a nice story. I might post some more of this. I forgot how Sam was, I enjoy his wrinkly ass.

Posted in Reading Critiques

Reader’s Q – In A Station of the Metro

The apparition of these faces in the crowd:
Petals in a wet, black bough

By Ezra Pound

I don’t like poetry. Having to decipher what the word blue ment in the context of the sentence makes me volatile. In the poem, there are two lines and every word is dissected. I cannot fathom why this was written down. At least in another poem, I could get around to how a fallen leaf sets the poet off into clinical depression.(For some reason, it’s not that sad but still.) 

 This metro poem, it  feels like someone snubbing their nose up to the rest of the people because they, can?! Also, he probably missed the train and was trying to cover his butt. Let’s be honest.

Posted in Journey Journal

To move foreward – you must realize you were standing still

Its an odd kind of sensation, being in the kitchen at 3 in morning and making mac and cheese when you reliaze…. you’re alone.

And not in the sad way, not entirely, but in a safe -“no one is going to tell me off for do this” way. Being all too aware of yourself and your being gets tiring. Now that I’m alone I’m confused on how I did it all for so long. Walk on eggshells, curb my existence, hold up a sign just to please someone else: its all gone. I dont have to do it anymore

Cry in the living room? Go ahead.

Ballroom dance with your rabbit? Why not! No one is going to tell you to knock it off.

Its a sense, I’m still grappling with it all because in some cases i am still paranoid. My brain will mimic a shout of my name while I’m listening with full headphones on. In the middle of the night. All by myself.

Or if the dishwasher isn’t done as soon as I come home from work, I get this sharp pain in my chest. Out of fear I’ll lock myself in my room in order to not get yelled at, only to find that its not biggie. “If I need it, I’ll just grab it from it ” -roommate

As free as I feel, there is still a piece of me that’s trapped. Held hostage and waiting till reality catches up.

I’ll keep running. Runnung and hopping and skipping just so that piece can stay in its place. In the back. Untouched and unreal. I hated standing still. Now I refuse to.