Inside the Closet

{ June 9, 2009 @ 4:30 pm } · { Writing Exorcises }
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I got this idea from a guest speaker in one of my English classes,  in which she said when she is writing a story she could tell you the exact contents within her characters closet even if that never comes up within the story. This is about knowing your character inside and out.

So for the challenge write a description of the contents of the inside of your characters closest. It can be a new character you create for this, or you can use an older character created for another story.  What is revealed should give the reader some basic factual information about your character. Gender, approximate age, some personality traits, etc… show how well you know your characters.

Mindscapes

{ March 21, 2009 @ 5:43 am } · { Freewrite }
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My mind travels on waves
rising crashing
washing away
a taste of cool mist
falling away
drowning in valley’s
transgressing fields
skipping upon flower heads
diving down
into the bowls
of the earth
breathing in the sky
concealed in the fog
a river
a stream
tumbling down
waterfalls
scaling up
the side of cliffs
a quake
a thunder
tossed by the winds
pulled apart
sucked back in
emblazoned
yellow gold waves
expanding sands
lost
discovery
collision
creation
boundless
traversing
across mindscapes
as landscapes
distant plains

No Quarter

{ March 17, 2009 @ 5:07 am } · { Thoughts from the Muse }
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I am groupless
I am clanless
always without
never within
yet I have no outer self
only an inner self
there are only the characters
in my head
they come alive
more alive to me
than anyone else
treating the world
like ghosts
as they all just float on by
passing through me
as air
the world is full of walking dead
mayhap’s it is I that is dead
there is no lament
I walk the soulless road
not in regret
but never can I turn my back
on the voice and distant dreams
calling me away
from the living
if they truly are
the living

The Girl with the Glasses

{ March 8, 2009 @ 6:34 am } · { Character Sketches }
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This was the third time she came into the store this week. It would be hard not to notice her, not to remember her. She had jet black hair hanging straight down her back framing her pale face. Black eye-liner lined her dark eyes. There was a piercing effect held within those eyes. When caught just right they seemed to look right into the soul as they stared out of windowless frames. A pair of glasses framed her face, they were round as owl eyes with black frames, but when you caught just the right angle you could see that they were lensesless. It was not often you caught her eyes, she usually kept her head tilted at a downward angle. Not bowed in shyness or embarrassment but perhaps concealing, or simply oblivious to the world around her. She wore a pair of short shorts, frayed around the edges, colored back, with black tights covering her skinny legs which jutted out and a pair of large black boots stopping just below the knee, velcroed straps along the sides. She had a sleeveless black shirt which along the back was lined with safety pins. Flicker silver metal as it caught in the artificial light. She was perhaps 17 or 18 years old and it was always the same routine. She made her way for the racks and began on trying on glasses. She might try on 4 or 5 in a day and then she left, always, never approaching the counter, never speaking to any of the attendants who worked in the store, or making an appointment. She never bought a single pair of the glasses she tried on. She turned it into a ritual. Waiting in wonder everyday to see if she would come in again, anticipating it, oddly enough this routine became a break in the routine. She could be predicted, depended upon and yet, it never failed to fascinate. Sometimes you could catch a glimpse of her face reflected in the mirror as she tries each pair one, studiously observing herself, savoring the moment. To her this is not a game. She takes it seriously. It is her form of worship. Her fingers sing quiet praises to the glasses as they ponder over them. Comparing them by twos and threes. She will walk around the store holding two or three pairs in her hand as if weighing final decisions, narrowing down the field and yet in the end she always puts each one back and walks out.

Rebel Hero

{ March 7, 2009 @ 1:13 am } · { Writing Journal }
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Our eyes meet in a fading glance less then seconds, but that is all it takes. I know with every fiber of my being, my very nerve. I feel it move from somewhere deep inside of me. It is unavoidable. It cannot be stopped. It is beyond my control, and yours. Something has shaken, something deep in the blood, of the spirit understands. An understanding which cannot be put into words. Cannot be analyzed or brought forth into the light. Something that must live in those dark unexplored caverns. Too powerful for words. We have pledged a silence alliance. We are strangers, our lips do not move, we pass in silence. Until this moment your existence was unknown to me, unimportant, miniscule. Just another body, another face. But something has changed. They are the ones who have changed it. They made you something, a symbol, it cannot be resisted. I cannot throw myself in with their lot. They may be right. It is true I was disgusted, the tension rose, the air stirred. No I did not agree with your ideology. I thought it was foolish, childish, immature, inappropriate, unbecoming. I wanted it to stop! But then, they ostracized you. I was pulled apart, conformity must never be accepted. I watch them now with loathsome eyes. They made you the Rebel Hero with petty gossip, huddled in corners, giggling in conspiracy. While they felt bonded in this, in their judgement, in their righteousness, I was pushed away, drove from their sly glances. We were now bonded, we shared something. I savor the radicalism, of stepping away, to share in secret you isolation. Your words remain empty, and hallow, it was still a silly act that should not have happened, but you are not one of them, and I do not belong to them. I cheer you on in my head. Offer subtle reassurances. My eyes do not stray from you when we pass each other. I feel the force pulse and quicken, something has been awakened. Through mental waves I send you messages. Together separately we can despise them.

Midnight Cafe

{ March 2, 2009 @ 6:56 am } · { Character Sketches }
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A cafe, shall we say a Midnight Cafe, is the perfect setting. A place lost within time, that belongs to its own reality, were a quiet solitude might be found among the hurried noise of those who pass by. Clink of glasses low voices in conversation, occasional out bursts of laughter. Yet it is a place where the mind can draw into itself, let the rest of this form a painted background. There is a soft illumination of lamp light. Paper lamps strung from the trees, hanging in their very colored globes. The streets of course can only be made up of cobble stone. The air cool with a sweet smell of something exotic tingling upon the currents which pass by. There is lingering mystery behind dark veiled eyes. A pert smile perhaps a touch cruel, deeply knowing, uninviting, and yet devilishly enchanting rests softly upon the lips of our mistress. Of course she smokes french cigarettes and appears like an actress from the 40’s. Elegance divine, with a cold hard kept hidden deep inside. Her laughter is biting and her eyes flash in quick movements. No, she misses nothing. She is on the prowl awaiting for the right victim to show themselves before her.
 
But she is enchanting with her head tilted just so against the whispering tongues of fire lapping hungrily at the air from the candle centered upon her table. It is tempting to give her wine, perhaps a nice red, but we must not treat her to such cliches, let us think of something else. Something warm, something exotic, with a touch of spice it will contrast her nicely. Of course her clothes are vintage, sophisticated, a hat with a partial veil falling just before her eyes, shading her face from view at just the right angle, tilted upon her head. her hair, dark auburn, pinned up. Her every movement seems to be a deliberate and conscious action, as if she is aware of always being watched, of always putting on a show. She is precise and never misses a mark. Her words are clipped as they froth forth from her lips in a dusky voice that makes one think of an opium den.
 
Everything about her is measured and her angles are perfect, sharp, motionless she is like a dancer. Others drift toward her, around her, and she remains unphased. All it takes is a cock of her arched brow to drop one to their knees, and this she shrugs off. She has no use for this world anymore, but sometimes it still amuses her on nights while sitting at a cafe and the stars swirl above merging with the city lights. A curse as reality blurs upon the scene and we are drifted out of the dream. But she is leaving now, departing as a ghost, a shadow which has never truly been.
 
Well she leave any mark of her presence? A whiff of perfume that wakens a sleeping poet who strums upon the strings of a lute playing old sad songs. A single glove abandoned to its fate, a token that now lies limp like a gentle sigh of the wind through the trees. Or perhaps there is nothing. Nothing but the empty space, which one imagines must have been occupied once.
 
And so she fades………

Bad Day

{ March 2, 2009 @ 6:06 am } · { Writing Exorcises }
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Items: A gum wrapper, a phone number, spare change, a movie stub, a photo

 

Alex stared down at his left hand in a daze while he examined the white bandage wrapped around his knuckled. Spots of red starting to show. He was only dimly aware of the dull throbbing pain, but it was lessened by the pounding throb in his head. He had no clue where he was and tried to look around, but his vision blurred and turning his head only a faction made everything spin around faster. He could feel the cold hardness of the ground beneath him. He sure was not in his own room, that much he deduced.

 

“You must have had some night.” An unknown voice spoke which sounded like it came from the distant end of a tunnel. At first he thought he was dreaming. That must be why everything seems so strange. But he wondered could you really feel this much like shit in a dream? “Hey, you deaf or something?” The voice once more penetrated his thoughts. So Alex thought it best to respond. “Who are you, and where the hell am I?”

 

The other greeted this with a burst of laughter. “You are really messed up.” Slowly the strong unfamiliar voice began to take shape. He could make out the features of the one who belonged to the voice. A was a large guff looking fellow, with a long scraggly unkempt beard mostly gray and white. “People call me Spud and it seems you are my cell mate.”

 

As the man spoke Alex began to take in more of his surroundings. He resisted the initial urge to ask this Spud what he was doing in jail. As he did not expect the man new any more about that then Alex currently did. It was always moments like this that the desire to life up came over him. He had not had a cigarette in six months but still the urge lingered on. Alex dug into his pockets for a stick of gum. Trading one habit for another he always thought was ironic, but he supposed chewing gum would not kill him. He never left the house now without a pack of the stuff.

 

In his search from his pockets he produced a handful of objects, including an empty gum wrapper. Brilliant! He thought. At some point during the night he must have gone though his last piece. In addition to the gum wrapper he also found a movie stub, some loose change, a napkin with an unknown phone number scrawled upon it and a wallet sized photograph.

 

The photo elicited strong painful emotions. He recognized the eyes of the girl staring up at him. Sara, his girlfriend, or formerly. He could not deny the sudden tightening in his stomach at the image. His eyes glanced over the other objects and the events of the night began to return to him.

 

“I just do not think we are going to work out. I think perhaps it is time we went our separate ways” Sara said as Alex stood within her apartment, they where suppose to be going out tonight, and he had come to pick her up, not he was completely confused. “What? You cannot mean that, where is this coming from?” In the best of his knowledge they had not had any recent fights. Sara looked exasperated and tired. “I am sorry, really, but please, there is nothing you can say that will change my mind on this. I just don’t think we should continue to see each other. I know it is sudden.”

 

Alex could not just accept this how could she just say something like this with no real explanation. “You are not making any sense. Maybe things were not always perfect, but I thought things were pretty good, what has gotten into you.” Sara gave a regretful shake of her head as she turned her back to him her hands clasped together in front of her. “Look Alex, I really don’t want to make this into a whole big thing. If you would please just go that would be the best.” Alex stood motionless at first as he watched, but it seemed there really was nothing he could do. He turned to start to walk off before he paused a moment, one thing flicked into his mind, it was the only thing which would make any sense, yet it could not be could it? He glanced back over to her. “You have met someone else haven you? That is what this is all about?”

 

Sara looked up at him startled and speechless. “Alex, please, let’s not do this.” Her voice was pleading, but the fact that she refused to deny it was confirmation in itself. How had he been such a fool? He did not even see this coming. “Who is he? How long have you been seeing him?” Alex demanded as he clenched one of his hands in a fist.

 

“I want you to leave right now Alex” Sara said with a bit more determination in her voice as she stood once more to fully face him.

 

“Just walk out like that?” Alex said, “Yeah that would be convenient for you, wouldn’t it. Answerer me Sara, where did you meet him, how long have you been seeing him? Did you sleep with him?”

 

“Alex! Stop it, it is over now, if you do not leave now I will have to call the police.” Whether Sara actually would or not he did not know, but he saw that his staying here was pointless and so he stalked out of the apartment and slammed the door behind him. He knew the last thing he wanted to do now was to go back to his own place and just sit alone with his thoughts. He needed something to get his mind off things to distract him. As he began to make his way down the street he dug one of his hands into his pocket and pulled out his last remaining gum stick unwrapping it he stuffed it in his mouth and stuffed the wrapper back ins his pocket. It was suppose to help when you were trying to quick smoking, to find something else to put in your mouth instead. The air was cool as the city was lit by lamps, and the yellow flicker of the dark towering buildings. He walked without thinking about where he was going.

 

He found himself before the theater though he did not plan to come here, he thought what the hell, perhaps it would be a good way to spend his time. What else was he going to do? It was perfect. He could sit within the dark not be bothered by anyone and forget about reality for a moment. He walked up to the window, and bought a ticket for whatever happened to be playing at the time. He did not know or care what the movie was. He took the change which was handed back to him and stuffed it into his pocket and headed inside the theater.

Unfortunately his intentions did not work out as he hoped. He was unable to concentrate throughout the movie and he was still worked up about what happened. Perhaps sitting alone in the dark was in end a bad way to try and deal with his problems. The conversation he had kept playing over in his mind. He still could not believe it. How had this happened? How could she do this to him? As soon as the movie was over, he needed something else. Alex began to head for the nearest bar. A part of him knew it was a bad idea, but what the hell he thought, he was entitled. He just wanted a moment of peace, to not think about what happened, to be free of the pain and dejection.

 

He could not remember just how much he had to drink while he was there. It was all kind of a whir within his mind. He strained his memory as the events started tumbling back to him but it seemed there were still some gaps here and there. Details he could not fully form, but enough to have the basic picture of what happened. What led him here? He remembered there was a woman. She was wearing a black dress and the why she smiled, made him feel as if they were the only two people on the planet. What did he say to her? She brushed her fingers against the back of his hand and there was laughter, yes she laughed at something he said, they were both laughing. He must have already been pretty drunk if he managed to say anything funny. They leaned close together when she reached over for one of the napkins on the bar and wrote something down passing it over to him. It was her number. She was leaving now and he was left feeling a moment of disappointment before he folded the napkin up and slipped it in his pocket.

 

Being left alone again made his thoughts return to Sara and the booze started to work upon him. Who was she to do this to him? Was he just going to sit here and let himself be walked all over like that? The cheating whore, and after everything he gave to her. So all of the sudden he was not good enough for her? He did not remember just when he left the bar, or how he got back to her apartment. He only recalled standing there before her building once more. At first he was lost and confused. Just what did he plan on doing? He thought of calling out to her when an idea formed within his mind. In his drunken state it appeared as the most brilliant plan. Yes, he would really teach her a lesson he thought. He picked up rock and hurled it through the windshield of Sara’s care. He then put his foot through one of the headlights. He did not know who long he carried on unleashing his fury before someone called the cops, Sara herself? He did not know. But the last thing he remembered was the sounds of sirens, and doing nothing but sitting there waiting on the curb, his energy spent, unable to think any further.

 

He must have been belligerent when the cops tried to actually bring him in. He remembered they were getting rough with him as they shoved him in the car, then everything started to go black and he woke up here in this cell.

Free My Soul

{ December 12, 2008 @ 8:26 am } · { Freewrite }
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Rapid motions rise, crashing together in a storm as the waves roll
above my head, and I am caught within; swirling down the drain
trying to breathe; gasp for air; I close my eyes, and feel the wind
icy fingers rip across my skin. My blood and my tears they become
as one. Warmth turned to fire which burns through me and carried inside of me. I wonder for a moment where this is going. This is a tidal pool and I have no control. Lost within darkness that calls my name as a sirens song enchanted and dancing within the mist. Is it real or are they just visions visions of the dead. I welcome this. Is it the breath of sweet death. How I crone such, but I know the truth. It is not to be denied. I want to live. I grab for the rocks dig my fingers in. My nails spilt and I hold back. I will not let myself be swept away. I climb inch by bone-splitting inch to try and reach dry ground again it lingers just in sight. A trick of the eye, taunting me, beckoning, calling I will grasp onto it, pull myself up shake myself dry. This is a pledge that is made in the most solemn of oaths and vows, breaking it is not an option my soul is firmly bound. So the waters batter against me and all that is left is this mangled flesh but sill I draw breath, still my heart beat. Still I have not yet met with defeat. I am here, however shattered, the taste of salt water burns my throat. I have been through hell and wait again for the light.

Touch Myself

{ October 23, 2008 @ 6:28 am } · { Freewrite }
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I touch myself in the darkness

where only I can see
and yet I am blind to all
but the sense of touch
while silence befalls around me
and the air is still
 
Quivering at the bottom of the well
watching the sky for some sign
the silver of the moon cannot reach me
while I feel the beating of cool stone
 
I try to breathe
and catch myself
in the act, as if guilty
of something I cannot grasp
 
But does it end in this?
I am left to drift into dreams
that evolve around me
and no longer
do I wait in the
empted out hollow space
 
But now, where am I
a room with only dim light
and the stench of stales cigarettes
this is not my place
the hands of the clock frozen
because I know this is not real
and yet my flesh and my bone
are alive here just as much
as on the other side of the wall
 
So I am lost
yet not afraid
I could die
only to wake
and while I plead
I defy
 
For here there is no one to watch
it is me alone within the dark
while I feel things out slowly
in the cold heat
which surrounds me
 
And the smoke curls up
releasing some truth
that can never be named

Behind Closed Doors

{ October 20, 2008 @ 4:30 am } · { Character Sketches }
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Everyone wonders the secrets that lay hidden behind closed doors. To the unassuming, and unobservant eye they would appear to be the picture-perfect family. But that is all it is, perfection as it can only exist within a photograph. A moment caught, with the intent of creating an illusion to preserve some happy memory. With forced smiles, and stiff poesies meant for others to view. But to those that are inquisitive, to those who make their life at putting together the pieces of the puzzle when they do not have the picture to guide them by. There are tells of the vainer, a subtle tension felt, everyone has their secrets laying deep inside. No one told them the All American family was just a hoax, and those that strive most to portray themselves in public as the mythos. The happy, average family, the ones that say things like “Pickles” on the count of there when having their picture taken. They are the ones with fetishes in their basement, affairs in the shadows, over controlling, over criticizing.
 
To look at him, there is nothing particularly striking, clean cut, graying hair, cardigan sweater tied around his neck, dressed in casual Khakis, yes, they are one of those couples that have children which should be their grand kids, but the kids, use words like daddy. You imagine he is the perfect candidate for some at home businessmen. The type that do not like under any circumstances to be disturbed while in their office. Working with the doors shut, perhaps with too much Internet porn flashing upon the screen. Or living some double life, where he enjoys leather and chains. They live in a two story house, and go about their lives stale and discontent.
 
Why did they wait so long to have kids, one too caught up in work for it to be “the right time” or perhaps, they had tried and failed, turned to fertility drugs. Which one failed to produce naturally. She speaks with a slight tension in the voice. Perhaps behind closed doors she takes a firm hand he looks just like the type that would cow before his wife, she must have everything just so, while the kids prattle on oblivious.
 
One must always seek to look beyond what is offered where intrigue and scandal lay just waiting to be told.

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