02-16-2004, 11:14 AM #911
Nice stuff, bloonman !!!!
02-16-2004, 11:22 AM #912
I need to get out more
Last edited by bloonman; 02-16-2004 at 11:26 AM.
"I have abandoned my search for truth, and am now looking for a good fantasy." ~ Ashleigh Brilliant
02-16-2004, 08:38 PM #913
02-16-2004, 10:54 PM #914
Chapter Three of "Play Again" (for the two people who pm'ed me and asked for more)
Kenneth Michael Culver was born on an unusually cold February day in a San Diego clinic. Michelle left the clinic two days later, three thousand dollars poorer, and carrying a beautiful, smiling brown child who looked exactly like her. Michelle knew it was only a matter of time before she ran out of money; five hundred dollars would not last her and the baby that long. Going home was not an option. She could only imagine how her white, wonderful, step-dad would react to not only her, but to a child -- a black child. For a moment she thought of Luis, the Mexican pimp, and then remembered that she wasn't beautiful any more. She had gained sixty pounds during her pregnancy and the cat calls had been replaced with looks of scorn and disgust. Michelle wasn't sure if the looks were because of her, or because of her unaware child. Probably both, she thought.
Michael, she didn't like to call the baby Kenneth because it reminded her of his father and in a way she still loved him, was a remarkable child. He never fussed and always slept through the night, and his smile was a beacon of hope for Michelle. She now had something worth living for, and she was going to do whatever it took to make sure that her child never had to go through what she had. She would finish school, go to college, and take care of her child. These were the dreams that filled her empty nights.
Michelle was down to her last hundred dollars when she finally found a job at an ice cream stand. The ice cream stand stood right at the entrance to the Mission Beach pier, and the owner only hired Michelle because he could pay her under the table for two dollars less than minimum wage. She could even keep Michael there with her while she worked. Michelle barely made any money, but it was enough to keep her cheap hotel room and feed her and Michael something else besides sugary sweet waffle cones.
It was a monotonous life. Work, go home and take care of the baby, and fall asleep together. Eighteen now, Michelle wondered if she would ever do anything but this. Michael had become a celebrity of sorts on the pier. The regular ice cream patrons would always come in and see how he was doing and what new words he was saying. Still, Michelle knew that she could not raise him this way forever. Especially when the occasional white person would sling "n***** lover" insults at her with him sitting on her lap. Then there were the black women who would just glare at her with hateful eyes as if she had stolen something from them.
It was a sweltering July day and even the ocean breeze was not enough to cool off Michelle and Michael. She had already gone through four bottles of water, water she would have to pay for out of her own pocket. She smelled like a vanilla shake, beads of sweat dripping from her face, as she waved a magazine at Michael to keep him cool. A boisterous group of sailors, fresh out of boot camp Michelle thought, were approaching the stand. Michelle looked away, hoping they would pass the ice cream stand by. Months of ice cream, potato chips and soda had not helped Michelle regain her pre-pregnancy figure, and she felt anything but attractive.
"'Scuse me Miss," came a voice. Shit, she thought, they had stopped. Michelle turned her head to the left and saw that there were six of them, all white, all thin, all looking like milk men in their pressed white uniforms. Michael smiled at the sailors, and as was his custom flapped his little arm at them to say hello.
"Cute kid," the shortest of them muttered. "He yours?"
Michelle sighed. She knew what was coming next. "Yes," she said, doing her best to smile. "He is."
"Right on," replied the inquisitor.
From the back of the group Michelle heard someone mutter "Damn n***** lovers, they're everywhere." Then a murmur. And then quiet.
"Well she is," said a tall, muscular sailor; his southern twang becoming more evident as he walked forward demanding Michelle to give him a large chocolate cone.
"See," he drawled. "She's not the only one who likes her chocolate."
"I said that's enough Tillman. I meant it."
"Oh go f*** yourself Barnes. Whatcha gonna do? Kick my ass over some n***** lover?"
A reed thin sailor, patches of brown hair evident from underneath his white dixie cup, with a confident walk moved to the front. He was as tall as the redneck southern boy and Michelle could almost feel him moving.
"Maybe I will."
"Like you could."
Michelle had been standing there the whole time, observing the whole scene and not saying a word.
"Guys," she yelled.
They looked at her as if she had appeared out of thin air.
"Either get some ice cream or I'm gonna have someone call the cops," Michelle barked.
"Yea," Tillman said. "Let's just get some ice cream and get the hell out of here."
Michelle handed Tillman his chocolate cone and he walked away grumbling under his breath how Barnes couldn't kick a gnat's ass if it laid there for him. Michelle laughed and looked over at Barnes, whose face appeared to be a little red. He's cute, Michelle thought, but quickly shut out the dreams flying through her mind. No guy would be interested in an overweight, white eighteen year old who had a two year old brown-skinned son.
"Sorry about my friend. He's an ass," Barnes said.
"Don't worry about it," Michelle answered. "I'm used to it."
"How could you ever get used to that?"
"I don't know. I just do."
"If you say so," he said, extending his hand. "I'm Donnie."
"Hi," she said, feeling her face get even warmer than it already was, her hand taking his. "I'm Michelle."
"Want to go out sometime?" he blurted. A slight beeping sound came from his waist and he glanced down at a small, black pager and quickly pushed a button to silence it.
"I asked you if you wanted to go out sometime."
Michelle adjusted herself in her chair. The only time she ever got asked out was if it was by some middle aged black man who assumed because she had a black child, that she would just give them a piece of ass.
"Are you deaf," he laughed. Making signs with his hands as if he were translating via sign language, he spoke simply and very slowly, pausing after each syllable.
"I...asked...you...if...you...w ant...ed...to...go...out...som e...time?"
"No, your son." he replied sarcastically. "Of course you."
"Yes, that's what I said. Tonight."
"What's your hurry?" Michelle said, worried that he, like most men she knew, was only after one thing.
"I transfer out of here in a month. I want to get to know you." Donnie's pager went off again as he spoke, and like before he pushed a button to silence it. Only this time he did it without looking to see who had paged him, as if he knew who it was.
"Oh," she said, realizing that she had just stuck her foot in her mouth. "OK, tonight is good, I get done here at 8."
"Great," he answered, flashing a toothy grin. "See you then."
"Wait," Michelle said.
"Yes?" he smiled again. It was a smile that made Michelle want to rip her clothes off right then and there.
"What about my son?"
"Well I told you, I wanted to go out with him. Weren't you listening?" Michelle laughed like a four year old laughs at her Mom's bad funny faces. "Bring him," Donnie said as he walked away. "It'll be fun."
Donnie, Michelle and Michael went out every night for the next two weeks. Donnie took them to restaurants, movies, and even the San Diego Zoo. Michael laughed and laughed at Donnie's imitations of all the animals and Michelle knew she was falling in love. It wasn't the same kind of love she had with Kenny. That love was sort of mystical. She hadn't really understood what love was then, and sometimes wondered if she had even loved him at all. Loving Donnie was easy and comfortable. He would be a wonderful father, she knew, and that was important to her, and more importantly to her son. He needed a dad. When Donnie asked her to marry him a week before he was leaving, Michelle was not surprised how easily she answered yes. Her only concern was how often he would go off to use the phone to answer one of his pages, but she was tired of the ice cream stand, and of being close to her sisters, even her Mom, and not being able to see them. Moving to Whidbey Island in Washington would take care of those problems.
Michelle was sleeping in the passenger seat of Donnie's red 1994 Ford Bronco when he nudged her. "Look," he said, motioning her to look out of her window. Michelle, half dazed, saw the sun setting in the horizon over the ocean. They were driving over a bridge that connected the mainland to the island. Water was crashing on rocks beneath them. Green, piney trees provided shelter to the gritty, sandy beach, and a purplish-orange hue reflected up off of the water. "It's beautiful," she said. As they crossed over the bridge, she read the sign noting the name of the landscape they had just seen. Deception Pass. Michelle wasn't sure what it was about that sign, but suddenly she had a feeling of uneasiness run over her. It was as if the sign was an alarm clock, and she had just awoken from a deep slumber. Michelle continued looking out the window, and realized that she knew nothing about Donnie. Nothing at all.
That night, question after question bounded through Michelle's mind. Why did Donnie's pager always go off? Why was he always sneaking off to use the phone? It had never bothered her before, but now it was driving her crazy. When Donnie's pager went off four times in twenty minutes, Michelle looked at Donnie and for the first time, questioned him.
"Who is always paging you?"
"No one," he said quickly. "Just friends."
"Alright," Michelle answered. "Michael and I are going to go for a walk. Wanna come with?"
"Naw, I'm tired from the drive," he yawned, plopping himself onto the bed. "I think I'm gonna catch some z's."
Michelle grabbed Michael by the hand and walked out of the room. She chased Michael down the hallway and could only laugh as his little feet stumbled over themselves and caused him to fall and giggle.
"Hang on baby boy," an out of breath Michelle said. "Momma needs to run back to the room real quick."
Michelle walked quietly down the hall and stood outside the door to their room. She heard Donnie's muffled voice coming from inside.
"I know, I know. It's only temporary babe. I promise."
Michelle got on her knees and pressed her head against the door, straining to hear more.
"One month. No more than that. I felt sorry for her and her kid, OK?"
Michelle had been so intent on hearing what was being said that she had forgotten Michael was there.
"S***," came Donnie's voice from inside. "She's back. I love you. Gotta go."
Michelle heard an abrupt click and some hasty movement from inside the room. "Come on baby," she said, grabbing Michael by the hand. "Let's go on that walk."
Michelle walked down the streets of Oak Harbor, Washington watching people pass her by. Happy people. People in love. Mom's with their kids, laughing -- and meaning it. Twelve year old boys racing their bikes across the street as angry motorists honked their horns at them. Michelle realized she had never gotten to play with other kids, and that for the longest time she had been anything but a kid. But here she was -- married, eighteen with a two year old son, and she was a kid.
I'm not going to let this beat me, she thought. He's not going to get rid of me. I don't care if he feels sorry for me or not. She picked Michael up and brought his small body in close to hers. His muddy fingers grabbed her cheeks, and he smiled.
"I love you Momma."
"Come on baby," Michelle sighed, as she ran her fingers through Michael's wiry, black hair.
"We're going home."
Would you like to play again?
Michelle clicked the little gray button.
02-17-2004, 04:48 AM #915
Back to the kitty
02-17-2004, 08:31 AM #916
I need to get out more
02-17-2004, 09:39 AM #917
Tahahahahaha, I've come to post!
Here's two chapters of a story I've been writing.
Murder: Chapter One
The subject sits in the precinct, legs crossed, head held high, being barraged with questions by the officers. Her lips are curled into a smirk; her eyes suggest, rather coyly, if they dare to question her more. “Why did you do it? What was the exact motive? Was he someone you knew? Someone who made you angry? What made you crack?” This is what the young, and handsome police officer blasts at the girl with his heavy Latino accent. He knew her in childhood, but he doesn’t remember her. She remembers him, though, like an old battle wound, something you can’t erase, no matter how much you try to make it disappear.
To him, she is rather too sweet-and-innocent looking to be guilty of as heinous of a crime as murder. Sure, looks can be deceiving, but this officer knows that looks are everything in this business. If a woman came in wearing a short leather skirt, cussing and smoking all the while, he would have thought her to the more likely suspect than the timid woman wearing the jeans and pretty blouse, walking her dog and smiling. Yep, in police duty, he thinks that the looks tell all.
She sweeps her brown hair out of her face, grins an all too familiar grin, and stares into the brown eyes that he possesses. The other officer’s powerful voice fills the tiny room as he demands to hear her side of the story. She smirks, then lets out a defiant laugh. A full-blown, “screw you” laugh. “Geez, one question at a time, fellas,” she says, still chortling madly, as though this whole thing is just a big joke. “X-Man, what’s up?! I haven’t seen you in, like, five billion years!” Her eyes widen in glee as she stares at the Hispanic man.
“This ain’t a joke, Claire,” he says. His name is Xavier, but only his friend Claire called him that nickname, or taunt, in the days of his childhood. He isn’t too happy to see her, she caused him a lot of trauma.
The other officer stares at the two, but clears his throat, and regains his stature. “So, one question at a time, eh? Alright. Why did you do it?” He asks, rather rudely.
She pauses, as though she’s about to say something, but can’t word correctly.
“Actually, I myself still can’t figure out why. Honest.” Her eyes shine with virtue, for once. Ah, the puppy face. How overused.
The two authority figures are ready to explode.
“Ya sure?” The more experienced one says, trying to contain his anger, his ruddy face purpling.
“Honest. Next question.”
Xavier’s own face is starting to tinge a nasty currant color. How could this young woman, as innocent as she looks, defy authorities as if she’s on top of the world? He grasps his knees, face downward, trying to catch a breath, to control it. Phew, it’s gone. He straightens up, and grills the girl with another question, one she has to give an answer to.
“I know you know why, Claire. Why did you do it?! WHY?!”
An awkward silence, she’s biting her nails angrily.
“Geez, I’ll tell you, but there is such thing as manners!”
“Tell me then.”
Claire clears her throat, and coughs, about to tell the story of her ordeal.
Murder: Chapter Two
“Alright, he was acting all funny. Ya know, drunk and stuff, slipping his mind, speaking of other women whom I didn’t know. He was coming home with red marks all over his neck, but explaining them off as sores. Actually, he would blame me for the marks, saying I was...I was...I can’t say it.” Her hands cover her face, she slumps in her seat.
Xavier looks at her with sympathetic eyes. “It’s OK, you can continue.”
“O-OK then. He said that I was clumsy and too incompetent to be his wife. This often made me angry, and would cause fights between us, but I never gave up on him. I loved him, a foolish thing to do, but good enough at the time. Until I found his address book.
“In that address book, were the phone numbers and addresses of not one, not two, but six women. SIX. So I called each one of them up and arranged a meeting with.” She pauses, stands up, and starts a slow, relaxed, yet somewhat timid pacing about the small questioning room.
“Margarita Desmone. Twenty-two years of age, Hispanic, five-feet-nine-inches, the angry type, stunningly good looking. With him for two weeks in December of 1997.
“Julia Simmons, African-American, nineteen years old, five feet, pretty good looking. Sweet, innocent, yet deadly. With him for two days in March of 1998.
“Harriet Prince, white, thirty years old. Rather ugly, bitchy woman. Was with him for April through September of 1998.
“Tiffany Wheeler, sixteen years old as of yesterday, biracial, five foot three. Cute. They went at it for October through February of 1998-1999.
“Kyoko Iisuki. Twenty-eight, Asian, four feet eleven, decent looking, kind heart. With him for June through November of 1999.
“And Greta Furman, my BEST FRIEND. She’s Swedish, gorgeous, a tall blonde, and she makes me SICK now. With him from January up until last night. And only she knew that he was my husband.”
A stunned silence. The more experienced police officer gapes at her. My Harriet was with this woman’s husband?, he thinks. How could she?!
“Continue,” Xavier coughs dryly, as though this were all a big bore.
“I was late from work, and that’s when I discovered them. The despicable Greta and him havin’ a grand old time in our bed. How did I react? Well, let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.”
“GET OUT!” she screamed at the blonde woman, pointing at the door.
“Claire, I didn’t mean to -” the blonde woman started.
“But Claire -”
“I’m sorry, Clai -”
“GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE, YOU WHORE! OUT!” Claire shouted, hurling a vase at the nude Greta. Greta dodged it barely, grabbed a leather coat and hurried out before the enraged spouse of her lover could throw any more. Once the blonde was off their property, Claire turned to her husband with fire in her eyes. “How...could..YOU?!”
He sat there, on the bed, rather stupidly, eyes wide in shock that he had been discovered. “I was drunk...it wasn’t my fault...she took over...sorry..” He stuttered as he made idiotic excuse after idiotic excuse. Claire was fuming. “Sorry? SORRY?!” she yelled, making her spouse jump. Her fingers fumbled across the dresser counter for something sharp. She felt it out. It was SMOOTH. It was SMOOTH and LONG. It was SMOOTH, LONG, and EXTREMELY SHARP.
“Sorry isn’t good enough this time...”
~END OF FLASHBACK~
“Go on,” Xavier demands, no longer bored by this tale.
“I...can’t.” Claire thredad her fingers into her hair and yanks in frustration.
“We’re not pressuring you, sweetie, just go on,” the older one says. He’s still can’t get over the fact that his Harriet, his darling Harriet, could have had an affair.
“So, I stabbed him. Many times. I pretty much lost count after thirty, so I’m not sure how many times, but it was a lot. He fell to the ground, and then I realized to what extent I had hurt him.”
Claire dropped the knife, and cover her face with her hands.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “What have I done...?”
~END OF FLASHBACK~
“What happened then?” Xavier asked.
“Well...I decided that he looked more graceful in death, than he ever had in life.”
The officers were stunned. They had nothing to say.
So, yeah....what do you think? I know it's a bit dull, but I'd say it's alright.
Great stuff, everyone!
02-17-2004, 09:44 AM #918
Nerds Just Wanna Have Fun
Aaah! Everyone is a good writer here! My six line poem is unworthy, unworthy I tell you.... *insert bowing at feet smilie here*
02-17-2004, 09:55 AM #919
I need to get out more
02-17-2004, 02:01 PM #920
Adorable! Thanks, Sweetie.
Originally Posted by bloonman
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