Brother Authors,
I can hear your voices, but I am struggling to smell, taste, or feel the environments in which your stories take place. Help me see what you see - feel what you feel - touch what you touch. Place that rich kernel in your black short that allows the reader to experience the full measure of your character's humanity. Don't tell the reader she's angry or despondent. Help the reader experience it through your words so that he can empathize or become frightened. Help him feel the wind, see the sunrise, smell the awkwardness, and swell up inside as he reads your words. Do the hard work required of all great writers. I want to stand on the rooftops and shout, "I found him - the next new legend."
Sample kernels from two BAs are below:
Charlie Johnson sat at his dining room table tinkering with his laptop before he left for school. The orange twilight poured through the window glowing against the table as his hands moved in a blazing speed connecting cables. He was an innovative thinker, always trying to find ways to fix and improve things. It was his favorite thing to do. Charlie began to put his tools and laptop away when his phone rang. Expecting it to be his mother calling to check in, being the overprotective mother she was. But an unknown number glowed across the caller ID screen. Probably a creditor, but they’ve never called this early in the morning before. Thinking, Charlie never answered a call from them, it seemed pointless. It was nothing but an automated recording that says the same thing each time; the phone had reached its last ring, Charlie picked it up.
From BA 8, The Man on the Phone
Sitting on the porch, Mallory’s eyes connected with fading sun as it fell behind the line of trees along with her tears. In her hand she tightly held a long letter inside an envelope with no address or postage stamp. All she could do was mutter questions and breathe to the rhythm of her heart beat. The expression on her face showed sadness while the still concentrated look in her eyes whispered anger. In her other hand was a gold ring.
As she sat there her mother came out for a smoke.
“Are you going to take those items to him?” Her mother quietly asked.
“Maybe”
“Well you should leave soon. I don’t want you out there when it gets dark.”
“Ok mom. Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure what is it?”
“Did anyone notice?”
From BA 11, The Moon’s Property
I wrote the following short story. I was stimulated by a piece of bubble gum wrapper I saw resting on the ground as I approached the train.
Paper in the Wind
By
Alfred W. Tatum
The paper in the wind settles between two yellow lines outside of the train station. Its companion is a pink strip of unchewed gum. It hops to the left before crossing the tracks into a wide-open field with tall, brown grass and scraps of metal resting lazily after years of activity. The blades of grass sway to and fro. I can only imagine what rests beneath the soil thirty days out from spring. The thawing of the ground brings the dawning of a new season with cheerful sounds and colorful images suffocated by the region’s winters. I decided to track the path of the paper, to gather it in hopes of finding something, not exactly sure what, just something.
I raise my ungloved hand to wipe the snot from my nose before brushing my hand against my pants. The wind picks up and the paper is lifted from the ground. I break into a small trot. I feel like I am chasing a dream like I did when I was a child. The wind settles. Fortunately for me, I can take a breather. I haven’t had much exercise since my wife died nine years ago. How strange it might look to someone watching on old man in a barren field with a balding head. I simply smile at the thought. A quick westerly gust forces me to switch directions again.
“Pearl, why now?”
I remember asking my dear wife when she told me she wanted to leave the south.
“This is where our home is, our friends.”
But, she was persistent. Our oldest son needed us after running into a pocket of misfortune. Pearl couldn’t stand the idea that her baby was roaming the streets in the cold while she was enjoying the comforts of southern winds. Georgia was her home, but it did not feel the same.
“I got to go Frank. Either you coming with me or you’re staying.”
She was always a stubborn woman. So, I agreed to come behind her after I made arrangements at home. There was the house and the convenience store to deal with. We decided that she would find a small place and I would follow in three months time. Not one to put things off, Pearl was on her way the Tuesday next. The tossing and turning at night were more frequent. She became restless after not hearing from Frank Jr. for three days. The waiting and wondering were driving her mad.
I drove her to the train station for the 22-hour ride. She had one large bag and a small wooden box that fit comfortably into her purse. Pearl always carried that purse. In it was a pad she scribbled notes on about the store’s inventory. She also kept track of her banking account. Pearl didn’t have much money, but she kept track of every dime. When she died, I also found out that she wrote notes to Frank Jr. every night. They all ended the same way:
Dear God, please watch over my boy - a note from Pearl.
Pearl never made it to Frank Jr. The train derailed six hours out and two people died, a small child, only six months old, and my Pearl. She hit her head on a steel rail and lost consciousness before passing away. I never got a chance to say good-bye. I still decided to move north as I had promised only to find more bad news. Frank Jr. was gone, too. That’s when I starting riding the rails, searching for something, anything. Not much for an old man to do when those he loves are gone.
That’s how I ended up in the field today chasing a piece of paper in the wind. Now, I am close to it. I trap the paper, folded in a square, beneath my foot while I catch my breath. I lean over to pick it up. Suddenly, I have a change of heart about reading it. I imagine it’s another note from Pearl, a note for Frank Jr., or maybe a note for me. I lift it to wind, release it, before walking back toward the train. I feel a tear trickle over a smile.
War @ 16
ReplyDelete"Lord what am I going to do? I can feel it in my body that something is not right, but I cannot figure out what it is." says Amber. She turned 16 four months ago, and has found her one true love. David is the man of her dreams; smart, handsome, caring, and self-centered. It was not too long ago, that Amber found herself having to make one of the most horrifying decisions. No one knows what, Amber, is going through.
She met him on the school bus. It was a dull morning. No sunlight, just fog.
It was a gloomy day to a stunning start. Amber tripped on one of her shoes, but was caught by someone, who was new to this school. David had saved her. No one could see that moment they shared, but it was surely there. Grabbing her by the hand, they sat together on the bus that dreary morning. Conversing about the day that was soon to come.
On a late summer day it happened. Amber has longed for a man that could take the place of her father. She has been so confused, and held back from life. She loses her virginity to David. Ever since, life has not been the same. The emotions are running wild and they both lose there minds, some one once told them that sex does not make you grown, and just because you can work what you have does not mean you are grown. Being grown means you are out there providing for yourself. The time has come and she chooses to go her own way. But keep in mind, she is only 16. Still a child at mind.
In mid January, the news came to her as a shock. And an even greater shock to the father. She wants to keep it; he wants to get rid of it. Confusion between them brings confusion to the household. In less time, we all find out, and without doubt, we need to see if this is really true. No it can’t be! She is only 16! Another burden to bear? She is not even out of sophomore year. Too late, the test of pregnancy, it’s a positive. “No I don’t want it, go get an abortion!” David says. “No! I cant, it is still murder, you weren’t saying this when you were in me, you filthy bastard. I hate you.” Amber replies. When will the confusion end?
It has been seven months now, and Ambers belly is steadily growing. The father has now come to the terms; it is real. And his life is not right, so how can he be a great father when a father he never had. Today was the day for the ultrasound. Yes, a baby girl.
“Daddy how you can be upset; I am not a boy. I can see your face when you look at me through mommy’s tummy?” said little Sarenity. Her question goes unanswered. It will remain unanswered until he can step up and become a man. And my poor baby sister can see that sex will not make a man love you, and a baby will not keep him. I silently fall back into my omniscient state of being while watching the story unfold.
No one knows what Amber, is going through. So she prays;
“Dear, Lord, please forgive me. For I know that I have sinned. I cannot understand why I have lost my way, but I am constantly running back to you. And yes I know I have went astray. But Lord, I need you now. I knew that something wasn’t right. I swear I could feel it in my body. Who would have knew, it was a child? But Lord I only tried it two times, but I guess that’s all it took to put me a 16 year old at war.”
Loves Home
ReplyDelete“Semoore come here,” Dad called to me. I barely heard him because I was in a daze of disappointment. Mama singing at the picnic table with the twins, Benny and Bamma, Auntie Tammie on her laptop, Cousin Kaden on his new iphone talking to his girl. We’re here together, I thought. Uncle Wayne at the edge of the yard, lonesome, staring into space. “Boy go get my plate,” Dad yelled in irritation. I knew I was gone hear that voice again because of my fixed puzzlement. Auntie Ms. Brown treating her children like her students, Pappy in the house watching a movie alone, Granny in another room watching the same movie, Joe throwing rocks at my feeble back. Somebody’s knocking at the door…only to be ignored. “Boy what I say,” Dad uttered again his domination. Separate worlds I see in one galaxy. Different atmospheres and different elements of fabricated love. Decisions to be made about the next time we meet already being considered. Here I am disobeying Dad because of my bewilderment of watching my family’s unity wither. “Coming Dad,” I shrieked. Aw man now there’s a fight.
Scurrying across the soft dew like grass I hastened to the wooden picnic table to pick up my fathers food delivery. Rushing to him in order to avoid the verbal lashing I knew was primed for me I tripped over little jimmies stroller. As I looked in his eyes I saw the fear in his big blue eyes that over took his rounded face. The worry on his face that had stolen his sea like dimples resembled my fret. I asked him, “Are you worried for us too,” as if I expecting an answer from his unripe voice. He moaned as if he was straining his weak vocal cords to say ‘Yes.’ Getting my focus back I continued to scamper.
“Dad here’s your food,” I whispered waiting for his irate response. To my surprise he just let out a huge amount of wind like that of a steam boat.
“Thank you son,” he muttered with his somber look.
“Pop?” That’s what I called him when I could something was strangling his mind and suppressing his spring like joy. “Pop, what’s wrong?” His eyes gazed upon the disconnected images in the yard. “Son, what do you notice in the spirit of our family?” I could tell he felt the same as I.
“A lack there of one,” I replied
“A lack of a spirit?”
“Kind of. I mean there is a lack of a family strength of mind. A lack of love. A lack of unanimity. A lack of oneness. A lack of compassion. A lack of concord. A lack of elation. A lack of a family.”
“I see your wisdom on this matches mine.”
“Dad I think you should gather them, and see if you can stir our bitter family into a sweet a smooth swallowing wine.”
“Son your 18 years of life have taught you well.” Dad stood and wandered about the yard and gathered my family. As they all bunched together in front of the porch, dad walked to the top step. The porch creaked as if nails were scratching a chalk board. The boards of the stairs slipped as if to break as our family would do if something wasn’t done to fix it.
Part 2
ReplyDeleteLove's Home
Dad began, “Dads, moms, sons, daughters, aunties, uncles, nieces and nephews, I have noticed something among us that has weighed heave on my mind. Have you noticed ‘it’? Have you noticed the ‘it’ that has become buried under our seemingly more important insignificant treasures? The ‘it’ that has been tossed to the side like refuse. Do you no what that ‘it’ is yet? It is Love. The thing that drives this family and that will drive this human race into a blissful paradise. What happened to this adoring love? Have we let trivial things take the place of it and looked at it as the gold. Family, please take control and take hold of this Godly quality of love and embrace it as branches of a tree does to a falling one in the rain forest. Pick up each other as if we were all babes. Giving not only a helping hand but give attention to each others needs. Moreover, more than anything take pleasure in the presence of one another. Love! Show it. Be it. And love it.”
When dad stopped talking, nothing but tears sheltered the ground. Everyone began to hug each other and began the Loving that was needed.
Second Thoughts
ReplyDeleteSitting in class I think of only one thing while the teacher yells at me to pay attention
“Look at me when I talk to you Malik.”
“No.”
I mutter because I really don’t care. All I can think of is him dying. My brother Mike was six years younger than me. He had so much life left to live but it was cut short because of one idiot. Now this teacher expects me to pay attention in gym. Gym class is the last thing I need. Besides, when did Mr. Jackson start caring about what I did? He’s just some cranky old man that’s been at this school for years
“Malik!” he yells.
I drop the ball and leave while the old man screams insults so loud I picture him having a heart attack. I exit the old school building only used for summer school, purposes ever since it was said to have a roach infestation. The school board was too lazy to fix the building so they changed it into a summer school. I pass a church and think for a moment about forgetting about revenge and letting it go. I wonder, but the troublesome thought is quickly eradicated with another painful picture of my little brother dead in my trembling arms while tears of mine drip down his face
I shake off the memory because I know that weakness is a characteristic that leads to death. I need to be unstoppable and unforgiving. What a change since the young sixteen year old that was so excited to buy a new car for his birth day. I guess uncle ruckus was right death is a pig that begs and begs for a partner.
I walk home and head straight to my room. My mom calls
“Honey dinners ready”
“I’m not hungry” I reply glumly
I head into my dull gray room and grab the black gun that once belonged to my uncle but he gave it to me for my birthday. It smelled like old people weird but comforting. I head down the stairs with my black hood up and weapon in my hand when I’m stopped by the soothing but serious tone of my mothers voice “He wouldn’t have wanted this”
“How do you know?!” I scream back all the pain I’ve held inside immediately released.
“He was my son, he lived a great life and he loved everyone”
“You were his mother and you don’t even care about revenge? That man killed him for no good reason and I will make him pay!”
Tears running down my face I leave the house that once held a family of three. I run around the block and hide near an old deserted building. I think of the mans name Cole and he hangs out on Marquette and Ingleside.
I run about one mile when I’m about a block a way from the spot to rest. I think of what I’m going to do if there are many people but I’m in luck to find that he’s alone. I walk slowly to the husky figure that could easily play Fat Albert. The cold gun beckons to me in my pocket begging to be used begging to kill. I hold my breath while I approach the man saying.
“Hey Cole,”
He turns around and replies “who wants ta kno.”
I take the gun out of my pocket in an instant and fire towards the large fat ball that he calls a knee. The bullet passes clear through and explodes on the hard concrete floor.
He screams out curses I’ve never even heard before but his voice is deafened by the rain.
“You killed him!” I scream “You killed him! You killed my brother two days ago!”
I put the gun to his head about to pull the trigger when I stop. I remember all the times my brother would save bury dead squirrels or help nurture a harmed bird. I realized that my brother would have not wanted this. I look at the man that killed my brother for accidentally nicking his car with a baseball, now groveling on the ground begging me to stop, begging for redemption. I want to end him but my heart the place where my brother now lies tells me otherwise. I walk away throwing the gun in a gutter thinking that death would be lonely one more day.
Salt Face
ReplyDeleteHakeem sat on his porch. He was in a deep thought. He was in a really deep thought. Almost a Trans. At this point he heard nothing but the wind in his ear but now has become numb inside his head; it was an everlasting sound. The smell of garbage, grass, and mud snuck into his nose and the beaming sun only made it worse. It was like this because it had rained the night before. He felt the very meager amounts of water on his chair as he sat there. But he could care less; he was in a Trans of nature consuming his very body and mind. He felt seduced by the whisper of the wind, the water’s soft but almost sensual touch on his back. He was aroused by nature’s perfume of wet grass and mud. Yet as beautiful and sexy as nature was, it seemed that she forgot to take a shower. Did nature forget to take a shower before she put on that nice smelling perfume? Hakeem figured she didn’t; her scent of garbage gave it away. But just like nature was polluted with garbage Hakeem’s thoughts were polluted by in interruption. Later he will once again escape into his Trans.
“Hakeem, you good?”
“I’m alright Malcolm, I was only thinking to myself.”
“I think you were masturbating.”
“What?”
“Yeah, you were just sitting there like you were thinking of some Playboy center fold.”
“You got me twisted, Malcolm, you know I’m always gettin’ play!”
“Hakeem…,” Malcolm sounded very irritated with Hakeem’s slang. He knew Hakeem was acting like something he wasn’t. Hakeem began to speak up but was cut off by Malcolm, “can you explain what ‘getting play’ is?”
“Getting play is… Ummm… You see it’s…”
“So you mean to tell me that you don’t even know what getting play is? I’ll explain it: Getting play, as you would call it, is when you get a female in your bed and have sexual intercourse with that female and it last from 45 minutes to an hour. That is getting play, Hakeem, now since you hesitated to explain what this is I must ask you a few questions. Do you even know what sex is? Have you ever gotten play? Dude, you still a virgin?”
Hakeem sat quietly, his face was blank. Where I’m from, we call that ‘salt face’. Malcolm shook his head and walked off Hakeem’s porch. Hakeem went back into his Trans of this sexy lady know as nature.
tHE fRIEN
ReplyDeletethe Friendly Ghost
The sky resisted light and ominous winds blew through watchful clouds, as Alessandro Massimo stood perfectly balanced on top of the Torre Dei Lamberti. Alessandro gazed intently at the piazza erbe, at the merchant stands crowded on the sides of buildings that have endured the ravages of time; from the maternal protector of Verona, Alessandro plotted his conquest. He eloquently strode to the edge of the tower and flipped over the wall, strong and yet delicate gloved hands gripped the rim as legs that seemed specifically toned for scaling the wonders of architecture kept him steady. He methodologically moved down the tower, so fluid were his movements that any spectators would not have any idea at what they watched. Perfectly fitted leather boots found footholds where others would not and in mere minutes he stood on the ancient rooftops of the houses of Verona. He could smell the flustered excitement of the merchants and their wealthy consumers. Wealth they did not deserve. Wealth he would soon acquire. He stared at his piazza, the buildings were of brown and red chipped and faded brick; many of these buildings still stood from the 14th century. He knew them all too well, the structures, the footholds, the weak areas, the balconies and stairs and secret passages through each home as if he had lived in each for a separate eternity.
He stalked the piazza.
Moving so swiftly and elegantly anyone who caught sight of him, and no one did or ever would, would believe an angel had descended upon the rooftops of Verona. He was indeed an angel. An angel of the night a man of suitable stature for his profession he stood at 5’10 with a body perfectly toned for combat and escaping; cloaked in an all black velvet doublet with black velvet breeches a wide-brimmed black hat worn close to the head and a primitive gas mask in the shape of a bird's beak. Most would assume the man to be a doctor from the nightmarish times where The black Death had forcefully taken the rights to a mans life.
For the posh, pompous buyers that foolishly journeyed to Alessandro’s piazza erbe, tonight would indeed be a nightmare! Alessandro caught sight of his target.
"Aiutati che Dio ti aiuta." he proclaimed quietly to himself.
A few seconds passed, Alessandro drew in the atmosphere’s gift to man into his lungs and exhaled.
He exploded into action.
Flowing into a summersault he rolled off the edge of the central house on the east wall of the enclosed piazza hooked his feet on the rail of the balcony and bend over backwards and clutched the top of the rail on the next balcony down, flipped again till he was straight up and from there dropped into the general bustle and disorient of the market.
ReplyDeleteHe was not a common pickpocket, far from it, he had made his appearance in the market place several before, each time in a different guise and each time he studied every merchants merchandise; picking what he would take and planning how he would take it and now was the time. He implemented his scheme, slithering through market stalls with the grace of a panther; he pilfered each item and slipped it into the leather sack that hung from his waist, a diamond necklace fit for a queen, the sack of gold of the most profitable merchant in the piazza, the beautiful jeweled dagger imported from England by the merchant Emilio, an entire rack of rings featuring emerald, ruby and sapphire gemstones. He stirred no one and it seemed to crowd of ignorant buyers and sellers that a wraith had come to exact its wrath upon the rich. He then used the same dagger he stole to cut the purses from the waists of several of the wealthy consumers and add it to his own bounty.
He sprinted to the statue at the end of the piazza and climbed atop its base.
In an accent heavy with what seemed centuries of Italian residence he proclaimed to the people.
“I am The Black Death for the pashas and i ricchi of Verona! The Angel of i poveri! I have taken your trinkets and coins and will give them to those deserving! I...”
“He just confessed, stop thief!!”
"Campa cavallo!" Alessandro yelled as he dived into the crowd.
“Stop him!!”
Everyone in the plaza scattered, some to get away from the thief, others to catch him. Just then a group of vagabonds tore through the crowd causing even more confusion amongst the rabble and allowing the thief to escape into the darkness.
“Find him!!!” the guards yelled and somewhere from a indiscernible location in the everlasting void of darkness that commanded the night. They could hear him say Chi trova un amico, trova un tesoro.
"He who finds a friend finds a treasure."
Dark Nights
ReplyDelete"Who's there?" I became startled by a noise that caused me to sit up in bed this summer dark night. I went to wake up my older brother, Joe. Then another THUD! I walked quickly down to the next room. When I got there I started pushing and hitting my brother. Finally he got up and started to hear the noise. It sound like it was coming from the front room.
"Stay close, Bro," he said in a deep voice
We are alone. He reached for his old bat, then Bam!
He makes his way into the next room. Not again. This is third time this month.
"Knock the CRAP! Out of him," I said.
WACK! He falls hard to the ground.
Police arrive in five minutes.
"Good thinking Shorty,"
I felt proud of myself. As the cops took the crook to the police car, me and my brother was singing,
"Y'all can't mess with the police," until they drove off.
We started to put our things back in order and making sure the house is secure.
"We need to move somewhere safe for the both of us it is just way to dangerous" Joe said.
Then I thought new school, new job for my brother, and new everything.
It was a week before that last incident and Joe had found a small house that is a good fit for both of us. We pack our bags and we started to head out this joint. As we rode in Joe's van I started to look at the new area we are going to be liven in, and the people in the community look OK to be friends with. Then we arrive at our new house it was good looking house with blue limning on it.
"Luckily our grandparents had some money to help us buy a house" Joe said.
"Yeah" I said in a response.
We are greeted by a young black couple in their late twenties and early thirties. They look like they are in their late twenties to early thirties. Also, they have a daughter that looks around my age nine or ten. She dress very nice and not like them girls that we live at our old apartment. Joe saw how I was looking at her and said,
"I'll leave you two alone I'm going to go unpack".
She came up to me,
"Kim is my name I came over here to hear yours".
"My name is Johnny but people call me Shorty"
"Kim time to get in the house" her mother said"
"Well I guess I see around Shorty" Kim said.
I went in the house and I see Joe had unpack a lot of stuff and it looks like the apartment again, but more spread out.
Later tonight when I was asleep I heard screaming and yelling next door were Kim lives. I look through the window I saw her parents arguing then I saw her dad pushing and shoving her mom then Kim came in and tried to break it up. After that her parents eventually made up and apologize to each other. I wonder in my head these dark nights are coming again and in a different matter.
After fastening the Velcro straps of his Teflon vest, Tommy peered over the tall building and decided that he was not close enough to inflict the pain that he desired. “I can’t hit ‘em all from right here. Fuck I think I got… a John Muhammad .223 rifle with the scope? I gotta get up on ‘em and make ‘em feel me,” Tommy thought to himself as he planned his next move. The helicopter’s presence became stronger as its force blew around the gravel layering the roof of Robert F. Wagner’s Housing Project building. “This is the NYPD. Lower your weapon and place your hands in the air. This is your first and last warning! Failure to do so will result in deadly force,” the helicopter’s intercom firmly stated in a robotic voice.
ReplyDeleteBlatantly ignoring the command to surrender, Tommy headed toward the roof’s black door, zigzagging to nearly miss a vicious storm of gunfire being hailed from the city’s black sky. Tommy’s knees buckled up and down as his tight laced sneakers slid on off the edges of the grimy steps. After anxiously stumbling down sixteen flights of stairs, Tommy began hyperventilating while feverishly in search of a place to lay low until they pulled up. Tommy crouched behind a large green metal garbage can and cocked the chamber of the AK-47. As anticipated, the screeching tires grew closer to the alley; it was a sign of relief for Tommy because he was ready. “You can’t kill what’s already dead,” Tommy sprung up and screamed as thunderous bursts of power exploded from the fiery nozzle.
Feel My Pain
ReplyDeleteSirens blared wildly from the 25th precinct’s speeding squad cars while its red, white and blue lights flashed off and on the dark bricks of the dilapidated apartment buildings on Lennox Avenue. Tommy couldn’t control his right hand from shaking compulsively as he attempted to draw his last Newport closer to his chapped white lips, but was unable to strike fire from the faulty lighter. “Come on, bitch! God damn, I need a fuckin’ light…,” Tommy pouted with frustration because his nicking was becoming unbearable. But, a distant chopping sound and the reflection of a spotlight, similar to the one they use on the Apollo’s stage, forced him to abandon all previous thoughts and drop the red lighter so he could reload the assault rifle with another banana clip.
‘FUCK THE WORLD’ was boldly written above a sketch of the earth’s globe, in which stood a long middle finger proudly protruded from it. This large tattoo inscribed on Tommy’s left forearm reflected his boiling anger with the unfortunate events that had taken place in his life. Mama was dead from Sickle Cell Anemia. Dad’s alcohol abuse landed him in a nursing home, probably from the binge drinking of rubbing alcohol .Ti-Ti, his former girlfriend, decided she wanted to be with a female after ten years. Sean, his best friend, was fatally shot four times from a shower of fifty bullets, which struck him in the neck and torso by NYPD in plainclothes.
Broken Love Can Be Repaired
ReplyDeleteThe beautiful, courageous, smart and did I say beautiful, sexy Champagne. Champagne is so hurt, she cant trust her own father. Beating his child doesn’t even bother him but it bothers Donovan. Champagne is scared of her own domain she’d be safer in a lion cage. She tells Donovan every time it happens and he always has the same response “one day, one day he gone get his trust me” (while crying). Champagne has a Job but she spends all her money on makeup to try and cover up her bruises. She is in Love with the strong, smart, sensitive and handsome Donovan that lives by himself, he is already expected to go straight to MMA when he turns 18. But her father forbids her to see Donovan, they sneak around from time to time though. But on this particular night Champagne sneaks out and goes to Donovan’s house. Donovan opens the door and before he even gets a chance to see her she throws herself at him forcing him into a romantic kiss. Champagne is leading him closer and closer to Donovan’s bed room “wait let me go and freshen up”. “Ok” replies Donovan quickly. Open goes the bathroom door and standing there is Champagne in nothing but a towel, glowing, glossing, shiny thick hazel brown body. “Who are you talking to Donovan” says Champagne “oh ugh ugh (he goes silent for a couple of seconds) my fighting coach responds Donovan. Swoosh Donovan’s jaw hits his lap as he is sitting on the bed. Champagne has dropped her towel. Champagne walking towards Donovan very slowly but just as Donovan touches her soft smooth skin “oh hell naw im out” And out the closet goes a nude women walks out the door but ass naked.” SLAP! Oooooo! yells Donovan as Champagne slaps him. Puts on her clothes and storms out the door leaving Donovan with a bloomy look on his face about to tear up. Champagne is enraged and loses her mind and now feels like she all alone in the world so she goes to the bar to drink her pain away champagne meets a man named Byron there and she they talk for awhile and she thinks hes the man of her dreams but den she finds out that Byron is 4 years younger than her and her dad keeps trying to fight Byron and her through the bruises and pain Byron does not fight back and Champagne's dad soon realizes that this is the man for his daughter and allows to see each other. In the future they get married and have two kids named Kennedy and Lauren who are successful doctors. But when it is all set and done Kennedy is Donovan’s son but no one knows or ever will no even so they live happily ever after.
Broken love can be repaired
Cold thoughts
ReplyDeleteBefore Michael’s family wakes up he puts on a suite, reads the paper, eats some cereal, brushes his teeth, and places a 9mm pistol into his suitcase. Wearing his favorite dark blue tie, Michael kisses his sleeping wife goodbye and starts the early morning car ride to work. Pulling out of his drive way he opens his mouth wide allowing the cold winter air to dry his throat and drown his lungs. The scent of fine leather consumes his sense of smell while the picture of his 15 year old son pinned to his dashboard cheers him up but is followed by feeling of disappointment. His posture is poor, his shoulders are slouched and his eye lids are open just enough to see the solid yellow line that divides him from the oncoming lane of traffic. He pulls into a Starbucks drive through and patiently waits for his turn to place his order for a large coffee. As Michael receives his coffee he takes the lid off to inhale the aroma. The warm steam feels good as it makes contact with his still somewhat frozen cheeks and nose. He begins to think about the long list of things at work he has to do that day and the many employees that work for him. He thinks about the cold winter day to come in Chicago but his loud cell phone annoyingly interrupts the conversation in his mind. One look to see who it is and he presses ignore. His mind begins to drift back into his thoughts. He thinks about how he would like to have a family picnic on the beach when it gets warm enough.
Pulling into the parking lot he parks into the spot with a sign marked reserved. Walking through the revolving door he is greeted by everyone who walks by.
“Good morning Mr. Blue” says a woman working at the front desk.
“Good morning Linda” Michael replies excitingly.
“Hello Mr. Blue” says a security guard standing next to the elevator.
“Hey Rick” says Michael keeping the same enthusiasm.
This process is repeated several more times with other of his employees.
Walking into his office on the 85th floor he walks over to the window to gaze at the mountain range of skyscrapers with snow covered rooftops. Michael looks down at the street far below. He presses his forehead hard against the cold glass. He wonders how strong the window is. His cell phone rings again and he presses ignore. Walking over to the phone on his dark brown wooden desk he asks his secretary to cancel his meetings for the day. Michael walks out of his office, locks the door behind him and starts the long ride down the elevator. Getting back into his car he drives out of the parking lot. 10 minutes later he parks in an empty parking lot by the beach.
He enters his password to hear his messages. He listens to the message his mother left about his addiction to gambling. He listens to the message his wife left crying saying she wants a divorce and complains about the debt problems that have destroyed their marriage. He listens to messages left by friends and relatives tell him he needs help to fight his alcoholism. He listens to the message his son left and before it’s over he turns off his phone. Sitting in his car he turns off the engine and looks out into the empty lake. The heat that was once coming out of the vents is now being replaces by the outside air slipping through a slightly opened window in his back seat. He takes his 9mm pistol out and places it on the dashboard next to the picture of his son. Michael whispers something and sits in silence for what seems like hours. Staring at both of the gun and his son he picks the gun up and throws it into his suitcase. He starts his car and drives away.
My Life
ReplyDeleteI can't take this any more! All this work for school, taking care of my brother and sister, doing favors, and just plan everything!
"Calm down" my mother said.
Why bother I should just die, I never got do anything I really wanted to do. I ran up to my room and went under my covers and lock the doors.
"Tasha opens the door" her mother said.
She continues knocking for five minutes then left. I wonder to my self why is my life like this and I wonder if others have the same problem. I started to make flyers for other people who have stress that need help and want to talk about there issues. I would call the group STRESS KIDS.
A week later had pass by and me and my stress kids meet at our high school in the lunchroom. At the lunchroom I saw a girl walking in and she was in some of my classes. She is a smart girl, wears nice clothes, and has good friends.
"Hello is any body here!" a girl said.
"I am over here" I said.
"Tasha is that you? What are you doing here?"
"Yes it's me I'm the one that came up with the group" I said
"I thought it was going to be a school consular or something to be here" the girl said.
"Nope it's me the regular teenage girl to share what I have to say and hear yours. But first things first what is your name?" I said.
"Grace" she said.
"Well Grace what's going on?"
"I having problems keeping up with my schoolwork because you know I'm on the honor roll and take honor classes. But, the problem is I have a new baby brother and I have to take up with him while my mom is at work plus I have swim practice at the school."
We talk for as long as we could until the session ended. Discussing about my issue and hers and talk about some girl stuff for a little while and I had a great time and so was her.
The next day at the session Grace had got some more people it was about at least twenty kids and I thought it was going to be a long day. So, finally I said,
"What do yall want to talk about?"