Senior Brother Author Tatum
“I’ll take your best whiskey, your darkest beer, and a glass of water.” He was a creature of habit. Brown socks. He wore the same brown socks that matched his somber mood. He would introduce himself like we were meeting him for the very first time. “Laughter. Professor, A.W. Laughter,” he would say without fail to any to those who knew him and those who did not. He had a low tolerance for listless, boring language. A boring tongue, he would say needs to be ripped from the mouth because it has no chance of playing a satisfactory role. He could not envision the role of bruised tongues in a society in which people are tethered to pain.
Purple tongues, he would call them, had no place in our society. It was something about colors that fascinated him He used them to - well – let me give you an example. This first time I entered the Den. He offered, “Laughter, A.W. Laughter. Welcome the Den. The days will be blackened like soot, soaked in red, but forever in search for permission from the Nile-like blue that flows upstream. The language was strange coming from a young professor. The beard overmatched his thin face and broad nose. The sprinkles of gray on his chin stood in contrast to his hair that was midnight-black; dyed for sure to secure his youthful gait. His language seemed to come from an earlier century. He refused to use our language because he thought it was too wasteful.
He became increasingly jittery. An unanticipated cough or unexpectant sound startled him. Noises would interrupt his writing, and invoke short-lived mumbling fury toward the object. It was odd to see him mumble, particularly because he was so posed and polished when he spoke.
I knew he would refuse to speak today. It troubles me to see him forced to sit here. His quiet, unassuming stance does not surprise me, but I am torn because I know his voice will give this room a different weight than I cannot offer. Professor Laughter is his best defense, but he’d rather die. It does not matter that his innocence will be later revealed. He would tell us, “A good writer never reveals his secret even when death is imminent.” The Den Master will never allow us to peel away his integrity. That would be more offensive to him than death.
“Professor Laughter, please speak to us, please.”
“Do not talk to the accused.”
“The accused to you, the Den Master to me.”
After experiencing the death of Sonya, his lovely wife who was so kind to us, he is reluctant to fear that which she faced so bravely. He refused to cry at her funeral, as she lay clothed in a warm brown dress that complimented her fair skin and natural hair.
“Laughter, Professor A.W. Laughter. Welcome to the Den.”
We also are fortunate enough to have in the building with us tomorrow- One of The Senior Brother Authors, Christopher Paul Curtis. I hope you enjoyed reading, Bucking the Sarge.
Post the next chapter of your novel here.
BA 8
Kelly Fredrickson
IBM Building
June 25, 2010; 2:59am
The office on the 32 floor of the IBM Building was quite large. 40 cubicles stretched from one side of the building to the other. The walls were covered in blue paint, unlike many offices. Each cubicle decorated with pictures of family, calendars, and mountains of paperwork. Kelly was working late tonight; she had to document some customer suggestions from earlier in the month. 487 slips of paper never seemed so daunting. Finishing the last suggestion, her phone rang. Her father’s picture appeared across the screen, he hadn’t called her in almost a month. Why was he calling at this time of the morning? She blew off the call and let it go straight to voicemail. She gathered her belongings and walked across the worn carpet to the staff lounge and clock out. Her 6 inch heels shuffled along the linoleum floor, the bright red reflecting the florescent lights from above, a brown trench coat draped across her shoulders, drenched in the rain from yesterday morning. Petite in all, she looked no taller than a teenager with a hormonal deficiency, who barely got any sleep. She reached the stairwell, stepping gingerly in case she slipped on a chip on one of the stairs. Normally, Kelly would be lazy and take the elevator, and ride down to the parking garage, but after hours but the cleaning staff shut them down. So she had to walk down 36 floors to get to her car—yippee. It took a few minutes but she managed to make it. No broken heels at all. The parking garage had terrible lighting, added with the fact that there was no sun out, it was nearly pitch black. Kelly clicked her Automatic Lock, she knew her car was near the door but she forgot where. The red lights blinked to her silver 2007 Mazda Impreza, a gift from her dad, he had gotten it for her with her grandfather’s inheritance. She began to walk in the direction of where she last saw the lights blink. Along the way her worst nightmares had come true, the last thing she wanted to happen…she had broken her heel.
“FUCK!” Kelly exclaimed. She reached down to take off the shoe, these 400 dollar Prada 50th anniversary shoes just went down the drain. Walking with one shoe off and a nasty limp, Kelly reached her car. She clicked her beeper one more time to check, her car was the next one over. Enraged with a broken heel and misjudgment of cars she casually walked over. She clicked unlocked and grasped the handle. Just then a soft hand grasped her shoulder, startled; Kelly twirled around to see a tall man, tall and scrawny. She had to arch her neck to look him in the face she was frozen in her stance, almost like she had been hypnotized by the mysterious man.
“Why the hell are you standing there, I don’t know about you but I have a bed waiting for me at home.” She tried to enter her car but the man had her by the arm.
“Lemme go”
“No”
Just then he began to pull her away from the car, despite her protests and profanity, he kept the grip.
“NO! PLEASE DON’T DO THIS, I DON’T WANNA DIE, JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!”
At the sounds of her words the man hit her across the face, indicating he wanted to hear no more from her. He continued to drag Kelly as she began to think, broken heels, documenting paperwork, and getting kidnapped…perhaps the shittiest day ever. As she further was dragged into darkness, the more she regretted not answering her dad’s call, it was probably the last time she would have heard his voice.
BA 12
Bad Livin’ (Rough Draft)
“Yo man,” Matt said while stuffing some ravioli in his mouth, “fuck was you doing out on them streets bro, I told you to stay in the crib.”
Matt swallowed and stared at Andrew curiously.
“You been fuckin around out there?” he finished.
“Nah man,” Andrew said while looking down and pushing his ravioli around with his fork.
“Man, stop playing with yo food Andy, you fifteen and tell me what you were doing out on the streets when I told you to stay inside.”
“I was just drawing people man.”
“Drawing? You still doing that Andy?”
“Yeah, you’d know if you weren’t always gone.” Andrew said a little more viciously then he intended.
Matt put his fork and knife down on the table, sat straight up and eyed Andrew up and down. His voice took on a considerably softer tone from the deep roughness of usual.
“Andy,” he said while looking his little brother directly in the eyes, “you know I’ve got to live out my service and if I could quit believe me I would and I’d be here everyday taking care of you, making sure you good but I cant. The penalty for desertion is prison and that’s not gonna do anything for us. At least this way I’m bringing in some income so we can keep this shitty roof over our head and have some food to eat.”
“I know man, I know,” Andrew said calmly “its just what am I supposed to do in here all day?” Andrew was standing up now and he looked like he might snap at any moment.
“Andy calm down boy, sit down. Lets talk about it. What’s up with you?”
“I just feel like I aint doing nothing with my life, school is out and I don’t have a legit summer job, we struggling in this shit hole and I’m just living off of you and not helping, I’m fifteen I should be able to do something!!” Andrew was yelling and chocking back tears, tears built up from years of frustration ever since both they’re parents died when he was 11. Matt understood immediately and his face was streaked with the same tears. Matt took a deep breath got up and held Andrews shoulder firmly.
“I know bro,” he said, the same amount of years of responsibility evident in his voice, “ we gone be cool though, we got each other we don’t need nobody else. I’ll help you find a way to pull yo weight if it’s that important to you and we could use the extra bank.”
Andrew looked up at Matt and held his stare, a mutual feeling of love and respect passed between them.
“That’s why I been drawing and stuff,” Andrew began to say as he wiped the tears from his face, “ I do portraits and caricatures of people and charge for it. That’s what I’ve been doing Matt. Running my own business, look.” He was excited now as he pushed his hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out an abundance of crumbled and folded dollars and handed them to his brother. Matt took the money and stared at his brother wide eyed.
“Count it.” Andrew pressed.
Matt walked over to the kitchen table and spread the money out, straightening the crumbled bills and unfolding the folded ones. Five ten-dollar bills, six five-dollar bills, and two twenty-dollar bills.
“Andy, this is one hundred and twenty dollars,” he looked at his brother amazed, “you made this in one day?”
Andrew felt proud of himself.
“In four hours,” He exclaimed, “and this guy gave me this address to a tourists attraction hotel so I can draw for all the tourists that come by the lobby I suppose.”
“Andy that’s great bro, ill come with you tomorrow and make sure it’s legit.” Matt was shaking his head left and right in disbelief.
Andrew was beaming, he felt as if he was finally worth something to his family. Finally becoming a man. The two brothers sat down, finished the rest of their meal, and cleared the table. They prayed, brushed their teeth and took showers. Then they went to sleep in the bunk bed in the room they both shared. Andrew got on the top bunk and closed his eyes. Water dropped from the ceiling and fell on his face.
He couldn’t wait till tomorrow.
BA 13
Chapter Two
I walk in to my house and I’m instantly tackled by Carter our Doberman Pinscher. “Hey what’s up Carter” Carter wags his stub tail and his droopy ears lay flat against his head. “Hey dad I’m home, Is Stokely home yet?” “Ask him your self Calvin” his voice muffled saying that he’s still in his office working. “Bro where are you” I say as I walk down stairs to the basement/apartment that we transformed to a game room and guest area with their own room and bathroom. I see my brother playing the new Skate It game that we bought. He’s been waiting to get this game for almost a year.
“Hey bro”
“Shhh I’m in the zone”
“Whatever, stay black, I’m goin to get ready for….”
“Calvin take Carter to the Bathroom NOW!”
“O.K Dad”
I walk to the back door and grab Carter’s Squeaky ball. The small little squeak that the ball utters calls the dog like a siren and he’s down the stairs so fast I was scared he would run into me, but at the last second he swerves to the right and runs into the door. “Ha Ha!” Now your probably thinking that it’s harsh to laugh at your dog like that but honestly he could have broken that door and plus he’s really strong and smart so I’m not really worried. And just like I thought he was up and trying to get the ball from me in about two seconds. I open the glass and metal door that is now slightly dented and my dog sprints into our gated back yard. “Carter come,” Right when he is a foot from hitting me I sling the ball far down the yard but he’s their right after the first bounce. We do this simple routine over and over again until he’s finally too tired to run right when I take him in I get a phone call, Bri. Crap I forgot her mom was dropping us off today at . “Umm hey Bri”
“Where are you, were right outside your house?!”
“O.K one sec I’ll be out side in five minutes K?”
“Hurry”
I hang up and run to my room, I throw on a new green and black Alien Workshop T-shirt my Black skinny’s a black Sox hat to cover my uncombed Fro and my green Lakai’s while yelling bye to my dad and bro and run to her car. “Hey Bri, Hello Mrs. Ruby”
“Hello Calvin”
“You jerk!” Smack I feel the sting of an angry black girls hand across my face. Wow I always thought that people were exaggerating about how when you get slapped by an angry black woman that it was like getting hit by a railcar to the face but they were telling the truth.
“Dang, girl you crazy” I say trying to sound cool even though I can feel the red mark on my face shaped like a hand burn my skin.
“Fool were gonna be late now”
“Wow like two minutes man you act like the worlds gonna end gosh the party starts at 7:00 and it’s barely 8:00. Just calm down we’ll still be at least their for ohhhh maybe Four Hours!” She thinks of saying something but decides against it and were quiet for the rest of the ride.
