400 Word Friday: Musings from the Basement

Mark lifted his head slightly from his pillow, revealing faded lines across half his face where the pillowcase scrunched under him in the night. The alarm clock flashed 2:30 in glaring, bright red figures. AM or PM he asked himself. A basement apartment can stay dark year round with the right curtains, and over the last year he'd developed a taste for the dark. As he relaxed his head back down to the pillow, a gleam of sunlight caught his eye. “PM”, he acknowledged into his pillow with a sigh.

He cocked his head to the side, face drooping, eyes fading in and out on his surroundings. So this is my life he though to himself. A statement made everyday upon waking, upon glimpsing the shattered remnants of a once productive, happy life. His life, or what it used to be.

Surrounded by the past, by memories of good times only made the bleak situation seem worse. And any minute a voice would be calling down the basement steps asking for signs of life in a cheerful, sarcastic, and condescending way that only a parent can muster when speaking to a child.

“Are you alive?” they'll ask. “Are you going to get up sometime today?”. And then there was his favorite, “Jesus Christ, it's almost 3 in the afternoon, are you gonna get your ass up and look for a job today or what?”. Only his father would use that one. His mother was always much more diplomatic. Even though she didn't understand what her son was going through, she tried to be sympathetic. But for Dad, for Dad it's all about laziness. I'm just a lazy kid. With that thought a small wisp of fire stirred in the pit of his stomach. Anger. Anger for the man who not only didn't understand, but who actively tried to make things worse. Relentlessly prodding his only son deeper and deeper into the basement. And just like that, as quickly as it ignited, the flame flickers and fades to smoke.

Mark lays there, unmoved, exhausted from his slight tango with a solid emotion. The cool nothingness slowly creeps back into his bones as he reaches down to the side of the bed and shifts his gaze towards the TV. With the flick of a button, he's normal again, numb. Sedated from the world, from the past, from himself. 

200 Word Tuesday: Never again

He coughed and hacked as he made his way up the steps to his building, near collapse with the onslaught of agony raging across his body. Fire lurched from within his lungs, droplets of blood mixing with mucus from the barbed wire that dragged through his throat. Both legs were screaming from the strain they had just endured, battered and beaten non-stop for a good 10 minutes. And now, his shaking hands fumbling through his pockets searching for the one release. The keys that would keep his secret, the keys that would open the passage to salvation.

As he rattled and clanked the key into the front door of his building, it struck him, is someone watching? A quick glance behind proved his fear. Standing and staring across the street a look of concern brimmed on a man's face. A neighbor or a passer-by was unimportant. Finally the lock gave way, and in he stumbled, despondent that someone had caught him in such a state. One final door, easily unlocked and he reached his salvation. Body aching, lungs burning, throat torn he let his knees give way, falling harshly onto the rough brown carpet.

I'm never jogging again, he thought.

...And Now Back To Your Regularly Scheduled Blog

So this is me, back online and in full, or full-ish (not to be confused with foolish, although that probably also applies) force.  I've got some new ideas for this blog.  I was trying to make this a total poser blog where I only wrote about things associated with writing or writing adventures, but screw that shit!  I'm gonna write whatever the heck I darn well please from here on out.  Also, I'm not going to edit myself (last sentence excluded).  I'm always sure what I throw out on the interwebs will come back to bite me in the ass someday, but there's always that handy delete button in this program.

Here's the haps my friends:
1.  I'm going to continue the One Word Prompts, doing at least one a week
2.  I'm going to start a new line of posts called "Conversations with Myself".  "Why?" you might ask.  Well, not only does it indulge my desire to seem more schitzo that I already do, but I figure it might coax some much needed material out of myself for other projects.  Besides, it should be both entertaining and enlightening to see me talk and/or debate/argue with myself on a blog I can refer back to later instead of doing it all in my head and forgetting it 10 minutes later.
3.  RunningNekkid, I might be stealing '100 Word Wednesdays' from you.  I haven't decided yet, but it's a definite possibility... so yes, I will be doing that.
4.  I'm also going to start posting sections from my writing endeavors for all to read, comment on, etc. (I will only accept non-threatening, positive feedback.  Something akin to "I love this, you're totally awesome".  But please do not compare me to Jesus, I get that all the time and I'll have none of it)

That's it, that's all I got right now.  I'd like to thank insomnia for giving me time to write this post.  I'd also like to thank whatever brain chemicals lulled me out of the funk I've been in all week.  Without your contributions this post would not have been remotely possible.  Thank you, thank you everyone.  May some deity somewhere bless you, whichever one, hopefully not Shiva, that bitch destroys shit.  Thank you.

-Fin

One Word Prompt: Leading

A small boy walks through the wooded hillside.  Tired, but resilient, he led his army of teddy bears and stuffed rabbits, gorillas, and iguanas through the thick underbrush.  There was a light approaching, growing ever larger and more brilliant.  What was it?  What was waiting for him beyond the light and what would become of his ever increasing army?  Suddenly, his mom pulled back the curtain and saw her 4 year old boy with all his stuffed animals having the time of his life.

Bested by the Green Man

Damn you Green Man!  You've come to entice me to create a short story about your exploits and your archetype and all I can come up with is a lousy four stanza poem.  How dare you!  Hopefully this post will find you and you'll understand that I need inspiration here dude.  So get off your ass and help me out cause I want that $0.035 per word.  (preferably around 5000 words which is the limit).  Bah!

Or... you know, whatever.

Also... YAY, I posted something here too! :)

One Word Prompt: Fidget

Typing.  Typing.  Typing.
Hands always moving.
Mouse over the next button.  Tab to the next line.
Typing. Typing. Typing.
Hands always moving.
Mind racing.  Ideas pouring.
Typing.  Typing.  Typing.
Can't stop.  Can't keep up.
Typing. Stop.  Fidget.
Hands always moving.
Typing.  Stop. Fidget.
It's lost.  Ideas dried up.
Hands restless.
Fidget.
Stop.

Can You Hear Me Now!?

Wow... all I can say is wow.  And no, I'm not playing World of Warcraft.  I did yesterday, but that's beside point.  No, what I'm in shock and awe over is how incredibly out of practice I am at this whole writing thing.  I mean, finding your own voice and translating that to paper (or computer for you new age techno-hippies) is super tough.  I keep asking myself why it was so much easier in high school and college.  Then I remember, I was an angsty, emo teenager and that always flows well onto the page.

On the other hand, what's happened to my creativity?  Has it shriveled up and died like the plant rotting in the corner of my apartment from total neglect?  Did I get so consumed with doing what was necessary or what was expected that I lost a piece of myself in the corporate mire that was Bank of America?  I mean, what the hell dude!?  I've been sick (again, ugh) this last week and kept staring at the few paragraphs I managed to get down on a Word document and now... nothing.  I'm not sure how I really feel about what's already written and I have no idea what to write next.  It sucks too, cause I can see the sequence of events I want to convey so clearly in my head, but when I go to describe them I'm suddenly aware of the gaps in my perfect image and I'm so confused about which pieces of what I'm seeing should be described and in what detail and... ACK!

It probably doesn't help that I've been reading the posts on http://www.runningnekkid.com/.  Celeste manages to make the act or writing (or at least the finished product) seem so effortless.  I know she struggles too, but just look at what she's managed to accomplish and how beautifully written and precise her posts are.  Not to mention there is a clear voice there.  Her voice.  Every time I read something she's written I can hear her speaking as clearly as if we were laughing and poking fun at my fat.  (not literally poking though, I don't like to be poked by anything... haha!  Gay joke!)

So what is it?  I'm dying to know what it is that's keeping me from finishing even a full page of my story and it's been weighing on me pretty heavily this last week.  I've settled on a couple explanations.  One of which is obvious and was mentioned earlier:  I simply haven't exercised my creative muscle in such a long time that's gonna take time and a good amount of effort to get going again.  Hence, this post.  Because if I can't bitch about not being creative in a somewhat creative way on my own blog then all hope is lost.  The other explanation is a little harder to admit... fear.  Celeste put a voice to this for me when I was present for the posting of one of the entries on her website.  I called her psycho and crazy of course for espousing a fear about the reception of her thoughts, but she does have a point.  What if they don't like it?  Even worse, what if I send something out and fail? *gasp*  That's a big one.  My life up to this point has been riddled with examples of me opting for safer choices because of a fear of failure.  And it was drilled into me by my parents that I always need to make the right choices, have the right answers, and if things seem too risky or if you want do something seemingly stupid (from my parent's perspective of course) then you just don't do it.

But I don't want to succumb to fear.  I've got the whole pioneering spirit thing going on since I quit my job without having another one lined up.  So I'm gonna do this dammit!  And I prescribe the following to myself: 1.  Get out of the house and go for a walk every time I get stuck to clear my head,  2.  Don't only write at the house but venture to other locations,  3.  Mix photography, music, and writing... not sure how yet, but I'm working on it, and 4.  Stop telling myself I'm not creative or I'm broken.  After all, if I wasn't creative I wouldn't have come up with a story to write in the first place.  I just need to expand my vocabulary somewhat and exercise that creative muscle.

I should also probably exercise my real muscles, but that's a whole other battle and I'm already busy. :)