Posted in Creative Writing

The First Job

It was a cold, stormy night when I stood outside the office doors too scared to go inside. I always had problems adapting to new situations. Sure, I was bright, I was driven, and I was ambitious. However, there was one serious flaw, I was shy. I felt a kind of rush of energy when I opened the door and bounded into the unknown. People were bustling about, taking names and making photocopies. I welcomed the air of busyness but my elation was short lived, as soon after a lady with a stern expression came stomping up to me.

“Are you the new girl? Come on! – You should have been here 20 minutes ago, there is a lot of work for you on the table; reports need to be done by tomorrow, files in alphabetical order and… oh! While you’re at it, get me a cup of coffee.” She breathlessly said while dragging me by the arm. I didn’t even reply once, I just let her take me on this bizarre trip around the office with no hesitation. She left me at my place and I could feel all eyes on me, even though no one was looking my way. Should I talk to someone? That woman in the next cubicle looks friendly, how about that man by the water cooler? Yes, I would go talk to the man. I slowly made my way across to the water cooler, inching my way across the room. He said hello to me and flashed me a bright smile, exposing his shiny teeth. We chatted for a few minutes and I began to tell him how nervous I was. At that point he slid his hand towards my rear and said,

“Maybe I can ease the nervousness?”

Something changed in his smile, it was ugly now. I felt scared, violated. My instincts kicked in; I moved back, raised my hand and smacked his face. No job was worth compromising my dignity. He stared at me in shock and now all eyes were really on me. But I didn’t care, I didn’t care at all. I walked up to the stern looking lady from before and told her that her reports and filing would not be finished by tomorrow because I was quitting. Shock still resonated through the room, it was like everyone else was frozen in time but me. But I still didn’t care. I gathered my things and quietly walked out the door, away from this strange place.

 

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Posted in Creative Writing

Something Snapped

How long can someone go on with abuse until something finally snaps?

What has become of us humans that we feed on the pain of others?

Just because I chose to remain a shadow, ill fitting in your idea of what should surround your glorious presence; it was too much for you to handle. And so every day I lived in fear, and it’s all because of you. You went out of your way to make me miserable, to harm me, to humiliate me!

And now look at where we are. Shhhh, don’t waste your breath no one can hear you down here; especially not with that tape over your mouth.

What I am today, you created me. Every word you ever said to me, like the fire of the forges crafted me into this. I remember what happened on Halloween. Oh yes, the dare. First you invited me to your party. Now I should have taken this with a bit of skepticism but when you said you wanted to make things right I made a mistake, I believed you. As I walked up the steps to your house on that cold, dark night, I felt happy. I was finally going to be accepted.

But as soon as that door opened and you stood there, quiet at first before guiding me in. I should have seen the signs, the whispers, the stares, and the giggles. I guess at that time the party’s bright lights got to me. I had never been to a party before, Drew. At first I wandered about intoxicated by my surroundings but then you announced a game of truth or dare.

We gathered and after a few spins of the bottle, spins of secrets spilled and ridiculous dares, it stopped…. on me. And on the other end was you.

I chose a dare; I felt it was my chance to prove myself to you, to everyone. I guess you took this as your chance, didn’t you? You dared me to go into the old abandoned mausoleum in the town graveyard and spend five minutes in there. Scared as I was this was my chance, my chance to belong.

At the graveyard you lifted the latch on the mausoleum’s door and pulled it open. The air was icy so I couldn’t tell if I was shivering from the cold or my fear. I stepped inside and was greeted by the smell of decay. I went further in and I turned to look at you. At first your face seemed kind but it soon twisted to your usual evil grin. The grin I knew so well; and it was then that I knew what a fool I’d been. You slammed the door on my face, shutting out all light. I heard the latch close and I heard your sick laughter.

I pounded on the door for hours, begging you to come back and let me out. I stumbled back and tripped over something in the dark. I fell into an open casket against something rough. I took out my cell phone for light and I shrieked when I saw I was lying next to… A rotten, decaying human corpse.

That night lying in that mausoleum with corpses all around and that same stench of decay, I planned it all. I knew I had to kill you!

There, there, don’t cry. I brought you some company before you die. Say hello to Jenna, your girlfriend. She was an easy kill. Didn’t suspect a thing as I slipped easily into her apartment. Her shrieks of agony were music to my ears. The red, velvety blood was a sight for sore eyes.

Calm down buddy, I brought her here for you. Say hello to Jenna, Drew. There she can sit right next to you. Now it’s time for your tricks to end Drew. I, Derek Hatcher, just cant stand you any longer.

It’ll all be over soon Drew. What a pretty knife, isn’t it? So sharp and so shiny. Let me remove that tape for you. Oops sorry if it hurt. Boy you have a dirty mouth but nothing you say can hurt me anymore and no one can hear you down here. Say your prayers Drew. I’ll stab you once, stab you twice, and stab you thrice. Oh yes scream in pain. It makes me so happy.

Does it hurt Drew? Good. Now you know how I felt.

I like you better dead Drew. You’re far more tolerable. Well I guess I’ll be gone now but don’t worry I’ll come visit soon. This could be the start of a beautiful friendship…

 

Posted in Creative Writing

Butterflies

Sad organ music filled the air. I couldn’t help the tears from falling. She was gone. My mother wasn’t by my side anymore. I wouldn’t see her everyday as I came home from school, wouldn’t hear her singsong voice from downstairs calling me for dinner, wouldn’t feel the comfort of her warm hugs on a bad day. Everybody else was crying too. Dad, Grandma and all of the people who were fortunate enough to have their lives intersect with hers. My hands shook as I took out the case I had brought with me and stared at it, unable to control my emotions. It was our butterfly collection. We had started it when I was just five years old. I remember the day all too well.

It was a bright spring morning and the birds were chirping. Butterflies were flying around. I was clapping my hands feverishly trying to catch them. I had finally given up disappointed and fell back onto the swing when my mother came outside. “What’s the matter Nina?” she asked. “I want to catch a butterfly” I cried.

“Now don’t get disheartened, its pretty simple let me show you how” she said getting up beaming down at me with her hand outstretched. And with that began one of the most important, cherished and feared memories of my life till now.

The funeral service was over now. The crowd began to thin. I sat on the pew unwilling to get up when I saw him coming over, my best friend David. He came and sat beside me. “How’re you holding up?” He asked grabbing my hand and giving it a squeeze. I couldn’t reply. I just broke down and he held me closer letting my tears flow down his suit. “Its ok, I’m here.” He said comforting me. I looked up at him with my tear stained face into his crystal blue eyes. They were so warm, so comforting. The distance between our faces gradually slipped away until our lips touched. It was as if the emotion of the moment overcame us.

“I love you Nina and I cant stand to see you hurting like this” He managed to get out a little shakily. He was looking down at his feet and it looked as if he was going to cry too. I didn’t know what to say. “ I want to be there for you no matter what and I’ll help you get through this. I’ll….” I broke him off mid sentence by grabbing his hand and intertwining it in mine. I didn’t have to speak for him to know how in felt. He smiled at me reassuringly as I kissed his cheek. We said no more but it was comfortable. He took my hand and we walked out of the church together, hand in hand.

Posted in Creative Writing

Music to Your Ears

Creak. The floorboards gasped under his weight. He couldn’t be heard, he mustn’t. A hunter, waiting patiently for just the right time to slay his prey, he waited. The dark was so marvelous, it wrapped around him like a blanket, hidden from view. Patience was key, all good things to those who wait…

“Hello weekend” Jenna shouted. She flipped on her stereo and let the music pulse through the air. The neighbors would probably complain… buzz kills! She wouldn’t let them get to her today though. She needed the pick-me-up. She turned the music up even higher. “Lets see if you have anything to say about this!” She yelled out of her open window from the sixth floor of her apartment building. She sighed and plopped herself down on her bed. Why did life have to be so difficult? She had a massive fight with her best friend Connie in the morning and they still hadn’t patched up. She was waiting for Connie to text her. She wouldn’t be the first to cave, not a chance!

Music blared from inside the apartment door, but it wasn’t to his liking. Pop songs disgusted him so. The moonlight streaming in through the window at the far end of the corridor provided the only light in the passage. He admired the moon; it was full tonight. He took out his dagger from a pouch strapped to his side and raised it into the light. His eyes lit up as he saw how the light bounced off of the metal, caressing it and engulfing it as it gleamed. How many people had been terror struck as this blade penetrated their skin? Not enough he thought running his fingers over the blade.

Algebra is so overrated. Who uses it anyway? Jenna certainly wouldn’t. Her path was clear, graduate high school, design school, meet the perfect guy, start her own clothing line, get married and have two children. But Algebra was the villain in her story. She was failing math and that was terrible for her GPA. She would never get into design school at this rate.  Unfortunately she hadn’t met the perfect guy yet either. Her boyfriend Drew was so immature sometimes – a complete Neanderthal. There was so much drama in her life, why her? If only life would slow down, she had enough excitement already…

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Time was passing, flowing like a river past him, but he knew it wasn’t time yet. When it was time, he would know. He imagined entering the apartment. Seeing her shocked expression, her fear upon seeing the knife. Would she scream? Would she struggle? It was always more fun when they did. It gave him a thrill, a rush he so desired, so strongly craved that he had to do it again and again. He pictured the pool of blood, a beautiful crimson. It was his favorite color. He thought of reading the newspaper the next day, reports of this “unfortunate” and “grizzly” tragedy. He chuckled silently.

“Enough of that music” Jenna said to herself. Honestly her weekend buzz wasn’t so high now. She’d rather just curl up with a good book. She got up and walked over to her bookshelf. Most people would imagine that a girl like her probably reads vampire love stories and tales of a magical world. They were wrong; she actually had quite the interest in murder mysteries. She enjoyed nothing more than a good whodunit. She picked one she just started last week. The plot was so intriguing and she always loved to laugh at the slightly denser characters in the books that ended up getting killed very easily. It was overdue from her school library… yet another problem she must deal with. So as she had limited time to enjoy with it, she would cherish it. She sat back down and let the book take her away.

Out in the hall he registered the halt to the music. It was almost time. Adrenaline pulsed inside him. He was like a wolf now, savagely hungry for prey. Creak, he took step forward. He let the energy of the moment fill him. Creak, he looked out the window again and it seemed as if the moon suddenly shined brighter. Creak, his hands grazed the handle of his weapon in anticipation. Creak, he slowly pulled it out. Creak, he was so close now, his breath came out slow and deep. Creak, all the images he had pictured went through his brain and a smile spread across his face. Creak, he was at the door. He grabbed the cold, metal doorknob and paused for a moment – then turned it. Creak, the door opened slowly. “Surprise…” he whispered eerily. The door shut slowly behind him…

Posted in Creative Writing

A Spider’s Plight

Ignored by all, feared by most, the little creature quietly goes about its own business. Living in a world of its own, it sees miles where we see centimeters. Walking across the urban jungles of our homes it searches for its prey. Lost in a world of someone else’s design, caught in someone else’s web, the little spider is helpless.

It is simply a misunderstood soul. Only seen for its predatory appetite, the difficult existence of the poor spider is often ignored. It wanders trying to find solace, an escape into the realm of nature beyond where it belongs. It beckons us to show it the way with its eight beady eyes pleadingly staring at us and is rewarded with screams and panic. *Whack* the confused spider is startled by our sudden aggressive reaction. *Whack* but it isn’t stupid. It realizes the role reversal here, the whirlwind in which the predator becomes the prey. And so it flees finding a corner to cloak itself from further harm.

Its stomach rumbles but not for what’s in your fridge. It has no use for your otherworldly artifacts. Yet it yearns for the comforts of its own world. The spider thinks maybe you’ll be more cooperative if it helps you out. So it goes and finds those pesky flies and bees that you’re always complaining about. It’s time to get to work. With artisanal beauty it spins its own delicate web. Laboring over it for hours in an attempt to set the perfect trap, it looks down at its creation with pride. Trapping them in its web, it kills the lowly insects with ruthless conviction. Maybe now the humans will show it some kindness.

But no, nothing has changed. Its gift is ignored. No one comes and shows it the way. It is then that the little spider realizes that it must make its own way. Pleasing others to get its way will simply not do. And so the little arachnid races through the tiled bathrooms and wooden living rooms on its eight legs to find the way back to the greenery it calls home. What’s that? An opening? A window? But it lies at the top of an enormous tower. The spider steels itself and begins. Motivated by the thought of frolicking in the grass it climbs. Then as it reaches the midway point, the human appears. It knows that getting out now is a matter of life and death. It demonstrates remarkable agility as it dodges every shoe, every newspaper that the human throws its way. It is too close now and it won’t just give up. It fails to understand what it has done to invoke such undying hatred from our side. Like a hitchhiker you meet along the road, all it wanted was a little direction. With one final leap it crosses over finally escaping the concrete maze.

As it crosses through the greenery, it seems to calm down. There isn’t anyone to aggravate it now. It can live without fear. Once again it becomes dominant. It strides across the grassy lawn with pride. Order is restored and the little spider is where it needs to be. No qualms now, it can be what it was meant to be. It is where it belongs.