Blog Post 5: Tension Killer

    As the sun swept in through the window, she rose from her bed pushing the sheets onto the floor. Her husband had already left for work, and didn’t bother to leave any coffee. The pillows on the couch had lost their shape over the years. She picked a few up and stacked them on top of each other, then stretched out to lay her head down. While reaching for the remote, one of her slippers came off and fell to the ground. She flicked through the channels. Nothing was on. She stood up and went to the back door to let some air in; the house was stuffy. The bulb in the lamp next to her had burned out. She went to the kitchen to find another, but realized there were none. She picked a book up off the coffee table and returned to the couch to start reading. The day went by slowly. At 9pm she fell down into bed and slept for ten hours.

Blog Post 4: "I would have stayed up with you all night; had I known how to save a life."

p.122, #6
I started with the idea of working with the pictures, and did use them in writing this piece. Then after I had the entire thing done I went back and changed a lot of things. I just didn't think the first one really did this person justice.

    This is the girl I used to know. Fun loving, living life without a care in the world. Carefully applied makeup and straightened hair created a striking look; ready to go out and cause a commotion. Sitting in the passenger seat after a few shots of vodka that lit up her youthful face and caused a permanent smile. Five hours later the scene takes a different turn. She would no longer be in the passenger seat, it was her time to drive. The car runs off the road and into a ditch, while trying to avoid the flashing lights following her.

    Star diver on our schools swimming and diving team, first runner up homecoming queen, and brains to top it all off. Everyone at school knew her, she made herself hard to ignore. I will never forget the day I came into work and saw her sitting in the managers office, watching training videos. Finally, I would get to meet the girl everyone else seemed to know.

    Her beauty had begun to fade, and the personality was going up in smoke. You might as well have a conversation with yourself at this point. The only relationship that mattered to her was the one with the “vase” that she hid in her closet. Potential; the word seemed to be thrown around a lot.

    The fun we used to have now seems a distant memory, washed away in a sea of broken promises and disappointments. Anticipating the weekends that someone’s parents would go out of town. Allowing us to take over the house, drowning in copious amounts of liquid courage. The drinks no longer worked for her, she was immune, it became a daily thing. The fun we used to have.

    Going out to eat for our friends birthday, by this time we had all moved away or gone off to college in another city, everyone except her. The scene is set for a nice evening among ‘family.’ That’s what it felt like now. We had been so close over the past four years, I felt like I had known these people my entire life. We knew each others strengths and weaknesses. We snuck each other into our houses late at night, when our home wasn’t exactly perfect. No one bothered to dress up, who were we trying to impress anyway? This was the last time I held a completely sober conversation with her.

                                    This is the girl I wanted to know.

CW Post #3

p.92 #8: Write a very short piece about an incident that occurred at a secret place you favored as a child. Now, rewrite the piece from another kid's point of view. In a third version write from the point of view of your mother, who stumbles upon the scene.

After school we would gather in the courtyard that was set in-between our rows of brick town homes. You could tell that this was a nice place when it was first built, and though now not completely run down, it definitely lacked an element of elegance. Aaron was the older boy who lived in our complex. Not much older, only about two years, but old enough for us to follow him, and do what he wanted. That day after school we walked into the courtyard and sat underneath the basketball hoop that was missing a net. Aaron pointed out a dead bird a few feet away from us. Being young boys we all ventured over to have a look. “Lets poke it,” he said. I was not ok with this; it was already dead, lets just leave it alone. The other guys however thought this was a grand idea. Aaron picked up a nearby stick and started poking the bird. I squirmed inside. The poking continued until the bird opened up. This was too much for me to take. The insides of the poor creature started to fall out. Oh shit I thought, here it comes. Suddenly my insides began to pour out. On the ground in front of me you could see chunks from my cafeteria lunch. We had hot dogs that day.

I watched out my window as the boys gathered by the basketball hoop. I wanted so desperately to play with them, but I knew my sisters would not approve. I had always been the tomboy in the family, and having two sisters didn’t help much. Living with them and my mom under one roof got hectic often; three girls and one woman, in a small two bedroom unit. The boys seemed to do fun things, I would hear about them in class from Peter. Today did not look like something I wanted to join though. I watched anxiously as Aaron picked up the stick, hoping he wouldn’t offer it to Peter. I knew Peter wouldn’t do something like that, and I had warned him about Aaron before. Something about that boy wasn’t right. Boys can be cruel and I was seeing it with my own eyes. Peter just threw up. The sight of it caused me to gag, and I ran off to the bathroom.

This isn’t exactly how I wanted my life to go. Having my third grader be a latch key kid was not in my life plan. Soon, we’ll be able to get out of here. Very soon. I watch as he plays outside with the neighborhood kids, and hope to myself he isn’t having to hear or go through the same things I did at that age. They say history repeats itself, and I always said I would never go back to the projects. But look at me now. Its ok though, we’re getting out soon. I quickly put on my happy face as he runs up the steps to our door. However, he doesn’t look as happy as I’m pretending to be. He tells me the story of the bird. Maybe this is normal. No its not normal. You know what they say about kids that torture animals. I dry his face off and we head out to the car. Its going to be a McDonald's night. Soon, we will get out of here. 

Welcome to the Fletch

So this started out as the classwork that we were working on in class. I had the idea of describing a dorm. But as I started writing it started going in a completely different direction. So i just kinda went with it... whoops? I dont think i'm done with it yet either...

Until I came to Greenville I know nothing of dorm life, or living with 700 other people for that matter. My first week of dorm life flat out sucked. Today I would be moving into another building on the other side of campus; I had no idea what to expect.
I would be calling Fletcher Hall home for the next eight or so months, at first glance it seemed to tower above me; encompassing all sunlight in sight.

 So intimidating:

 Little did I know it was about to get worse as I entered through those large black double doors of doom. Upon entrance I noticed stairs that led to a strange large room on the right. The left held another set of nerve-wrecking double doors.


Which way was I supposed to go?…


The set of doors looked the most promising. Walking towards them I passed what looked like thousands of mailboxes. How would I find mine?


And for that matter… where is my mail key?


Choosing the doors was a bad idea; they were locked. I decided to turn back and head up to the strange room on the right. There were a few people, sitting around doing school work and socializing. I was too ashamed to ask them what to do. Behind me I heard the black double doors of doom open. Someone was coming in and heading towards the locked doors. I nonchalantly turned around to follow them. Maybe they knew something I didn’t…






They used their room key to open the door…?






The elevator ride up to the seventh floor seemed to last an hour. I stood there quietly trying to forget the fact that it felt as if the elevator was about to explode every time it moved.


I reached the seventh floor and was surprisingly greeted by my new RA, who was assembling a bulletin board. He seemed nice, kind of a tool.


He pointed me in the direction of my room, the last one at the very end of the hall. As I strolled down the empty hallway I could hear the sound of music greater louder with each step I took. Halfway down the hall I started to hear an awful sound. The sound you expect a cat to make during labor. Someone was trying to sing along to the song.


Stopping in front of my room, 702, I realized the wretched noise was coming from inside.

Creative Writing Blog #1, pg. 50, #8

 Sympathy for my Chickens

Tree cries die beneath the wind
they are planning an attack,
against the man who no longer cares.

I have chickens,
who shut the doors in hopes of hiding their eggs.
They know of my true desire.
For them a December blanket of ice
will lead to their downfall.

I've discovered I don't need
the acres or the land.

The hoards of people, shuffling from behind
like harsh winds keeping barn doors shut.
And I smell the fumes from the street,
the chaos of this city I love.